I sit down. My heart’s beating. I can’t lock the worst out of my mind. Bum-bum. Bum-bum. Bumbumbumbumbum. Faster and faster, blood pulses through my brain, my legs, my arms, to the tips of my fingers from my heart. I can’t feel anything but my breathing. My neck is being choked, forgive and forget, I think. The words can’t come out of my mouth, “I’m sorry.” I try to croak. She doesn’t deserve the pain I’ve given her. I loved her, at least, I thought I did. I still do. She was my best friend. All up until a year ago.
Vitalia, so happy, once. Just once. I choke again. She’s silent, she’s expecting something. After all these months, she still knows me better than anyone else. I remember her favorite color, red-orange. Her sweet, beautiful yellow hair. Pale skin, freckles that barely show, but so vivid on her nose if looked at from the right angle. Unlikely, but so suspected, the dark featured boy, dark brown hair, even browner eyes, would deeply care for her. Thinking this over for months, weeks. Every day. How do I tell her what I mean? I want her to understand, I mean what I say.
She deserves to be happy, if not with me, with someone else. By herself, if she truly wishes. Vitalia’s always been so independent. She wouldn’t even let me hold the door for her. I can’t carry her stuff. I know her, she want’s closure. She feels like a bad person. I’m the bad one, though. I started this, I put her through this. Pleading to myself, ‘please, just tell her. It’s the least you can do.’ I clearly say it now, “I’m sorry.” A pause. A long pause. She looks at me with her sad, grey eyes, “It’s okay.” And then I think, forgive but never forget.