Chapter 22 Aurelia
Aurelia
A week came and went—and Constantine ignored me.
I fucking ruined it.
A man infinitely out of my league and a dream come true came into my life—and I lost him. My two-year relationship ended in a dumpster fire in Taormina, and the hurt was like an open wound right in the center of my chest. But this . . . this hurt so much worse.
Because of what it could have been.
When it was time to pass away, your life would flash before your eyes.
When my relationship with Constantine flatlined, so many of our memories hit me.
We’d known each other for less than a month, but there was so much substance and depth to what we had.
I remembered our morning trips to Bam Bar in the little town, waking up next to him in the softest bed I’d ever known, spending the day at the beach with him and his friends, meeting his mom and aunt, two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.
And now all of that was just . . . gone.
He wouldn’t text me back. Wouldn’t take my calls. When my text messages stopped going through and my calls went straight to voicemail, I realized he’d blocked me.
He fucking blocked me.
I’d hit rock bottom after Enzo left me in Taormina, but Constantine took my hand and helped me climb the tallest mountain. Showed me the view from the sky, cleansed me in his warmth and praise. But then I tripped and fell . . . and rolled all the way to the bottom of the sea.
I’d never recover from this. I’d end up like Isabella, still wanting him a decade later. I’d move on eventually, but Constantine would always be in the back of my mind. I’d wonder what could have been. Wonder if he’d met someone else. If he’d gotten married, had children.
I finally stopped trying to get ahold of him, knowing my messages weren’t getting to him anyway. When he said he was done, he really meant it. He’d probably replaced me with someone else by now.
The thought made me cry . . . once or twice.
Cindy and I went out for a drink, sat together at a table and shared a bottle of wine.
“I want to ask if you’re okay,” Cindy said. “But that’s a stupid question because I can tell you aren’t.” In a navy blue dress and heels, she had her dark hair in curls, a bracelet with charms on her wrist. She was beautiful, and I didn’t understand why she was with a guy who wasn’t of her caliber.
But I guessed people thought the same thing about me and Constantine.
“Yeah.” I swirled my glass by the base of the stem. “I feel like shit, every moment of every day.”
“But you said he was mixed up with some bad people?”
I’d never told my friends what he actually did. I’d kept it vague. He never told me I couldn’t tell anyone, but they might think I was crazy if I told them the truth. “Yeah. Something shady, not sure what it was.”
“Then maybe it’s for the best,” she said. “Got some good dick out of it, so that’s all that matters.”
The best dick in the fucking world. Whenever I slept with someone new, it would be a massive disappointment. In size, performance, passion, everything. It was hard to imagine ever wanting to take my clothes off with someone else. “Yeah.”
Her eyes moved past me, and a smile broke out on her face, like she recognized someone who entered the bar.
God, it better not be Timothée.
“Hey, babe.” She stood up to greet him.
Ugh, no.
His arm circled her lower back, and he pulled her in for a kiss.
What the fuck happened to girls’ night?
Timothée looked at me when he finished their kiss. And he stared and stared . . . right in front of her. “Hey, Aurelia.”
“Hey, Timothée.” He had these lidless eyes that never seemed to close. Like a lifeless doll that you had to shove in a toy box because it was too creepy to leave out.
“This is my friend, Pierre.”
I turned to see the other guy who came to the table. He had dirty-blond hair, green eyes, and was slender in the arms. He extended his hand to shake mine. “Lovely to meet you,” he said with a French accent.
“Uh, hi.” Did that skank set me up on a double date? I looked at her across the table.
She mouthed, “Just go with it.”
We all took a seat, and the guys ordered their drinks.
I glared at Cindy so fucking hard. “What the fucking hell?” I mouthed.
“Just trying to help,” she mouthed back.
I stopped mouthing and just spoke aloud. “You’re unbelievable.”
Both men turned to look at me.
Like I gave a shit.
Pierre made conversation the entire night, and to his credit, he was really patient with my attitude. Frankly, I was fucking rude, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it, like he’d already been told that could happen.
I felt guilty as fuck. I felt like I’d betrayed Constantine, when I didn’t consent to this. I felt like I’d betrayed him, when he’d blocked my number and said he wanted nothing to do with me. This was a taste of life without him, of mediocrity, and I cursed myself for ever wishing he’d been normal.
I loved that Constantine wasn’t normal.
It was the worst pain ever, to wish more than anything in the world to go back in time and have a do-over. To swallow the words before they had the chance to leave my mouth and pierce our relationship like bullets.
Maybe if I’d had the opportunity to actually apologize, I would have been able to change his mind.
But he wouldn’t even give me that. I didn’t know where he lived, didn’t know how to track him down.
When I searched his name online, he wasn’t present anywhere, not on social media, no hits at all.
Like he’d been completely wiped from the internet.
My only option was to call his family’s restaurant in Taormina . . . and ask his mom to relay a message to him. He’d get so angry that I’d crossed the line that he’d probably confront me, and then I would have my chance.
But what would I accomplish when he was out-of-his-mind pissed off?
Nothing. I’d accomplish nothing.
“We’re gonna take off,” Cindy said. “Timothée has to stop by and feed his cat.”
What kind of man had a cat?
They left cash for their drinks and left.
She fucking left me there—with him.
There was an awkward bout of silence before he pivoted farther in his chair to look at me. “Cindy said you do photography—”
“I don’t want to be rude because you did nothing wrong, but I’m just not into this.”
He shut up, and his eyes flicked away. “I’ll ask for the tab, then . . .”
“I’m sorry. I just got out of a serious relationship.” I’d said that to Constantine a few times, but now Constantine was the serious relationship I referred to.
He waved for the waiter to come by as I took a few sips from my fresh glass of wine.
“I’m gonna pee.” I headed to the bathroom, did my business, and when I came back to the table, I was disappointed he was still there . . . waiting for me.
“Let me walk you home.”
“I’m fine.” I moved to the table and grabbed my purse. My nearly full glass of wine was still there, so I took a few big gulps so it wouldn’t go to waste. “I have my motorbike.”
“You don’t look in any shape to drive.”
“Excuse me?” I said as I turned. “I’ve barely had two glasses of wine.”
“Well, you seem a little loopy to me. I don’t mean to offend you.” He got up and raised his hands like that would somehow soothe my ire.
I stood there in my heels and felt a slight wobble. I wasn’t sure if he’d put the thought in my head or if I actually was a little drunk, but now, I didn’t feel so sure of myself. I felt a hesitation and then a wave of heat from my stomach as if I’d just drunk a glass of acid.
He watched me for a second before he offered his arm. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the taxi stand.”
I ignored his offer and moved past him, my purse over my shoulder. Instead of wearing stiletto heels, I wore wedged heels, so when we hit the cobblestone street, I wouldn’t have to walk like I was in a field of land mines.
But the second I felt the fresh air outside, I felt worse. I would have taken a taxi if there had been any on that street.
“Come on, this way.” He guided me around the building and down a side street. There was a gelato place still open, and across from that were a couple of cafés that had been closed for hours.
I felt weak and nauseated . . . and then downright confused. “I do not feel well.”
He continued to walk beside me. “Not much farther.”
I wasn’t even sure what taxi hub he was referring to. I came to a stop and pulled out my phone. “Just gonna order a ride.” It usually took longer than flagging down a cab and it was more expensive, but my body was not cooperating.
Maybe I did have too much to drink. Maybe in my anger and nervousness, I’d lost count of my drinks.
“I’ll wait with you.”
I leaned against the wall and continued to work the app, trying to order the ride, but the more I went through the steps, the more confused I became.
Something was not right.
My heart suddenly started to race in a way it never had before—like there was something in my system that was making my heart work to get it out.
Pierre pulled out his phone and made a call. His voice was hard to hear from where he stood. “That alley around the corner.”
It didn’t sound like he’d just ordered a ride. It didn’t sound like he’d talked to a friend either.
I was fucked, wasn’t I?
My mind started to slip further, my heart raced like it was about to explode, and I should have called the police, but I literally couldn’t think. So I did something that made no sense. I texted Constantine. 112.
He’d blocked my number, but I still texted him the number to indicate an emergency anyway. I tried to type in the actual number to call, but then I couldn’t feel my thumbs. And then the phone was taken out of my hand.
“Yeah, she’s just had too much to drink,” Pierre said to a passerby. “Just waiting for a ride.”
The people continued on, unaware that I was slowly losing all my motor functions. I was exhausted, but my body was also unresponsive.
What the fuck did this asshole give me?
Sometime later, a black van pulled up. The side panel slid open, and two guys got out and came toward me. “She looks healthy.”