33. Stepping Back
Samantha
We spend the day of January first together, just the two of us, savoring our last hours before I return to my friends. A gentle day, almost unreal in its simplicity.
A late breakfast—warm croissants, steaming coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice—by the fireplace. A movie we only half-watch, curled up together on the couch. Then love, slow and tender, as if we were trying to hold back time, to carve every sensation into our bodies.
I know the weeks ahead will be difficult. Despite Alexander’s growing attachment and his half-confession, I don’t know if we’re strong enough to face what’s coming. Each of us has a battle to fight, and I don’t know whether there will be room left in our lives for the other.
And yet I love him.
Desperately.
But love isn’t always enough, and there are so many obstacles between us.
The next morning at eight, Alexander drives me back to the apartment before heading to work.
After wishing us a happy new year, Gilles takes us to the Marais.
In the back seat, Alexander keeps my hand in his, his thumb absently brushing over my knuckles.
And I know that letting me go costs him.
I can see it in the tension of his jaw, in the slightly too-tight pressure of his fingers around mine.
But we’re not ready for true commitment. It’s too soon.
He helps me carry up my drawing supplies. My heart races as I climb the stairs where I was attacked. Mara opens the door almost immediately. I hug my friends, then stop short.
The apartment is unrecognizable. Clean. Organized. The broken furniture has been replaced. There’s no trace left of the vandalism. The lock has been changed to a reinforced three-point system.
I wrap my arms around Mara.
“Thank you.”
Alexander sets my supplies down in my studio corner. The only remnants of the break-in are my canvases, leaning against the wall. The shattered frames, the slashed fabric tighten my chest, but I don’t have the strength to assess the full extent of the damage yet.
My bedroom, too, has been cleaned. I shiver at the thought that this place, which sheltered me for months, was violated by a stranger. How long will it take before I feel safe here again?
Alexander, who followed me in, pulls me into his arms.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks softly.
“Yes. Don’t worry. Mara and Emelyne are here.”
He nods.
“I’m going to miss you.”
He kisses me, his lips lingering on mine, as if he’s trying to delay the inevitable separation.
“You too,” I say, forcing a smile. “Thank you for these few days.”
“Can I see you tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.
“This weekend would be better. Focus on the IPO. I’m going to work on my thesis project. I only have five months left to present something solid.”
Disappointment flickers briefly in his eyes.
“Okay… Friday night, then?”
“Yes. Friday night.”
He nods.
“Have a good week, Sam.”
“You too, Alexander.”
After he leaves, I stand motionless by the window for a while, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of sadness.
Emelyne knocks on the door, two mugs of herbal tea in hand. She gives one to me, then sits on the bed.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yes. I will be.”
She studies me for a long moment, then pats the mattress.
“What’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath.
“I don’t know if being with Alexander—for real—is a good idea.”
She doesn’t interrupt, gives me time.
“On New Year’s Eve, he told me about his relationship with Kristel. About their parallel lives, that empty comfort. And I realize he’s in denial. Three years isn’t nothing. You don’t share that much time with someone without it leaving marks.”
I sit up straighter.
“He minimizes it to protect himself. But he was going to ask her to marry him.”
“You think he hasn’t moved on?”
“I think he’s buried all of it very deep. And I’m afraid of the explosion when it comes back up.”
She considers this.
“And it affects your relationship?”
“Yes. Everything happened too fast. He came out of a painful breakup, and three weeks later, he’s with me.”
My voice trembles.
“I’m afraid of being a bandage. A way to numb himself, to fill the void. But when routine sets in, what will be left? Will he regret it? Will he wake up one morning realizing he never truly chose me—that he was just running from Kristel?”
Tears spill over. Emelyne wraps her arms around me.
“You might be overthinking things…”
“Or maybe I’m being clear-eyed. He’s trying—I see that. But I’m not sure he’s emotionally available. How could he be, when he hasn’t processed what came before?”
I wipe my eyes.
“And with the IPO, he’s going to disappear into work. There won’t be room for me anymore.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Take a step back. Focus on my degree. Give him space. And give myself some, too. To figure out whether what we’re living is real… or just an illusion.”
“You want to break up?”
“No. Slow things down.”
*
Saturday night, I finally find the courage to assess the damage.
I’ve been putting it off since yesterday, as if keeping my eyes closed might somehow change reality.
Of the seven finished canvases, none can be salvaged.
I stand there for a long time, looking at them one by one, desperately searching for something to save. But there’s nothing. The canvases are torn, irreparably lost.
Four months of work.
Four months of doubt, experimentation, sleepless nights, reduced to shreds.
Emelyne and Mara stay with me throughout the inspection. They don’t speak, out of respect.
My sketchbooks and watercolors, stored in my bedroom, were relatively spared. Of the eleven pieces that made up the beginning of my thesis, only four watercolors remain. It’s something, even if it’s not enough.
My chest tightens, but I refuse to linger on the destruction.
I carry the canvases down to the street and place them on the trash bins, one by one. I don’t look back.
When I return to my bedroom, my phone vibrates.
Alexander is calling.
I let it ring.
I don’t have the strength to talk. Not tonight. And when I shut myself in my room, Emelyne and Mara respect my need for solitude without asking questions.
A little later, I hear Alexander’s voice in the living room. He’s speaking quietly with the girls. Then nothing.
A notification appears on my screen.
Alexander: I wish I could have been with you, but I understand your need for solitude. Just know that I’m here.
A tear slips down my cheek as I grieve the loss of my work.