The Things You Will Regret - Marguerite Bysshe

It was cold. Not a biting cold, but a softer, more forgiving cold that signals the beginning of fall and the end of winter. The air was almost completely still. The rotting leaves on the trees shifted only slightly when the atmosphere exhaled every few minutes or so. The sun had long since dipped behind the horizon and we were left in an awkward purgatory, the time just after dusk but right before night. The street was dark and empty, illuminated by only a single street light, perched on the side of a dark brick building. I walked closer to the street while you hugged the wall. The narrow sidewalk forced us to take our strides in sync, shoulder to shoulder. A lone siren echoed throughout the city, sweeping over the low sitting buildings and seeping into the allies like spilled milk finding a crack in the table, ready to drip frantically to the floor.

My steps were soft, my worn out Nikes hugging the pavement with every step. Yours were louder. Hard, new shoes strutting along with an uncanny sense of confidence and swagger. For a city, Paris certainly was peaceful at night. It was so quiet you could hear our breathing, almost silent as oxygen flowed in, but released in a little puff and sometimes a blunt cough. Your hand kept brushing mine and our rings would clatter together awkwardly, but neither of us took a step away or made an effort to prevent it.

The sidewalk curved and narrowed, stretching around the building and continuing onto a wider street. A fast-moving taxi brushed passed me and you grabbed my opposite shoulder protectively, pulling me in under your arm and compromising our synced up steps. My heart skipped and my muscles tensed, wary of any physical contact or signs of admiration. The vehicle passed but your arm stayed. I relaxed and the warmth of your body overtook me. Your fingertips stayed rooted to my shoulder and I could feel how cold they were through the holes in my sweater. I dropped my head and watched my feet as a small smile broke out across my face. I wasn't sure if I was embarrassed for my reaction or just genuinely happy. Either way, I was thankful for the dark street covering up my blush.

We walked along like this for what seems like hours, my body pressed up against your stiff t-shirt, our jeans brushing against each other occasionally. In reality, it was more like a few blocks, before we arrived on another small, sloping road, dotted with parked motorbikes and compact cars. You pulled away to unlock the door and without my blanket of warmth and protection, I instinctively crossed my arms and shivered, glancing around the street nervously. I had no real reason to be anxious, but the slowly diminishing low hum of the city made me apprehensive.

I followed you inside and you disappeared into the darkness, the door slamming behind me. I jumped and panic arose from my stomach. My fingers suddenly felt cold and stiff and my eyes were wide and frantic, searching for your familiar silhouette. My throat tightened and my heart beat sped up.

"Hello?"
"I'm right here, relax."

Inhale. Exhale. A soft, gentle hand on my waist. Breathe.

You flicked on your phone flashlight to guide you up the stairs. I followed with caution, flicking my eyes up and down from the stairs in front of me to the pack of cigarettes bouncing up and down in your back pocket as you climbed. The staircase spiraled and got more uneven the farther we went up. At the top, you fumbled with the keys and cursed under your breath. I watched and waited and let my eyes gloss over for a moment.

Your apartment felt small, and I liked it that way. I immediately noticed the sketches skewed across the floor, pens and markers laying miscellaneously around on your desk and bed. A single lamp irradiated the space. The window was opposite the door and propped open by a stack of books. The traffic noise floated inside, carried by the soft breeze. I brushed art supplies off your bed cautiously and sat down with a sigh. I watched you take a seat on the wobbly stool next to the window and pull out a pack of Marlboros and a black lighter. Your long legs were entangled in the rungs, ankles crossed together around one of the legs.

Butterflies blossomed in my stomach. You leaned over the window sill to look out at the pedestrians below. I couldn’t help but admire the way the cigarette was perched in between your thin, pale lips, your cutting jawline and hollow cheekbones contrasting your baby-like chocolate eyes. Wide and kind, relaxed and unalert. When you turned towards me we made direct eye contact and a warm feeling flooded my heart.

A smile spread across my face. You took another drag before putting it out on the window frame and flick the glowing ember out the window. At that moment, my life felt full. You were still here with me, keeping me company in my favorite city in the world. A smile had snuck onto your lips and I could tell you were embarrassed I noticed. Later, I would resent myself for not telling you exactly what I felt at that moment. We would have been so perfect together and I really wanted to tell you that.

I never got the chance to. At that exact moment, I was blinded by a flash of light. A blinding beam that enveloped everything around me, all the drawings and walls and furniture. Your smile turned grim and the image of your fear-stricken face stayed burned into my brain. Everything around us seemed to collapse. I watched you fall in slow motion, my body frozen in shock. Longs limbs flailing, reaching towards me desperately, fingers stretched out trying to grab anything. Mouth open, an unheard scream forever trapped in your vocal chords. Glass, exploding, shattering, spraying across the collapsing floor.

Nothing compared to the noise. An aftershock of godly power, reverberating throughout my eardrums violently and physically shaking my body. It seemed to rise up all around me, wrapping itself around my head and my lungs and my heart. My brain desperately tried to reason what was happening in those few seconds, but everything seemed to be happening so fast. Quickly, yet in reduced speed, like someone had turned a fight scene in a movie on slow motion.

Falling. Darkness. Frantically grabbing anything and everything around me. Confusion and pain. My head rang and it felt like I had lost all senses. I screamed your name and could feel the harsh tugging on my vocal cords, but couldn't hear the sound I produced. I screamed it again and again as the building came crashing down around me. Bricks upon bricks tumbled down, carrying dust and filth and glass and sofas and beds with them. A symphony of chaos swirled around me and all I wanted was my second half, my protector, my breath of fresh air: you.

I cried. I cried as the dust settled and firefighters pulled me out of the rubble like a Raggedy Ann doll. My lungs screamed for air as I heaved and shook. I couldn’t get that cursed image of you, falling back onto the street below, surrounded by glass and brick, out of my head. I was taken to an ambulance and a nurse asked me something I could neither hear nor understand. Something French. I repeated your name, the feeling so familiar on my tongue, tears streaming steadily down my face. She just kept shaking her head, rubbing my shoulders, trying to calm me down. I was completely panicked, heartbroken over the idea that you might be gone.

And now look where we are. I’m here, standing facing a gravestone that was carved too early. Nothing can come close to the pain you’ve caused me. The heartbreak, the anger, the regret. So much regret. So many things we left unsaid because we feared the consequences and uncertainty of putting them out into the universe. Fear may be temporary, but regrets certainly last forever.