Chapter 10
1557words
"My mother is ill," Leo raised his head, his eyes red. "She needs to go to a sanatorium in Switzerland, for at least a year. I need to go with her."
"Then what about me..."
"You have your future, Jules," he interrupted me, his voice filled with resolution. "Hollywood is waiting for you, college is waiting for you. As for me, I need to take care of a mother who collapsed because of me, to face a family that went bankrupt because of me."
He stood up and kissed my forehead.
"Wait for me to come back."
---
That was a year ago.
During the first month after Leo left, I checked my phone every day, hoping for a message from him. In the second month, I started forcing myself to focus on college applications and internship interviews. By the third month, I deleted all our chat history, because every time I reread them was self-torture.
Now, a year has passed.
I work at a small special effects studio in Los Angeles, doing makeup for low-budget horror films and independent movies.
My life is quite decent, with a salary sufficient to pay for a bedroom in a shared apartment. My Instagram has reached thirty thousand followers, and occasionally brands approach me for promotions.
But every night, I still check my phone, waiting for that message that never comes.
---
I still remember that night, after he knelt before me saying "I have to go," we returned to his car.
He was silent for a long time, so long that I almost thought time had stopped. Then, he looked out the window, his gaze drifting far away, his voice as soft as a sigh, "I don't know, Jules, the return date is undetermined."
Those four words, "return date is undetermined," were like a sharp dagger, precisely piercing my heart. We had just found each other again, had just built a small shelter upon the ruins, and fate was about to cruelly tear us apart once more.
I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I held them back firmly. I couldn't cry; tears were the last thing needed right now.
Leo looked at me, his eyes filled with painful remorse and struggle. He reached out his hand, using his rough fingertips to gently wipe away that disobedient teardrop from the corner of my eye.
"I'm sorry," he said.
This apology broke my heart more than any explanation could. He wasn't apologizing for leaving, but for the fate he couldn't control, for the responsibilities he had to bear. He was a prisoner bound by his family's sins and duties, and I could only watch helplessly as he was taken away.
"It's not your fault," I shook my head, forcing myself to say these words, my voice trembling beyond recognition.
A long silence fell between us, the air so oppressive it was suffocating. On the night before his departure, Leo didn't choose to go home, but instead took me to the school's art studio.
That was where our story began, where he first truly "saw" me, and the only sanctuary we had.
The studio was empty, with only moonlight streaming through the tall windows, cutting the rows of easels and plaster statues into silhouettes of stark light and shadow. The familiar smell of turpentine and paint permeated the air—the scent of our world.
Neither of us spoke, we just stood in the center of the studio, looking at each other. The sadness of parting enveloped us like an invisible net, wrapping us tightly.
Then, Leo walked toward me, cupped my face in his hands, and looked at me with an almost desperate expression I had never seen before, as if trying to engrave my image deep into his soul.
"Jules," his voice was hoarse and low, "I love you."
These three words, he had never uttered even during our most intimate and passionate moments. Now, in this quiet night of farewell, they possessed a thunderous power, instantly shattering all my pretenses.
My tears finally broke through, sliding down along his fingers.
He didn't give me another chance to cry, but instead sealed all my unspoken sorrow with a passionate and deep kiss. This kiss was unlike any he had given me before.
There was no hesitation, no gentleness, only a primitive, desperate possessiveness, as if he wanted to devour me whole and knead me into his very bones and blood. His arms locked me tightly against him like iron bands, and we stumbled backward until my back hit an easel covered with a white cloth.
The canvas on the easel fell to the ground with a dull thud, but neither of us paid any attention. On this night of impending separation, the world had shrunk to just our breaths and heartbeats.
His kisses moved from my lips to my neck, then to my collarbone, each one burning with heat and a touch of savage force. It didn't feel like kissing—it felt more like his way of leaving an indelible mark on my body.
I tilted my head back, enduring the storm he brought, my hands clutching tightly at the shirt on his back, my nails almost digging into his flesh. We were like two dying beasts, licking each other's wounds in the most primitive way, and confirming each other's existence in the most frenzied manner.
That night, the studio was no longer a quiet sanctuary of art, but our final battlefield. We used our bodies as weapons, engaging in a futile yet tragic struggle against the impending separation.
There were no sweet words, no promises for the future, only deeper and deeper possession, one after another, and sighs and whimpers suppressed deep in our throats. We were both trying with all our might to carve deep enough marks in each other's lives, deep enough to resist the erosion of time and distance.
When the faint light of dawn filtered through the window, our frenzied passion finally subsided. We lay naked on the floor, surrounded by scattered art supplies and paint, like a colorful disaster scene.
I rested my head on his arm, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat, while inside me was an unprecedented desolation. Last night's passion brought me no comfort; instead, it made me more fearful of the impending separation.
He was going to a place unknown to me, to face his broken family and endless responsibilities, while I would be left in this world that had just shown me a glimmer of kindness, waiting alone for a return with no set date.
The next morning arrived, cold and cruel.
The train station was bustling with noise, with announcements constantly urging passengers to board. Each sound seemed to hasten our separation.
Leo was wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans, carrying a backpack, with no expression on his face, but his tightly pressed lips and slightly whitened knuckles betrayed his inner tension.
We stood at the entrance like this, facing each other in silence. All words seemed to have been exhausted during last night's crazy evening.
The whistle of the approaching train sounded, like a final judgment upon us.
"I have to go," Leo's voice was strained.
I nodded, my throat feeling blocked by something, unable to utter a single word. I could only look at him with all my might, wanting to memorize every detail of him in my heart.
He reached out and pulled me into his arms, embracing me tightly. That hug was brief, yet felt as long as a century.
"Jules," he said by my ear, his voice firm and clear, "wait for me to come back."
Not "I will come back," but "wait for me to come back." It was a command, a promise, and also a request.
I nodded hard, my tears no longer under control, pouring out violently.
He let me go, looked at me deeply one last time, then resolutely turned around and walked into the platform with the crowded flow of people. His figure was tall and lonely, each step seemed to tread on my heart, until he completely disappeared from my sight.
I stood there, letting tears blur my vision, the whole world becoming a shimmering pool of light. He left just like that, taking away everything I had just possessed.
I don't know how long I stood there, until the crowds at the station gradually dispersed, and I turned around numbly, like a puppet with all its strings cut off.
That's when I saw him.
Ryder Kang was standing behind a pillar not far away, wearing a worn leather jacket, hands in his pockets, silently watching my direction. His gaze was complex, with sympathy, concern, and something else I couldn't read.
He didn't walk over, nor did he speak, just standing far away, like a silent guardian, watching over me who had been abandoned by the whole world.
---
After that, Leo went to Switzerland to accompany his mother. We contacted each other a few times; his mother's condition was stable, but then the Vance family's bankruptcy liquidation began.
Lawyers, creditors, media circled around him like vultures.
His messages became fewer and fewer. First once a week, then once a month, until they completely disappeared.
I don't know if he forgot about me or was crushed by those endless responsibilities.
