“I know you probably don’t think highly of me.”
“I don’t even think of you at all,” I fire back. A lie, but it’s aimed to hurt. “What else do you think you know, Ruby?”
I’m being mean, I know I am. She deserves it and more.
But she doesn’t leave. She should.
She sits down instead. Stubborn as anything.
“Look,” she says, clasping her hands in front of her. “We need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“You can’t ignore me forever.”
Now I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. I shake my head, running my tongue over my teeth, looking away. I can’t even talk without blowing up. I motion for the bartender to bring me another tequila.
“That’s really something,” I manage to say. “I don’t even know the English way of saying it. You…you have the nerve to tell me that I can’t ignore you forever. Ruby…you left me. You fucking left me and never talked to me again. Okay? You did that. And now you’re here saying I can’t ignore you. Go fuck yourself.”
The bartender hands me the shot, looking between the two of us like he’s watching some soap opera. I glare at him until he turns back around.
I toss the shot back. It doesn’t even burn anymore.
“I know what happened and I know what I did,” she says, her voice flinty. “You don’t.”
I eye her. God damn her for being more beautiful than the last time I saw her.
I look away.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“I know you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I say quickly.
“I know you were mad. At least confused. Hurt, even. But I had no choice, Luciano.”
My eyes roll back to the ceiling. “You had no choice? Fuck off with that.”
“I almost didn’t come here tonight.”
I stare at her, my mouth agape. “And so why the fuck did you? I just had the best few days of my life and you decided it was a good time to come and piss all over it?”
She squints at me. “Marco wanted me to.”
“Jesus Cristo,” I say, making a fist. “I don’t even know where to begin with that.”
“If you’ll just talk to me, I’ll explain.”
“Are you dating him? For real?”
She stares at me for a moment, her eyes holding mine, but really, she’s searching for a lie.
“So, you’re dating him,” I go on. “I mean, he didn’t say anything when I saw him last week, but he’s like that with women, they come and they go.”
She ignores the dig, rubs her red lips together. “We really need to talk.”
“We are talking.”
“We’re sniping at each other.”
“Meu Deus, I wonder why?”
“You know, it’s been seven years. I honestly didn’t think when I came here tonight that you would be like this. I thought you’d be like the Luciano I knew.”
Oh fuck. That’s not fair.
“I guess this is what happens to a person when all their dreams come true,” she adds.
A sucker punch to my gut.
Then she walks away, disappearing around the corner like she never existed, like she was a ghost after all, returning for one last nightmare.
I’m left there with my empty shot glass.
The bartender pours me another drink.
“You need it,” he says, a sympathetic look on his face.
Down it goes.
* * *
The next morning, I wake up just after noon with an atrocious hangover. Probably the worst I’ve ever had. After Ruby left me at the bar, I drank more tequila until the bartender cut me off and Alejo ended up getting me. That boy may be a lot younger than me, but when it comes to taking care of his friends, he’s probably the first person you want to rely on.
I’m usually that person. I usually have a clear head. I usually do the right thing.
But last night, I don’t know what happened.
Though, that’s stupid. Of course I know what happened.
Ruby Turner flew back into my life on those wings of hers, no longer broken. Instead, they made me realize she’d broken my own wings and whatever bandage had been holding them together all these years was finally unravelling.
The thing is, it took me an awful long time to get over that woman.
I’d never fallen in love before I met her. I never knew what love could do to a person. Never knew just how much it could destroy you.
It’s hard to get up when you’re on your knees, but Ruby? Ruby razed me to the ground.
I fell in love with her, and she just ran away.
Like I didn’t matter, like I never did.
She left a fucking note on hotel stationary.
And I tried to get in contact with her. I wrote her emails, and I actually sent them this time. I texted her but never got a response. I tried to look at her Instagram but it was set to private, and she never touched her blog.
She had erased herself with the snap of her fingers.
Leaving me in the dust.
The years went on and I did what I could to put her in my past. I trained myself not to think about her. I dated different women, though it never got serious, never lasted more than a few weeks. I threw myself into the game so much that I practically willed that transfer to Real Madrid. I made it happen, just because I wanted to escape that badly.
Lisbon reminded me too much of her.
And now she’s here. In my fair city of Madrid.
Literally raining on my motherfucking parade.
My phone rings. I can hear it faintly through the pillow.
I lift it off my head and blindly reach over for it on my nightstand.
I know it’s Marco. He’s the only one who insists on talking on the phone.
I answer, mumbling.
“I didn’t understand a word you said,” Marco says to me, laughing. Damn him for sounding so cheery.
“I said, fuck off,” I mutter into the pillow.
“Ah, you’re hungover. I figured. Damn, Luciano I don’t think I have ever seen you that drunk. You were fucking loaded.”
“There was a lot to celebrate,” I say stiffly.
“You’re right about that,” he says.
