i'm so lucky !

and now, with all the uncertainty of the change life had smacked her with in the past few months, the tiniest moments that brought her back felt like she was accessing a part of her someone had jailed up. giving it its hour of sunshine. "i'm sure if someone's not, we can crash a gas station. or maybe we give it a go — wonder if my physical therapist would go easier on me if i told him i dead lifted you without collapsing in the process."

Tristan had been at Fitness Factory long enough to really regret all the choices that got him there, but not long enough to actually leave. His hoodie was around his waist, his t-shirt sleeves were already dark with sweat, and he was staring at the dumbbells like they had done something bad to him. He rolled his shoulders once, then again, breathing out through his nose. "Alright," he mumbled to himself. "Just because you used to be good at sports doesn't mean your body remembers how."

A machine close by made a loud clank as he finished his reps. He grabbed his water bottle, took a big drink, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He noticed someone nearby, maybe waiting for the same machine, maybe just watching him struggle, and let out a little laugh. "Feel free to lie and say that looked easy," he said, kind of smiling, kind of dying. "Or tell me now if I'm doing something that's going to hurt my back tomorrow. I'm open to suggestions."

at least arm day didn't kill her the way everything else did. she could go through the motions, feel somewhat like normal. she was working through the last of her triceps circuit and moving towards the bicep curl when she found her path blocked by someone else pausing for a water break, the same guy she'd caught floating from machine to machine throughout the duration of her own workout. once she realized he was talking to her, she pulled one of her airpods out, offering the beginnings of a smile. "nah, didn't look like you're going to regret that in the morning," she said. "although the fact you're still working out in that hoodie makes me question your sanity — i'd sweat to my bitter end if i were you."

now it felt like someone had successfully decapitated her, her brain a figment of imagination and her heart aimlessly beating with no set rhythm and a cease in sight. it had been five years. five fucking years to chase ghosts and drown her sorrows in whatever river she could find, the stain of her ring finger's tattoo like a scar from a past life. a love that belonged to someone else, because if bellamy had been hers from the start, wouldn't she have come back by now?

at the time, last call had seemed a safe enough place to lick her wounds in private, trying to dull the entire afternoon's worth of physical therapy from her mind. it was closer to no man's land now, the cells of her body jerking frenetically as they ached to run on a knee that couldn't move without pain. bellamy — the name almost foreign on her lips, the cracking of an entire life locked away and spilling out everywhere with no chance of stifling the flow. christen's first immediate thought, and unfortunately so: there will never be anyone as beautiful as her.

the shock lingered on her face, words failing to string themselves together coherently. "i..." what was there to say? christen cleared her throat, suddenly strangled by the bombardment of thoughts and vision of bellamy ford in the flesh, right within her fingertips. "i could've sworn you were dead, the way you fell off the face of the earth. what are you..." she trailed off, shaking her head as some of the fragmented things exploding in her mind found their way to her mouth, rolling off the tongue. splintered, shattered, shocked: the newest state of being for christen belmonte, much to her own chagrin. "i live here. windsor bay, not... not the bar. got here about a month ago. is this where you've been hiding out, all this time?"

i could've sworn you were dead. the redhead didn't flinch at the comment, but she couldn't stop the way the jaw clenched tight like it was the only thing keeping her from spewing a long line of shitty things that christen didn't deserve. she was right. it was bullshit, the way bellamy had broken off their engagement via text, the way she'd cleared out her apartment and left christen's things in a box.

what the woman didn't know was that bellamy had never stopped checking on her and yet, in all her late night instagram scrolls, she'd never read anything about the athlete moving to windsor bay. "hiding out?" it came out as a scoff, but she forced a smile to her face and shook her head slowly, buying herself as much time as she could to find the strength to speak again. "hometown, chris. i came back to my hometown." in a way, she'd been hiding, but she hardly considered returning to one's old way of life hiding.

she left the whiskey in her veins, felt it in the way she no longer felt stable on her own two feet. then again, maybe that was her ex's perfume filling her head, wrapping around her senses and making the room spin. "sorry to disappoint." the words were dry and she couldn't meet the woman's eyes when she said them. instead, she focused on the scuffed floor beneath and tried to settle the unsteady feeling of sickness that pooled deep in her belly.

there was something bitter lingering in the back of her teeth at the unintentional assumption, the idea that maybe christen should've looked harder for her then-fiancée. she'd entertained the idea for the first two weeks of reeling, grasping for whatever few threads left she could maybe yank on and send herself tumbling through the trap door, like a puzzle bellamy just wanted for her to solve. if bellamy had wanted to disappear, christen could've done that for her. she would've done anything for her, even give up the lone dream she'd nestled carefully in her hands and grown for thirty-odd years of her life. it all came out to a zero sum anyways, evidenced by her mere presence in this bar in this pocket of oregon and phantom aches in her knee. but christen hadn't. she'd been angry, paralyzed almost by the shock, only able to work through the pain and make sense of any of it with a ball at her feet.

sometimes, she longed for the lag of her old phone, weighted down by the ever growing message in bellamy's text thread that had tugged her along for years as a glaring reminder of her cowardice. never brave enough to hit send. then again, the way bellamy had vanished sent the message loud and clear, and she didn't know how to exist at a height smaller than the one she'd been cut down to.

and yet, she was barely a handful of centimeters upright, the alcohol coursing through her veins and making the tips of her fingers tingle. was this dissociation? an adrenaline rush? full-blown shock? she'd sleep for hours or stay up until the sun tonight. christen had to rein in her tongue, afraid of what could possibly fall out and dredge up rubble she'd long since learned to navigate. if it caught wind and landed elsewhere, she'd have to relearn the path all over again. she just watched, the way bellamy — larger than life, the endearing and teasing 'bella' she used to sing in the crook of the other woman's neck whenever her force of gravity brought christen in closer, to the very place she'd wanted to spend the rest of her natural life — seemed to fold in on herself, eyes cast elsewhere. "it's not... you're..." the words soured as her lungs deflated in an exhale. "sorry. i'm just... working on trying to believe you're actually here in front of me and not some drunken hallucination of mine."

christen grabbed her drink, taking a long drag and almost draining the remnants in one go. as it scorched fire, she almost missed the way the words tumbled out, rogue in their escape. "i missed you."

MONICA BARBARO via Instagram January 16, 2022