Staring into emptiness, I try to gather my thoughts and this myriad of feelings I can't discern.

Reading the flurry of conflicting emotions that surge through me, Brian squeezes my hand, knowingly. I hold it back, the weight of our silence conveying what doesn't need to be verbalised: what almost happened would've been a mistake. It'd only push us apart all over again and neither of us wants that.

My mind is racing, torn between the command of reason and this relentless surge to let myself go and let him see I crave his touch like I never thought I would again. But then comes rationality, forcing you to hold back your truth. That high-powered, selfish beast that digs its claws into you, reminding you each time the clock ticks it's not safe to play with fire.

But what's worse? Not getting burnt at all cost? Or wondering what could have been, if only you'd taken the risk, allowed yourself to get out there in the open?

"What is it that's troubling you? Why don't you get it off your chest?" Brian's deep, soft voice draws me back from my thoughts.

I glance up. He's reading the note I left on the CD back then, congratulating him on his birthday, pleading for him to call me back.

"Oh Brian, look at you. You're probably the last guy on earth who would understand what I'm going through..."

"Why don't you try me?"

"Really? Can you tell me why all men think marriage is for suckers?" With a frustrated sigh, I adjust my head on his lap and wrap my arms around my middle.

A faint smile breaks across his face as he pulls a blanket throw off the back of the sofa and tucks it around my shoulders. "Let's cover up all this hotness, I don't want to look at it. I feel like a poor kid whose candy has been stolen."

Dummy! Before snuggling into the soft fabric, I give him a playful eye-roll.

"I am almost jealous of this damn thing."

"Don't be silly!"

We're forcing ourselves to act in a light-hearted manner, poking fun at the situation, but the underlying tension is palpable. The memories surfacing, the many recollections of our recent pasts but also of our own shared history, hold snippets of a time that stirs both of us up inside. I can see it in his eyes, as much as he can see it in mine.

Twirling a lock of my hair between his fingers, he stares down at me with a thoughtful look on his face.

"It's not all of us, Liv. I'm the only one who hasn't taken the plunge, everyone else has. And as far as I know, none of them had a gun pointed at their head."

"How come you don't want to meet someone who makes you feel she's the one? That your life would be so much better if she were part of it?"

"Because the idea of spending your life with the same person up until the day you kick the bucket is frightening as hell?" he dodges my question. "You're right, I'm not exactly a good example." Brian reaches for my hand and laces my fingers with his.

"But why? Why couldn't I make that prick commit? First, he had gotten out of a bad relationship, then it was bad timing, then he was not ready, not in the place right yet..."

"Does Mr Prick have a name?"

"You know, Filipe never actually proposed, that bastard. Eventually, I got fed up with all that bullshit-talk and told him I wouldn't date him for the seventh year. He always knew I'd want to start a family at some point, I wasn't going to waste my time anymore on a coward who was unwilling to commit. Either we moved in together or he could get himself a one-way ticket to Prickville."

"You cornered him?"

A heavy sigh escapes me before I can stop it. "I did. That dickhead had his back against the wall and finally agreed to it. "Okay then, we should settle on a date", he told me. Just like that. After an argument in the meds room. As romantic as a clyster shoved up your bum!" Another frustrated sigh. "That's really every girl's dream..."

His finger slides down to draw circles on my forehead, and then further to trace the corners of my mouth, to brush my lips gently.

A shiver races down my spine.

What are you doing? What do you want? Torture me?

I pretend he's not affecting me as much as he is. "Why? Why is it such a scary thing, to commit?"

"I don't know. What if I pick the wrong person? What if she changes into something I'll hate? What if she's not the one, but the one is still out there waiting for me? I truly don't know... it's complicated." His words are sincere, his expression tinged with frustration.

"So, you keep it simple? With what? One-night stands? With hook-up friends or something? What do you do the next morning? You slip away with as little fuss as possible?"

He doesn't answer my questions, which can only mean yes, surely.

I make myself look up at him. "But don't you get tired of it? Of no-strings-attached flings? Don't you get bored with all the useless small-talk, when you know beforehand you won't ever be with that person? I bet the sex isn't even great. It can't be: people have to know each other well, otherwise they screw that up too!"

He limits himself to a blank stare.

"But isn't it a meaningless experience? Sex without love?"

He tells some joke about it, but then silence fills the room. I look at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

Deep blue eyes are riveted on mine, as though trying to reach deep into me. Eventually, he draws his mouth into a sad smile and plants a kiss on my forehead. "I'm sorry it didn't work out. But it will, someday, with some other guy. With someone who actually deserves you."

The words are gentle, but there's a sorrowful, aching expression on his face he tries to disguise with a smile and the briefest of nods. It's startling how I can see the shadow of my own hurt reflected in his features.

Smiling back, I hold his hand against my face and rest my lips on his knuckles. It's a long kiss, an instinctive gesture I regret in the end since I shouldn't even be here.

In his house. In his arms.

The bare truth is we're nothing to each other anymore.

Right?

His searching gaze doesn't provide the answers I desire. Instead, he looks away and clears his throat, his hand slipping behind my neck, his fingers threading through my hair.

"So, you want a quality guy, right?" he asks in a half bantering, half serious manner.

"I'm not getting any younger here!" I snuggle into him and I let my body relax; tiredness is seeping through all my bones.

"Okay, let me tell you about guys who are only playing the field, the kind you don't want to waste your time with. The bastards you should keep at a safe distance. Want to listen to my crap?"

"If it's free."

"First rule of thumb: ditch weekenders. You immediately want to dump the guy who forgets about you during the week and only calls when he needs someone for his weekend chill-out programme. Got that?"

I hum in agreement. "Taking a mental note." I blink, failing miserably at suppressing a yawn. "Sorry..."

He rests a hand over my eyes, his touch gentle. "Close your eyes. Just listen."

I nod, feeling the tension subsiding, taking comfort in the movements of his hands, tangled in my hair, stroking it.

"Number two. You don't want to be around the scumbag who's only making plans with you for the next weekend, and not for the next year. Same thing if he doesn't hang out with you on a Sunday afternoon. You deserve more than a guy who just wants to meet up at a pub on a Friday evening and shag right after."

Although I am too tired to open my eyes, my lips curve into a sardonic little smile. "Who are you describing, Brian Anderson?"

He ignores me. He's probably aware I know more than he wishes I did.

"You want to spend your time with a guy who remembers all the things you told him about yourself. Those who just want to have fun, trust me on this, they'll have to think hard to remember your name."

Hmm, hmm. Noted.

His fingers rub my temples with soft, smooth strokes. I have the sensation I'm floating above myself.

"And you should stay away from the blithering idiot who doesn't call you his 'girlfriend' and wants to keep things casual. This is also the kind who'll never give you his Wi-Fi password."

I chuckle inwardly.

"A guy who really cares for you wants to know all about you, about your baggage. And he'll do his best to make you happy. He will call you, text you, he'll go after you. He'll find a way to let you know how important you are to him."

Right.

"And you don't want a know-it-all either, who's never vulnerable around you, who's not willing to show you his weaknesses and–"

My breathing slows to a gentle and deep pattern as his fingers slide along the edge of my jaw, tracing the contours of my face, his words now only a distant murmur.

Cradled in familiar arms, I feel swept back in time. I'm melting in the warmth of his touch, in the soft, soothing tone of his voice.

I'm drifting away...

I'm falling home.

To where the heart is. To the trusted chest you bury your head against, and the arms that hold you like they'll never let you go. The comforting place where you're happy and whole. Where you feel safe and summon the courage to face the challenges life throws your way. The dimension where your true feelings lie, where you're not afraid to speak about your dreams, tell your secrets or reveal your deepest, darkest desires.

Until the new day dawns, I'll be where I've always longed to be. Home.

*

Dim light peeks out between the blackout curtains and for a moment I'm confused, disoriented. As my mind clears and I look around, it takes me only seconds to realise where I am and recall last night's events, my senses immediately searching for Brian.

Everything is still. Silent, absolutely silent.

Crawling from the sofa in my wrinkled dress, I barely miss the swivel couch, nearly stumbling over it.

Lying on it, my clutch and the CD that caused my near-meltdown last night.

I check my phone, which reads 9:35 already. Then I hold the CD case, my nerves tingling as I read the note I left many years ago.

'Happy Birthday! And... Merry Christmas! I'm staying here for a couple more days. Call me. Liv xoxo'

A sharp inhale and I thrust it back onto the shelf.

Wandering into the hallway, I peek inside a few half-opened doors until I find his room. Tiptoeing through the dusky stillness without making a noise, my eyes adjust to the darkness.

I sit by his side for a moment. Stretched out, he's plunged into a deep sleep, breathing so evenly.

My gaze trails over his broad shoulders, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath. Studying his face, my mind tries to sort out this chaos inside, to make sense of the feelings coursing through me right now.

It's unsettling beyond words.

His clothes are scattered on the ottoman bench at the foot of the bed, only his shirt lying on the ground. I pick it up. It still smells like him, the fresh notes of his cologne invading my senses and taking me back to the moment he pulled me closer and kissed me.

I touch my lips, still feeling his kiss there.

Stop it, Olivia!

See it for what is, not what you want it to be, the little voice in my head screams, demanding I vow not to spend another sleepless night thinking about a man who's not ready to give himself entirely.

To say Brian once meant the world to me is an understatement; every piece of my heart belonged to this man and the awareness things ended the way they did, still hurts inside.

But, as hard as it is, I cannot allow myself to cling to an illusion of something that's not real. I can no longer hold on to the thought of him. He's no longer mine and the past cannot be remade.

With my heart whispering me not to, I stride back to the hallway with my arms around myself, to gain some measure of control over the dull ache growing inside.

I close the door behind me, carefully. It's the hardest thing to do, but it's time to let him go now...