She left two and a half hours ago and nothing. Not a fucking word. What the hell did she expect me to do? Wait? I didn't have the luxury of time. She was leaving in just over a week and the time I had left with her was slipping away. Fast. Faster than I liked. Rather than pacing the suite playing over her words, I'd decided about an hour ago to leave the hotel. I'd been cooped up in that place far too long. I'd walked around until I found a quiet looking Italian restaurant that I could eat in alone and wait pathetically for her not to call me.

The quiet panic that had settled over me just before she left hadn't subsided. In fact, the opposite had happened. It had slowly built so that it was louder, and far more difficult to ignore. She said I'd always had her. Did that mean I didn't have her anymore? Was it past tense? I didn't have her right now that was for sure. I stare down at my blackberry again, my fingers itching to dial her number.

Then, as if by magic, it rings. It's not Charlie though. It's Elena. I'm tempted to ignore it again, but I'd done that twice already today and it wouldn't go down well. Plus it could be something urgent and she might need me.

"Elena," I say. "Sorry. I couldn't take the call earlier. I was tied up with something."

"No problem darling. Is everything Ok? I tried you at the apartment and the office earlier too. Andrea said you were staying in New York for the week?" She sounds confused.

"Everything's fine. And yes, I am staying for the week." Was I? Still? Did Charlie still want me here? I no longer knew the answer to any of those questions.

"Personal business she said." It's a question. A question I'm not entirely sure I want to answer. Charlie was personal. Elena was business, mainly.

"A friend needed my help." Is all I say.

"Ok." She sounds mildly offended by my short answer but I could care less at this moment. "Anything I can help with? You don't sound like yourself sweetheart. You know talking is always best..."

I take a deep breath and ponder her words. "You know what, you're right Elena," I gesture for the waiter and indicate for my check. "I have to go. We'll speak soon. I'll call you in a few days. Hope everything's well with you." I hang up probably a little too abruptly and fish some cash out of my wallet before the waiter even comes. I dial Gideon's number just as the waiter returns with the check.

"Missed me didn't you?" he says with a low laugh.

"Not even remotely."

"Well, if this is to tell me Walker came back begging for our money it's too late. I spent it."

"That would require common sense. Something I'm pretty certain he doesn't have."

"Told you he was a prick. Never understood what Charlie saw in him," he grumbles. "Speaking of which... thought you two would be making up for lost time? Give you a breather did she?"

"Actually, she left right after he did," I take a deep breath. I hated this. Hated asking for things from others. But this was important. This was her. "Gideon, I need your advice. You know her better than I do. What the hell do I do?"

I hear him take a long deep breath. "Where are you? Fancy a beer?"

***

Gideon's choice of place is trendy yet inviting. Deliberately made to look rustic and old, with darkly lit booths, soft lighting hanging above each table and old newspaper sheets as wallpaper which blast headlines about New York. It's busy, people crowded around the bar chatting loudly and animatedly, as they jostle each other out of the way to get served. As directed, I push my way to the back and find him sitting alone in one of the dark red leather booths with a beer in front of him as he scrolls on his cell.

He looks up as I approach and smiles. Literally as I slide into the booth next to him, the waitress appears and places a bottle of beer in front of me. It's Blue Moon. Charlie's favourite. Gideon flicks his eyes up to me and smiles.

"Nice touch," I say, lifting the bottle to inspect the familiar looking label.

"I thought so. Never liked the stuff myself but I know you did." He lifts his bottle of Budweiser to touch it to my bottle.

"Actually not so much. I just wanted to impress her." I smile. "Pathetic."

"Yeah well, Charlie sorta had that effect on you. People were always desperate to be everything they thought she wanted," he sips his beer, before motioning to a passing waitress from whom I order a glass of Barbera, which earns me an eye roll from Gideon. "She never much cared either way though," he says once we're alone again. "She knew what she wanted and it was normally what she didn't have." Gideon says. It isn't an insult because his tone is warm. It's just spoken like someone who tried and failed at being what she wanted.

"So what does she want Gideon?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Seriously, Christian?"

I sit back and look at the ceiling. "That was then. She wanted me then. Things change." I look back at him, but her words are still running through my head.

Well, that's because you had me... You always had me.

"Yeah, you're right, things do change," he nods. "But people don't. People rarely change Christian. You should know that."

I stare at him a long time, during which the barmaid brings my wine, smiling at us both before retreating. For some reason I decide first to take a sip of Charlie's favourite beer. Blue Moon also hadn't changed. Still sweet and fruity. Thick almost. It reminded me of her. Though it wasn't an enjoyable drink for me, I'd always appreciated it's unique taste and for years I couldn't even see the bottle without feeling a pang of something like loss.

"She's leaving for London in a week," I say as I slide the Blue Moon to the side and pull the wine closer.

"What do you mean?"

"She got a job offer; The Tate." I say glancing up at him.

"Fuck, really? That was her dream job," he nods looking impressed.

"Yeah. That guy from Harvard who used to follow her around. The English one. He flew over and convinced her to take it." My grip tightens around my glass.

"Ashton is still following her around? That little shit," He levels his stare at me. "Still, she'd stay if she had reason to I guess."

"She asked me not to ask her to stay, Gideon. Begged me not to actually."

Gideon smiles. Smirks rather.

"What?" I ask him.

"Do you actually know anything about women Christian? Anything at all?"

"I've never had any complaints," I tell him.

"Good for you," he retorts. "I mean emotionally. What they want. What they need. Out of the bedroom."

"Sorry, when did you become the expert exactly?" I deflect.

"Oh, I'm not. Not by a long shot. But I have a little experience. More than you clearly. But you are right about one thing; I do know Charlie better than you." He says sipping his beer.

"Well, if you could enlighten me that would be much appreciated," I grumble as I lift my glass to my mouth.

He sighs and slouches back in his chair. "Want to know about the day she told me she was in love with you?"

I shift awkwardly, suddenly unable to find a comfortable position. "I'm not sure. Do I?"

He smiles again. "She came back from Aspen that summer and ripped my heart out. I don't imagine it will be any worse for you to hear than it was for me."

I nod, guiltily. "Guess not. Go on then."

He smiles at me and nods once. "I'd missed her so much. I felt like some part of me was missing - a hand or something. I hadn't told her I loved her; I mean we'd never said it to each other. I was too young to be in love. But I knew something was happening because I didn't even look at another girl the whole time I'd been with her. Since I'd met her it never even occurred to me that I wanted anyone else. For me, that was something new," he scratches his head, runs a hand over his mouth. "Anyway, that's all I'd thought about that whole summer we were apart. I should have said it before she went. I should have told her I loved her before. I guess that night with all of us," he looks up at me, "was me trying to show her how I felt. Show her that I was a grown up, that I wanted whatever she wanted. I don't know. Anyway, I planned on telling her the second I saw her after school started again. They were going to be the first words out of my mouth. The idea of her meeting someone else she wanted more than me while she was away was torture," He looks down at his bottle, picking away at the label before looking up at me again. "Turns out she'd already met him."

"Gideon nothing ever happened with us until th —," I start but he holds his hand up.

"I know that," He says nodding. "I didn't then, but I do now. You were as clueless as me," he smiles woefully. "Anyway when I saw her that day after she got back, when I saw the look on her face, I knew that I'd never get to say it. I knew she was ending it. I knew she didn't feel the same."

"She said she was ending it because of me?" I ask quietly, my heart hammering in my chest now.

He shakes his head. "No. But when I asked her why, she said she was in love with someone else. That she had been for a while and that it was unfair to me. She didn't want to do it anymore. I asked her who it was but she wouldn't say. She said it didn't matter because he didn't feel the same. But I wouldn't let it go. I went on and on... Shouting, accusing her of fucking everything that moved on campus and off." He scrubs his hand over his face. "I'm not proud of some of the things I said to her that day," he shakes his head and looks down, regret and guilt flooding his face. "But she said she'd never been with anyone else while we were together. Not 'without my knowing and being present.' I think were her words. That's when it hit me. I swear it was like a fucking bell ringing or a door opening. Everything made sense; you two that night, you leaving, the way she always was with you." He sips his beer and nods as I look down away from his eyes again. "When I asked if it was you, she said yes. She was crying." He looks sad. The image of her in tears also pulls at something inside me.

"What do you mean the way she was with me?" Is what I ask him after a long moment. Gideon clearly saw something I had missed.

He stares at me a long time. "She was in awe of you." He says.

I frown. "What?"

"She used to look at you like she couldn't quite believe you were real. She looked at you like that because she was in love with you. Because that's how you look at people you're in love with. You can't believe something that perfect exists."

I swallow and try to let his words sink in. They're big and loud, and they echo somewhat incongruously around the inside of me. They don't belong there. I was as far from perfect as people got. He was mistaken. As though he senses the direction of my thoughts he chuckles. "Listen, I'm not saying I understand her opinion, I always thought you were a weird fucker - but Charlie always was a weird chick, what can I say?" his mouth is tilted up in amusement.

"Had no idea you were so... poetic." I mutter as I sip my fruity Barbera.

"I'm a man of many talents." He smirks. "Wanna know something else?"

I gesture for him to go ahead with my hand.

"She still looks at you like that. Nothing's changed. Because people don't change." He lifts his beer and tips it back into his mouth before signalling for another round. I gulp back the last of my wine before sliding the empty glass across the table.

"What's the moral of this story exactly? The ink's barely dry on her divorce papers Gideon. You didn't see her after. She was hurt, angry - probably at me. Probably because I waved in front of her face how much of a useless bastard he was whilst simultaneously failing at everything I tried to do to help her." I scrub my hand through my hair and over my face as the second round of drinks arrive.

"Bullshit," he waves his hand dismissively. "You did help her. The stills are gone aren't they? He signed the fucking papers didn't he? And she's away from the prick. You helped her."

"Again, you didn't see her when she left,"

He frowns. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Of course I did." I sigh.

"Then hear this." He leans toward me. "She's in love with you Christian. She always has been. 8 Fucking years, a smothering father, a prick of a husband, a cunt of a divorce, and whatever else has happened to her hasn't changed the fact that she's still in love with you. Because people don't change. Charlie hasn't changed. Neither have you."

"I have changed," I say, fixing him with a hard stare. "I'm not the same guy I was then, Gideon."

"Okay fine. Maybe in some things you have. But not fundamentally. Fundamentally you're the same person you were then, and you want the same things as you wanted then."

I narrow my gaze on him. "For someone who hasn't seen me in 8 years you sure as hell seem to presume to know a lot about who I am Cross."

He smiles and nods. "Yea, I do. And I'm right. Know why?"

"No, but I assume you're about to tell me?"

He smiles. "Because you look at her in exactly the same way as you did back then. The same way she looks at you. In awe."

I want to disagree with him but I find I can't. I was in awe of her. Back then I did look at her like I couldn't believe something so perfect could exist. I just didn't associate it with being in love. The last few days spent with her had been something close to perfect, but I still hadn't really contemplated that I might be in love with her. No, I didn't want her to leave. Yes, I wanted her with me and the idea of losing her was physically painful. But did all of that add up to love? Was that what all of this was? My chest feels oddly tight, and my stomach feels like it's alive with inhabitants of a winged nature.

"And when did you get so knowledgeable about all this exactly?" I ask as I twist my glass around and around thoughtfully.

"About 3 days ago." He smiles.

"You met someone?"

He takes his time before answering. "Not someone," He shakes his head. "The one."

I nod slowly. "So what would you do if this was her? If this was you and her?"

Gideon ponders the question a moment, his eyes and mouth serious and hard.

"I'd make sure she didn't get on that plane. If Charlie is the one for you then you need to make sure she knows that. You need to make sure she doesn't get on that fucking plane man. You'll regret it for the rest of your life." He bangs his hand lightly on the table to emphasise his point.

"So I should ask her not to go," I say with a nod. "Despite what I promised her, despite what she begged me?" I rub my hands over my mouth as I consider Gideon's words. Was there such a thing as the one? Was Charlie the one? I'd heard people talking about it, but it had never occurred to me that it would be something I'd ever get to experience.

"Damn right. But then if it was Eva I'd never have made that fucking promise in the first place," He looks at me like I'm the biggest fool he'd ever come across. Maybe I am.

"Gideon I don't know that I can give her what she wants. That I can be with her the way she wants me to, or needs me to."

He makes a frustrated noise and leans toward me. "You feel the same way as she does. That much is patently fucking obvious. So everything else is stuff you can work on. You both have baggage. Who doesn't? Go talk to her. Tell her what she means to you. You asked my advice. There it is. Go." He lifts his beer and drinks.

"What? tonight?" I ask incredulous. "Now?"

"Yeah, why not? She's had a few hours to cool down. Go to the fucking Bowery and lay it out for her. This is a conversation you guys should have had 8 years ago and you're actually telling me you're even contemplating letting her leave for another continent still not having it?"

Gideon tells me not to worry about leaving money for the wine, because apparently he never pays. When I ask him why he tells me because he owns the place. He offers to have Angus drop me off but I refuse, telling him I'll get a taxi instead. Less humiliating that way if Charlie kicks me out immediately. Though it occurs to me then that I haven't waved a taxi down in years. I soon find out its one of those things you never forget how to do when it screeches to a stop in front of me.

"The Bowery Hotel. It's in the east village." I instruct the driver, who nods and pulls out into the busy Manhattan traffic. It's almost 10pm but the city is still busy. New York indeed never slept. Yet, I was growing fond of it. I was happy to admit it. I'd felt it seeping into my blood since I got here, softening me towards its noisy brash ways. New York was Charlie. I could see her in the architecture, in the green of the park visible from the window of my hotel room, and in the stylish people wandering through the streets.

She was everywhere.

New York was her home and because of that I'd come to see it as part of her, even though she may not even be in it for much longer. Maybe if I bought a place it would be a way of pathetically hanging on to her? I could ask Gideon to find something suitable for me. I guess staying in contact with him wasn't the worst thing that could come out of all of this. Were these thoughts my way of admitting defeat? Wasn't I about to ask her not to go? Did it mean that deep down I believed she would go all the same?

I'm pulled from my thoughts when the cab pulls up in front of a low rise red brick building with a glass panelled front. In fact most of the buildings are low-rise around here. I pay the driver and step out onto the pavement, which is covered by a rug with the name of the hotel emblazoned across it. The hotel is definitely not what I expected. There are two doormen in long red coats and black top hats who smile politely at me as I approach, opening their doors simultaneously to let me in.

The inside is dark, dingy almost, with a sort of hippy feel to it. Wood paneling, vintage looking furniture and patterned carpets give it shabby yet chic feel. The reception desk is to my right as I come through the main entrance and is being manned by two women who smile professionally at me as I approach.

"Hi there," The brunette says smiling.

"Good evening. One of your guests is expecting me," I lie. "Mrs. Walker. Charlotte. Could you call her room and let her know Christian is here?"

"Sure we can," The receptionist nods and taps at her computer for a few moments before frowning.

"We... actually don't seem to have anyone under that name staying with us." She smiles again but looks a little embarrassed now.

"Really? This is the only Bowery Hotel in the village is that correct?" I ask, pulling out my blackberry.

"The one and only," She nods.

"Doesn't make sense," I mutter. As I scroll for Charlie's number in my cell phone it occurs to me. "Sorry, can you try Van der Straeten?" I ask, feeling stupid. Perhaps because this was a stupid idea. Why the fuck did I listen to Gideon? The brunette nods, and begins tapping away again.

"Christian?" a voice says to my right.

When I turn I see her staring at me from a few feet away. She looks surprised. She also looks utterly divine. She's wearing an oversized grey Harvard sweater with her hair piled high on her head and the thick black-rimmed glasses she used to wear when she was reading. Christ she looks so young, so vulnerable. She's holding a laptop tight to her chest as she frowns at me. "What are you doing here?" She asks.

I take a few steps toward her. "I came to talk. Just talk." To be precise, I came to ask you not to go. I came to beg you to stay with me. I don't say this. Not yet. Not in the lobby anyway.

She releases a breath and her body seems to relax. "I was just going back upstairs," She gestures with a slight tilt of her head for me to follow her, which I do, down a tiled corridor and around a corner to two dark brass elevators, which are already at ground level. I follow her inside and she hits the button for the fourth floor. As we begin to ascend I turn to look at her. She's resting her chin on her laptop as she stares straight ahead, looking pensive and thoughtful. She senses my gaze and turns to look at me, smiling a little.

"Have you eaten?" I ask.

"My appetite kind of deserted me tonight. I've had wine though," She nods.

I frown. "You're drinking wine on an empty stomach?"

"Yes, I am. And I plan on having a few more before going to bed." She fixes me with a defiant stare which does nothing to soften my frown.

A moment later the elevator pops open onto a dark carpeted hallway with the same dark wood panelled walls as downstairs, and again I follow her. Along to the very last door which she opens with a black and gold keycard.

Inside, the room isn't what I expected. It's just a little smaller than the bedroom of the suite at the four seasons. It's decorated in a similar style as the rest of the hotel, lots of dark wood, plants and patterned carpets. There's a small seating area in one corner, with more vintage looking furniture and a TV hanging on the wall. On the other side of the room there's a large dark wood four-poster bed, with patterned drapes. At the foot of it, somewhat incongruously, yet somehow utterly in keeping with the quirkiness of both the hotel and the room, is a large wrought iron bathtub. From its angle, it faces out onto a wooden terrace, accessed by glass panelled french doors. It makes it feel as though we're in a Thomas Hardy novel.

I can't help but imagine being in it with her, her resting between my legs with her head against my chest. My body roars with need.

Charlie dumps the laptop on the table by the bed, and slips out of her shoes before lifting the telephone to ask for another wine glass to be brought up with her room service order. When she finishes the call and turns to look at me she seems a little less annoyed by my presence. Well, that was an improvement.

"You shouldn't have come here." She says. Ok, perhaps I was wrong.

I sigh. "I had considered that." I keep my eyes on her as I take off my jacket. "But doing nothing was driving me insane Charlie. I'm not prepared to do nothing when it comes to you. Not again."

She softens a little, her body easing out of its tightly coiled stance into something more penetrable. "I called him. Earlier. After I left you."

My body tenses. "I thought you might." I drape my jacket on the chair closest to me, without taking my eyes off her.

"I offered him the money. Told him I'd sell the house in Martha's Vineyard, borrow it from my trust fund, borrow it from my father, whatever he wanted. I didn't want him to lose everything."

"I assume he refused." I hadn't known Matthew Walker long, but I knew he was a stupid prideful bastard. Taking a loan from his wife would probably be even harder for him to swallow than taking it from Gideon and I.

She smiles. "Of course he did. Would you like to know what his exact words were?"

"Would I?" I highly doubted I would.

"He said he was surprised to hear from me. Surprised that I'd managed to remove your cock from my mouth long enough to make the call." She smiles bitterly.

I feel my nostrils flare and my fists clench but the knock on the door prevents me from responding with exactly the words I want to. "That'll be the wine. Would you mind getting it? I want to change." She says, disappearing into the bathroom.

After tipping the room attendant and closing the door I place the bottle of Bordeaux on the small glass side table by the seating area and pour two glasses - a small one for Charlie since she hasn't eaten - and take a seat on the comfortable armchair near the fireplace, which is open but unlit and stacked with several small logs. I look back at the bathtub and decide it's a charming hotel. Chic and tasteful - I can see why she chose it.

"I hope you gave them a decent tip, I like it here," she says as she comes around from behind me. She lifts the larger glass of Bordeaux from the table and I have to stifle a frown. Her hair is down now, loose about her shoulders, but she's still wearing her glasses. She's changed into a green belted silk bathrobe, which stops midway down her thighs, showing off her long pale flawless legs.

"So you'll miss it when you move thousands of miles away then," I say.

"I will. Amongst other things," she says staring at me as she takes a deep drink of her wine. Placing it back down on the table, she crosses the room to the roll top bathtub. "Sorry, but you kinda cut into my plan to have a quiet evening with a bubble bath and a bottle of Bordeaux. Don't mind if I carry on do you?"

"Not at all," I say, already imagining her wet and naked.

"You can wash my hair if you like?" She smiles over her shoulder, before leaning across to turn on both taps on the bath. As she adjusts the faucets I admire the view. The green silk riding up the back of her pale legs, revealing the beginning of her magnificent ass. She was naked underneath, that much was clear. That much was making my cock throb with a need like it did when I hadn't had sex in days. Yet I'd had some this afternoon, a lot in fact. With her. She was addictive. She always had been. Another thing that hadn't changed.

Adjusting myself, I sit back in the sofa and sip at the delicious fruity red and instead try and convince myself that I can deal with not fucking her tonight. That I could leave this room after telling her how I feel, whatever it was, and if it made no difference then it made no difference. I'd deal with that too.

When she's satisfied with the flow and the temperature she comes and sits on the dark red sofa across from me in her usual seated position, her legs tucked up under her body. She reaches across and lifts her glass, bringing it to her lips as she regards me over the rim.

"I'm sorry about today," she says with a small nod, "about how I was with you, afterwards. None of it was your fault." She looks guilty. "I felt like being angry at someone. It was myself I was angry at, but I took it out on you. I apologise for that."

"Apology accepted," I say, smiling at her. She smiles back before dropping her eyes and running the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. "I'm sorry too." I tell her. "About how it went; about losing my temper like that."

She looks up, frowning slightly. "Apology not accepted. I like that you defended my honor. It was very noble of you. Completely fucked up that you were defending it from my husband but still. Chivalry at it's finest." She smiles.

"Are you mocking me?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Mocking you Christian Grey? Never. Absolutely not. I wouldn't dare." She smiles. Neither of us speaks for a few moments, the silence comfortable and soothing.

"Well you seem to be doing better than you were a few hours ago. I'm glad." I say as I sip my wine.

"Do I?" She looks surprised. "Well that's good. Appearances are everything. At least that's what my father would say," She holds her glass up as though in celebration before lowering it to her mouth again.

"And how is the good senator coping with the news?"

"Haven't broken it to him yet, he's in Washington, but he'll be devastated I'm sure. He loved Matthew like a... Well, nothing. He hated him." She shakes her head and runs her hands through her hair.

"Will you tell him all of it?" I raise my eyebrows.

She bites her lip. "Probably. Makes sense to. I've been coached on a lifetime of full disclosure. Don't want him getting any nasty surprises. Although telling him my husband, who he never liked, was blackmailing me over a threesome I had with my college boyfriend and his friend?? - not exactly filling me with enthusiasm." She shakes her head and sips from her glass. "Need to be extremely drunk for that one I should think. I'll do it over dinner. After he's eaten though." She laughs softly.

I'd only seen Charlie's father once in person. He'd made a highly publicised visit to campus during a campaign - a tall statesman like man with salt and pepper hair and an air of confidence that had impressed me at that age. I was impressionable back then. Handsome and affable, I'd always thought he'd make a decent president if he ever decided to run one day. And since he was a successful democrat with an unblemished political career it may well be a possibility. She'd introduced him to me briefly that day, and he'd been polite enough but didn't pay me much attention - no reason for him to I suppose. Her mother had died when she was very young and she had no siblings so he was all she had. And vice versa.

No, I wouldn't relish being in the room when Charlie brought him up to speed about the details surrounding her divorce. Though I'd be there if she asked me to be. Why the fuck would she ask you to be?

"He's running again?"

"Of course. It's his life. He doesn't have anything else."

"He has you,"

She gives me a heavy look. "Lucky him,"

"Don't do that Charlie." I warn. Anyone would be lucky to have her. I would be. I didn't deserve her.

She lowers her eyes, before running a hand through her hair again. "Why did you come here Christian?" She asks. "You wanted to talk?"

"I came to ask you not to go," I say. The words are out before I've even thought about their impact. What they meant. She lifts her eyes and stares at me hard, her expression utterly inscrutable.

"You promised you wouldn't ask me to stay." She says finally.

"Technically I didn't ask you to stay... I asked you not to go'." I smile.

Her mouth softens as she continues to stare at me, her soft dark waves framing her delicately beautiful face. Without a shadow of a doubt I am in awe of her. Gideon was right about that. I'm in awe of her strength, her intelligence, her bravery, her passion, her beauty. I always had been. Nothing had changed. Gideon was right about that too.

"You know what I keep thinking?" she asks, tearing me from my thoughts. "I keep thinking that if this had never happened then we'd have never seen each other again. If Matt hadn't sent those stupid packages then we would literally have gone our whole lives without laying eyes on each other again. Doesn't that seem strange to you?"

I swallow my wine and try and digest that.

"Strange isn't the word I'd use..." I mutter. In fact I'd use horrifying. Frightening. Unthinkable.

"Ok, maybe not strange but it's true isn't it. Doesn't that make you think that whatever this is, is simply the product of nostalgia and a few stolen days in New York?"

"No. I don't." I state firmly. She looks at me a long moment before speaking.

"Then what is it Christian?" she asks, pleads almost. "Tell me? Because I can't get my head around it."

"What does it feel like Charlie?"

She lets out a breath and stares at me a long time before dropping her eyes to look into her glass instead. "I meant what I said before," she says not looking up. "About understanding that life isn't a fairytale. About people not living happily ever after. I'm a realist, you know that, I know we can't have that. I think that's why I need to go." She lifts her head and meets my eyes. "That's why I should go."

I narrow my eyes. Is she saying she should go because of me? That she was running from me? From us? From any possibility of us? Because we couldn't have the fairytale?

"What if we could?" I state. Without taking my eyes from hers.

"Could what?" she looks confused.

"What if we could have the fairytale?" I say.