“Old flames die hard”

'~~~~|~~~~'

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"Hey, Killian, is it okay if I drive today?" I ask just as he opens the door for me. "I just wanna go for a little drive, you know, with going to the doctor and all? It's just taking a bit of a toll on me," I ask politely.

Killian removes his hat from his head, "Uh, I'm not sure, madam, Mr. Sievers isn't a fan of you driving his—"

I cut him off, "I won't be driving his car. You can drop me off by my parents, tell him I'll be there," I say. But could you first drive me home to change, it's been an exhausting morning." I sigh.

"I'm not sure..." He trails off worried.

"Please, Killian, I just wanna spend some time with my family," I plead as I play with my fingers.

Killian places his hat back onto his head, "I—I suppose, ma'am, once you're back soon enough before Sir becomes aware that I haven't been driving you around today," He blubbers.

I smile widely, "Thanks, Killian," With that, he opens the car door for me and we begin our journey to my parent's house.

'~~~~|~~~~'

"Momma, Dad?" I shout as soon as I enter the house, placing my bag on the table. I take the band from around my wrist and wrap it into my hair to form a ponytail.

My mother comes out of the kitchen in a flowy, white dress, "Demiah?" She looks to my empty hands, craning her neck to look behind me. "What are you doing here?"

I roll my eyes without her seeing as I walk into the kitchen, cutting myself a slice of pudding as I sit on a stool by the island, "Can't I visit unless I have money or a cheque for you?" I scowl.

She remains speechless just as my father comes into the room, "Demiah."

"Father," I murmur.

Our relationship was neutral.

"You're just in time, Esmé just left," Esmé was their cook. I made Titus hire her for them after my mother had started getting her treatment. She didn't have the same energy that she used to.

"No, thanks," I ate my last slice of pudding. "I just came to borrow the car," I spoke.

"That old piece of junk?" My mother gasped. "Why would you want to drive that junk when you have a limousine at your beck and call? Why would you want to drive at all?" She places her hands on her hip.

I ignore all of her questions, "Can I borrow it or not?" I take the kitchen towel and wipe of my hands.

"Absolutely not!" She rages.

"What your mother means is— it hasn't been driven in over 5 years, it's a miracle if it's still running right," My father clarifies as he places his hands on my mother's shoulders. "Why don't you go and lie down before you exhaust yourself?"

She nods to him after sending me a subtle glare, "Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"No, thanks," I repeat. I walk back to the living room and grab my bag from the table, "I'll just be going now."

I leave the house without waiting for a response— except I don't leave the property.

I head back to the garage, seeing my baby. It was an older car, one that many would not prefer as it wasn't the type of car that people would pay a huge amount for.

I still had some of the best memories in this car.

I put my bag strap through my neck and push one of my hands through it as well. Now that my bag was well situated right at my hip, I grab a crowbar from my father's tool kit, jamming it into the door and smiling upon the lock pulling up and unlocking.

As the car was old, it was possible to be hotwired easier. Pulling out the bottom compartment, I dabble with the equipment for a bit before finally grabbing the two wires and placing them together.

A spark ignites, causing me to hiss and withdraw my hands. I licked my fingers frantically and shook them off before trying again, finally hearing the engine revving.

The corner of my lips turns up.

'~~~~|~~~~'

I get out of the car, my eyes focused on the inside of the food parlor that Enrique and I always visited when we were together. Over the years I remember seeing it deteriorate by how the colours of the wall began to fade and peel. That along with the numerous amount of graffiti that were coated on them.

My palms began to get sweaty again as I walk toward the door, looking down at my dress again for some reason, as if to make sure that it looked well.

The bell jingles upon my arrival, but that doesn't cause Enrique Romano to look up from the papers that he held in his hand. He drank a mug of coffee in his left hand, and read a pile of papers in his right.

I have to lean against the door to balance myself as I watch him, both his hands slightly bent, but enough for his dress shirt to literally bulge against his skin, eating away at his flesh as if the seams of his clothing were about to tear apart.

What really had me patting my cheek lightly to cause the blood to move away from the area, was when I saw that he was wearing glasses.

As if that wasn't enough to cause heart palpitations, almost as if in slow motion, he takes them off and places the handle of his glasses between his lips in deep concentration as he leans back in his seat.

My head slowly tilts to the side as I unknowingly place the nail of my index finger between my teeth. He was moving like he knew he was being watched; as if he was in the middle of a photoshoot.

I only realized that I was staring at him too long, or that we were in a public place when I feel myself falling when the door that I was leaning on opens, and the lady quietly apologizes for my misfortune.

I compose myself as I forbid myself to look at how the cloth was wrapped safely around his chest and situated right under his neck. I wish he had just one button open, even two— yes two were good.

Would his chest be bare and smooth? Or would it be littered with specks of dark hair? Titus had chest hair, and it wasn't technically my cup of tea on him, but I was sure that I'd like anything that came with Enrique.

He finally sees me approaching with a smile I quickly planted on my face. He looks up and matches mine with his own, except his was just much more dazzling.

He quickly gathers the papers in his hands and places them back in his briefcase. He quickly stands from his seat and outstretches a hand to help me get situated.

Always a gentleman.

I take it gently, following as she guides me directly in front of him and ignoring how his hand feels on mine.

"Sorry about that," He murmurs as he situates himself back in front of me.

I place my purse on the desk, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear, "It's alright. I should be apologizing, looks like you've been here for a while— Am I late?" I ask worriedly as I dig through my purse for my phone to check the time.

He rests a palm on my hand to stop my scavenging, "You're not, Miah, I just got here early since I had some free time on my hands," He explains just as he pushes a hand back through his hair. This does little to help since that chunk of hair just falls directly over his eye again.

I try to pull away my hand discretely as I change the subject, "You wear glasses?"

He takes up the glasses that he placed gently on the table and inspects them, "What, these? I'm not getting any younger, the ole eyes don't work as they used to," My eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

The look on my face causes him to laugh as he places them in their casing, "No, no, these are just for reading, especially late at night," He clarifies.

"Ah," I smile as I look around, "What were you working on before I came in?" I gestured toward his closed briefcase.

"Oh, just a patient of mine," He looks towards the back of the room. "I hope you don't mind, I ordered for you already, your favorite from what I could remember," He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, "That hasn't changed, has it?"

It doesn't take long for me to figure out that he was referring to what I always ordered when we used to come here. It was a burger with chips and of course, their all-too-special strawberry cheesecake.

I blubber as I straighten my back, "Well um—" I release a short breath for a laugh, "I actually ate not too long ago." I lie. "Besides," I clear my throat. "I'm on a diet." I raise my chin in the air.

I've been on multiple diets throughout the years and none have seemed to work. Although currently, I was not on one, I felt the need to make Enrique see that I was trying to better myself— that I was trying to reverse my weight gain and become that of the girl he once knew.

I didn't understand why I needed to feel validated by him, and it didn't help that he was a doctor, which made me feel like he was judging me by how unhealthy and unfit I had become.

I have seen no disgust whenever he looked at me, but maybe that was because I didn't want to see any. Seeing his features twist in unappeal as he looks at me would literally break me— And I hated that he, or anyone, could make me feel that way. I hated it so much.

"Oh?" He rubbed the stubble on his chin. "That's a shame." His teeth bit down on the corner of his bottom lip just as the waitress came and placed the forbidden food down in front of me.

"Oh um— actually, I'll just have the grilled cheese," I smiled shortly at her.

She nodded her head in understanding and walked off with the food in her hand.

I hoped Enrique couldn't see my mouth watering. I finally looked back at him and saw that he was already looking at me— his thumb and forefinger squeezing his pink, lower lip.

"So the patient?" I brought up again as I took a sip of my water and looked away from him, hating how his eyes seemed to be following every move I took.

"Ah yes, she came in this morning with excessive burping," He speaks.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as an amused smile comes over my face, "Burping? Really? Which field are you in that deals with a person who can't stop burping?" I smile.

"General surgery, although I'm not quite sure it's surgical yet, we may have to discharge her down to the hospital's clinic instead," He explains.

Looking at him as he spoke so fluently about what he loved was truly inspiring. I couldn't believe that Enrique Romano had become a doctor, nevertheless a surgeon— better yet, the damn Chief Of Surgery.

He continues as if he was alone and he was thinking out loud, "She could have a Helicobacter pylori infection. That would explain the constant belching as well as the abdomen pain and nausea," He looked down at the table and taps his fingers along the surface in concentration.

He suddenly looks up at me.

"I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear about all of this," He apologizes as he focuses his attention back on me solely.

"No, no, actually I—" I smile. "I find it fascinating," I say softly. I bit the inside of my cheek from saying any more. "But um—" I intervene. "A doctor, hm? When'd you make that decision? I thought you liked working with cars,"

He laughs a contagious laugh, tapping his knuckles against the surface, "Well— Just repairing cars didn't seem to get me very far, now did it?" His lips were turned up in the corner and his hand movement stopped as he stared me right into my eyes. I think his statement had a double meaning. "Really and truly, I still dabble with cars a bit in my free time, which is less than often."

"I'm sorry to hear, I know you really liked dealing with cars," I said softly.

He shrugs his shoulder dismissively, leaning closer toward me over the table, "So, Miah," He cracked his knuckles as he tilted his head to the side, his veins popping through his forearm and clearly visible since his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

"How have you been for the last 11 years? I mean— really doing?" The husk in his voice caused me to look away from his penetrating gaze. 

"I've been fine, doing well," His facial expressions don't change as he looks at me, "Really, Enrique, I'm fine." I genuinely wished that I had more to add than just a simple 'I'm fine', but over the last 11 years since we'd last seen each other, I had accomplished absolutely nothing. Nothing to add to my reassurance and nothing to even gloat about. 

I had never in my 30 years of living had a job and never done anything life changing for anyone. Standing next to anyone, I was not much, but standing next to Enrique Romano, an esteemed, seemingly powerful and almighty General Surgeon, I was absolutely nothing.

He was about to speak again, but a noise, similar to that of a beeper sounded, and he stopped immediately to look at at. His expression tightened and he sighed, "I am so sorry, I have to go, patient problem."

I waved him off, "Of course, I understand," I sent a genuine smile his way.

He didn't seem convinced, and seemed to be thinking to himself, "Hey, look, uh—" He quickly pulled out a replica of his business card that he had given me just earlier today, and scribbled down a phone number, "Just to keep in touch, reschedule?" He asked.

I took it but didn't reply to it, "You should probably— get going."

A small noise left the back of his throat, "Yeah, I should."

With that, he left.

'~~~~|~~~~'

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