281- The Weight of Goodbye

281- The Weight of Goodbye
POV Raica:

"I know, I got rebellious."
I inhale and exhale slowly. Something inside me says Nicholas left me.
"Not rebellious, irresponsible." Straight to the point — why drag it out? "It’s over, isn’t it?"
The call goes silent, as if he covered the phone to keep me from hearing any noise.
"Nicholas, talk to me."
"I need time." It’s almost a whisper, a plea. "You demanded a whole Nicholas, complete by your side. I’m going in search of that man, Raica, because he’s not who I can offer you right now. I’m still consumed by everything, I swear, I wish I wasn’t. All this time I spent in the hospital, I wished to wake up cured of this sickness that attacks my emotions. I wished more for you than for myself, or for Dominic. I wished to hold you in my arms, free from these shackles. But no matter how much I try to fool myself that the past is behind me, it’s a lie. I can feel it pulsing inside me, so..."
Damn these tears that make me weak.
"So..." I whimper.
"I need some time… alone, apart."
I press the phone to my chest, feeling the pain of his decision.
Then I bring it back to my ear.
"Don’t cry..." How can I hide my sadness? "Isn’t this what you wanted from me?"
"Yes, but…" tearful, I struggle to go on, "it hurts a little — a lot — and at the same time, I’m happy you have the courage to face it."
"It’s for you."
"Nick, do it for yourself. You deserve that."
Silence fills the call for a few minutes.

"This is a goodbye, isn’t it?"
"Maybe. Maybe it is."
"Okay, fine."
"Stay in the penthouse, please. Make whatever changes you want, paint the ceiling pink if you like. It’s yours, and Leda will love your company. Gael will keep being your bodyguard — don’t do anything foolish."
I laugh. Me, doing something foolish.
"Look who’s talking..."
"Bella, I’m serious! Things are still delicate. A car will be at your disposal, and I’ve already transferred a good amount into your account. I know you need money for the championship and that WUC is going to sponsor it, just as I know Isabella is behind that, so I’m not that mad. Use the money and invest in whatever you want."
He really does like control.
"I..."
"I won’t accept it back."
"I’m not stupid enough to give money back, Nicholas." He laughs.
"What’s a fortune to me is pocket change to you."
"You could feed a lot of people with that amount."
My God.
"How much are we talking about?"
"Check your account later." He takes a deep breath. The silence throbs through the line. "I have to go..."
"You’re not going to say where?"

"No."
"The cabin?"
"No."
"Alright, some time… maybe eternal, maybe infinite, maybe brief?"
"Maybe."
I breathe in his decision.
The tears streak silently down my face. My heart screams in my chest. My throat dries.
"I love you, Nick. Take my love with you, wherever you go." This time, I hope he’ll return the words, but he doesn’t. "I’m hanging up now, okay?"
"Raica..." A minute or two stretches the moment — the hope of hearing him say it.

Then, he hangs up.

I know he needs time. I admire his courage to confront the past. But still, it hurts knowing I’ll have to get used to his absence. It’s even more painful not to have his kiss every morning, his body, his scent. We’ve infiltrated each other’s lives so deeply that, in this moment — even as I feel excited about my personal goals — I feel empty without him. A tightness in my chest and the urge to cry at the uncertainty of ever having him again.

...

A few months later...

"What an amazing place, Blackie," Isabella says, spinning like a top in the middle of my apartment’s living room.

She comes closer, wraps her arms around my waist, and rests her chin on my shoulder. We share the view of the square in front of the building — children swinging, others with blankets spread over the neatly trimmed grass, families enjoying picnics.

Renan would have loved this place.

The thing I heard most on the day of my brother’s funeral was that pain would, over time, turn into longing. Well, I haven’t reached that stage yet, but I know I’m getting there. The memories usually hit hard in the silence of the night; tears wet my face, and my heart tightens in my chest. I think about everything we could have been living, how young and full of life he was. I think about the injustice, and everything becomes blurry. It might sound like an illusion, but often I feel a warmth touch my body, an inexplicable protection, as if it cradled my pain. I know it’s him, guarding me from above — and that makes me smile through the tears.

"It’s colorful, full of good energy… damn, I’m so proud of you."
"I like the neighborhood; it’s peaceful, welcoming."
"This place reminds me of my old neighborhood — and there," she points toward the corner, "looks just like Mr. Zé’s bakery."
"No, it’s a delicatessen."
"For me, it’ll always be Mr. Zé’s bakery." She smiles.

"Wine?" I pout dramatically, already missing this pale girl. "We only have today, so let’s drink."
She whines. "I can’t believe it — Monday I go back to academic life, and Dominic returns to his CEO duties at WUC. Adult life." She shrugs.

Isabella chose to study in California, to continue the course she had interrupted at UCT. Dominic bought a small mansion for his beloved family. I can’t measure how happy I am for my friend — she deserves every drop of this happiness.

The couple made me a tempting offer, I won’t deny it. My boss managed a transfer for me to WIS University in Berkeley, along with an internship at the WUC branch there. I could have started over in another country — a new life, new air. But I decided to buy an apartment in São Paulo. The life insurance money, plus the amount Nicholas deposited into my account, guaranteed me an excellent place for myself and my faithful sidekick, Julieta.

A little larger than my old apartment, this charming place has two bedrooms, a living room with an open kitchen, and a spacious balcony — my favorite spot. I grow many plants and often watch the sunset with a cup of herbal tea. I’m still dedicated to the sport I love; dancing salsa and competing keeps me alive and smiling — and I value that deeply. I’ll graduate from WIS here in Brazil, and who knows, maybe I’ll accept the couple’s invitation for a postgraduate course abroad. I know it would greatly enhance my résumé.

"If I make it to the championship finals, will you come?" I walk around the counter to grab the glasses.
"First, there’s no doubt you’ll be in the finals. Second, the Whitmore family has a jet that I hate — but I use it just to annoy my mother-in-law," she confides.

We laugh together, deliciously mischievous.