The Girl Who Knew No Love

Short Story by: Aneva Walker

ANASTASIA SAT UP AND LOOKED over at her love. Her heart swelled with the memory of what they had just shared. She smiled.

“That was amazing,” she whispered, gently touching the back of his hand.

He flinched. Pulled away as though her touch burned. His gaze—fixed on the wall, refusing to look at her.

“Julian?”

Dread coiled in her stomach as she reached for him again.

“Don’t.” The word was barely audible, but it resonated in her mind like a terrible gong.

Her heart squeezed, threatening to end its beating. Her hand flew to her chest, clawing at her naked flesh.

Her voice cracked as she spoke, “I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

Julian’s jaw locked as he forced himself to meet her hazel eyes. It was a mistake. The sight of her—raw and vulnerable—threatened to shatter every wall he’d built. He shouldn’t love her. Shouldn’t want her. Shouldn’t have touched her with hands that only knew how to destroy. He closed his eyes against the truth, then opened them.

“What we did tonight—” His voice roughened. “It was a mistake.”

No. No. Anastasia’s head shook violently. He couldn’t mean it. He had whispered love into her skin, had promised her his heart with every touch, and now—now he was taking it all back.

“A mistake?” She whispered.

She meant the question to sound flippant, unimpressed, but the broken rasp of her voice betrayed her.

She looked down at herself, clothed in only white linen sheets and sorrow. Had she just surrendered herself to a man who didn’t love her? A man with raven hair and dark deceit.

“You lied to me.” The accusation tumbled from her lips as her body shook.

Julian turned away, unable to watch what he was doing to her. The ghosts of his past clawed at him, whispering truths he couldn’t escape: he was poison. He would destroy her eventually. Better to break her now, clean and quick, than watch her wither slowly in his shadow.

“You need to leave.”

“Not before you tell me what I did wrong!” She yelled, sorrow and anger intermingling.

“Nothing! You did nothing!” Julian’s control shattered. “Don’t you understand, Ana? I don’t love you!” The lie ripped from his throat as he lurched off the bed, putting distance between them before he took it back.

Ice flooded the fractures in her heart as she stared at his silhouette—a stranger now, backlit by betrayal.

“You bastard—” The word choked off as a sob tore through her, violent and ugly, stripping away everything but raw grief.

Her limbs trembled as she scrambled for her clothes.

She dressed in a blur—buttons wrong, fabric twisted—unaware that he watched with eyes full of the love he’d just denied. She stumbled toward the door, drunk on grief. The night replayed in cruel fragments: his smile, his kiss, his lies. She turned one last time. His back was to her. His back would always be to her now. The door crashed open, and she ran. Escaped from the room, from the lie, from the girl she’d been moments ago. She ran until her lungs burned, until the world blurred, until oblivion took her.

*****

Julian stared at the empty doorway, at the space where she’d been, and felt something hot streak down his face. Tears. When had he started crying? His feet moved on their own, carrying him toward the door, toward the ghost of her. His foot caught on something soft. Blue silk pooled on the floor—Ana’s scarf. The one she’d worn in her hair. His hands shook as he lifted it, and his legs gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, the scarf clutched against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” The words broke. “I’m so sorry.”

He pressed the scarf to his face and inhaled her in—and the reality of what he had lost.

“Ana…”

But Anastasia was gone.

10 YEARS LATER

Julian climbed the hillside, each step heavier than the last, until he reached the top. The city sprawled below—alive and moving on without her. Without them. The loneliness was unchanging, a weight in his chest that had grown heavier with each passing year. He reached into his coat with reverent hands and withdrew the blue scarf—faded now, her scent long gone, but he brought it to his face anyway. Closed his eyes. Remembered. The pain was an old companion, but the regret was still fresh as the day she’d left.

“I’m so sorry, Ana.”

The breeze stirred, and he lifted his hands skyward, offering up the last piece of her he’d clung to. The wind accepted his surrender, plucking the silk from his fingers with gentle insistence. He watched it dance—twist and spiral and climb—carrying away what could have been.

“I loved you. I really did love you,” he whispered, but Anastasia was gone—gone forever.

Copyright 2015, Aneva Walker, All rights reserved