Chapter 106.2

Chapter 106.2

André had always despised people who relied on alcohol or drugs to deal with their problems, calling them weak and pathetic losers. Tonight, it was his turn to be one of them.

The dark caramel liquid, the same color as Miran’s eyes, burned down his throat as it went in.

—

When he came to, he was already walking the streets of Manhattan at night.

He couldn’t remember when he’d left the Lafayette Residence. Maybe it was because the air had felt too heavy, like he couldn’t breathe.

He drew in a deep breath, his chest rising sharply, then swallowed a silent groan as pain shot through his ribs and pressed on his heart.

His tie hung half-loosened, one end thrown over his shoulder. The front of his shirt was partly open, a few buttons dangling as if they’d been torn off. One finally popped free, rolled across the pavement, and disappeared.

He had nowhere to go, but his legs wouldn’t stop moving. His unsteady steps carried him past the Lafayette Hotel on the south side of Central Park.

He brushed away the hands of peep show barkers loitering under the neon glare of Times Square, where porn theaters stayed open late into the night.

The darkness swallowed his disheveled figure. Every time he blinked through the haze clouding his vision, the streetlights and car headlights shimmered and bled white.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking.

A soft breeze brushed the hair that had fallen over his forehead, the way Miran’s slender fingers used to.

He stopped. Thinking of her touch, the stone pressing on his chest seemed to lift for a second, then returned heavier, crushing him harder than before.

Without looking where he was going, he started walking again.

He passed through the wholesale alleys of Chelsea, turned near the Limelight Club, pressing a fist to his chest, and kept going until he came to a stop before a statue. He looked up at it with weary, aching eyes.

It was the statue of General Lafayette in Union Square, the one Miran had wanted to see. He had kept putting it off, saying he was too busy, and in the end, he never showed it to her.

Something rose up his throat, tightening it painfully as his Adam’s apple jerked. His bloodshot eyes stung.

Why had he always assumed she would be there beside him?

[Ha…]

A sigh escaped him.

Only after she left did he realize it.

How horribly foolish, how unbearably arrogant he had been.

His eyelids throbbed, his head felt like it would split open. His breathing turned shallow, cold sweat beaded on his skin, and his legs trembled. André crossed the street on unsteady feet as a car screeched and blared its horn.

With every step that carried him nowhere, his thoughts swirled in chaos.

He had thought it was just one reckless mistake, a brief escape from his life. But without even realizing it, he’d boarded a bus to Poitou to see her. Every principle he’d lived by had crumbled effortlessly the moment he stood before her.

The walk back to New York had felt like dragging lead weights, and afraid she might forget him, he sent her a photo.

He carried her picture close to his heart, taking it out several times a day. The moment he saw her with Nam Seunghyuk, his blood boiled in reverse. He wanted to remind himself every day that she belonged to him, from head to toe. Without her, he felt restless, but when she was near, everything felt right.

Was that strange, tingling feeling what people called love?

He’d had countless chances to realize his own heart, so what the hell had he been doing?

While Miran had given him her whole heart, he had deluded himself into thinking he was being generous, bestowing his affection upon her.

He’d taken the love she’d offered unconditionally and used it as a leash, asking her to become his mistress while claiming he had to marry another woman.

[…Pathetic bastard.]

He was the one who had fallen for her first.

The one who couldn’t breathe, who felt like dying without her.

Why hadn’t he realized that the warmth shining in her eyes had only ever been reflecting what was in his own?

André stopped in his tracks. A cold wave of fear twisted deep inside his chest.

Miran no longer had a reason to love him… That was why she had left. Time would pass, and she would meet someone else. Someday, those big, clear eyes of hers would hold another man’s love.

But he couldn’t. Without Miran, there was nothing.

It wasn’t Miran who had fallen desperately in love.

It was André de Lafayette himself.

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