“What I want?” He’s shouting back and I love that about him, even as I hate him for forcing my hand. I love that he’s not treating me like I’m fragile. But I am. Where he is concerned, I’m made of glass. He doesn’t know that, though. I have that going for me. “I want one word from you, one word that tells me I’m not crazy. That I’m not imagining what it feels like when we’re standing in the same room together. God, the thought of getting on a plane without you, babe… I can’t breathe for thinking about it.”

My whole body is shaking. No, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Right now, he might mean it, but it’s only a matter of time before he realizes I’m unfixable. I’m damaged goods. This is what’s best for both of us, he just can’t see it yet. I know what I have to do, but my heart wants to explode just contemplating it. Starting in my neck, I numb myself. I let it coat my insides and harden like a plaster cast. I watch his expression change as he watches me, like he sees it happening. He knows he’s lost. I want to fall into a heap on the floor in that moment.

“I don’t know what you thought this was, Shane.” Somehow, I look him right in the eye. “I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t have minded another week to have fun. But that’s all this ever was. Fun and temporary.”

“No. I don’t accept that.” His lips meet mine, driving them apart for his tongue. It’s an angry kiss, a wild one, but there’s so much more behind it, a tiny sound leaves my throat. My hands fly to his shoulders and cling before I fall at his feet. Finally, he pulls away, both of us breathing heavily. “Does that feel temporary to you?”

No. The exact opposite. It feels like forever. Digging deep, I find the nail in the coffin and pound it home. “It’s not enough for me. I don’t feel whatever it is you feel.”

He’s gone still. The fire he had behind his blue eyes when we walked into the room is gone. My numbness is starting to fade, and I’m seconds away from taking it all back. I’m incapable of seeing him look this helpless. Not Shane, the one who never gives me an inch, the one who carried me up the stairs over his shoulder mere minutes ago. Gathering my remaining resolve, I duck under his arm and walk toward the door. I need to get out of there. Need to get some air, or I’ll never leave. I’ll tell him anything he wants to hear and it will all be true.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble over my shoulder, wanting to sob when I see he still hasn’t moved. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll, um…see you later.”

That’s a lie. I’m not coming back until he’s gone.

…

I drift for hours around Dublin. In my haste to leave the Claymore, I’d left my messenger bag behind, along with my cell phone and wallet. Thankfully, I still had twenty-three Euro in my pocket leftover from that afternoon that lets me remain in an all-night coffeehouse for a bulk of the night, staring into nothingness. I wish like hell I had my camera, but it’s stowed firmly in my bag, like always. If I had it, maybe I could distract myself, get lost in the emotions of others instead of my own.

Around me, groups of students and people looking to sober up after a night of drinking, converse quietly. A few customers read quietly in the dark corners, absorbed by the words on the page. What has them out alone this time of night? Are they escaping from someone as well?

Several times, the memory of Shane’s broken expression comes back to me in such painful clarity, I’m forced into the bathroom where I cry silently in the stall, until someone comes in to use the toilet. They look at me curiously, but don’t say anything. I think it goes unspoken if you’re out alone at two in the morning, camped out in a bathroom stall, chances are you aren’t up for a chat. I lose track of the hours, until I wake to one of the baristas shaking my shoulder. When I leave the coffee shop, I have no other option but the closest park. Daylight is beginning to streak the sky, such a pretty blue that I resent it immediately. I want it to rain. I want it to flood the streets of Dublin and carry me away.

I watch two older men play chess for hours, half listening to their conversation, but mostly letting myself get lost in the static playing in my ears. Birds land on the bench beside me, at my feet, unafraid of me, probably assuming in their birdbrains that I’m a statue. It’s exactly how I feel. Like I’ve been filled with cement, head to toe. There’s nowhere for me to go hide and cry here, in the park, so every once in a while, I’m forced to wipe away tears as they leak out.

Finally, I get the nerve to ask someone what time it is. Ten thirty. Seriously? It feels like I left the Claymore in a daze a hundred years ago. It also feels like I’ve only been gone fifteen minutes. My brain is so fuzzy, it takes me another half hour to command myself to stand up from the bench and begin walking back toward the Claymore. Shane must be gone by now. Early in the morning, he’d said, a hundred years ago.

My plan is simple. Thinking straight for a long enough stretch to formulate it has been my biggest challenge, but now all I have to do is carry it out. I have to walk into the Claymore, grab my shit, and get to the airport. My flight back to Chicago isn’t until next week, but I will switch it. I will sit on a hard, plastic chair at the airport and wait in a standby line for as long as I need to. Just as long as I’m not in Dublin when he returns from the race. If I see him again, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to leave again. As it is, I’m walking through the door of the Claymore right now, selfishly hoping he’s standing behind the bar, strong and reassuring.

It’s Orla, though, and based on the sympathetic way she’s looking at me, I know he’s gone. Without stopping to acknowledge her, I walk through the pub, waves rushing in my ears. I let him go. There’s so much pain in my chest right now, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt this will stay with me forever. Far, far longer than Evan ever would. It’s not comparable.

Before I can enter the back hallway, Faith comes rushing out of the kitchen.

“There you are.” She’s wielding a spatula at me, but I don’t have the wherewithal to move. “Where have you been hiding, then?”

“I don’t know.” It hurts to talk.

“You don’t know?” With quick, jerky motions, she wipes her hands on her apron. “You have some bloody nerve, Willa. Running off like that. My brother has to race this afternoon and he spent the whole night looking for you. If you ask me, I think he was wasting his time.”

Her sharp words are actually welcome. I need someone to tell me I f**ked-up. That I am a f**kup. It will justify what I did to carve myself out of Shane’s life. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, Faith.”

That pisses her off. As her face grows bright red, I marvel over how much she’s changed since the day I arrived. Gone is the smiling innocent and in her place is a woman. I wonder how I missed that transition. “You know what, Willa? I was wrong about you. We all were. You walked in here full of so much confidence. I thought, God, I’d love to be her. For just one day.” She points the spatula at me. “Look at you, now. Slinking out of here with your tail between your legs. You’re a coward.”

Okay, now I’ve heard enough. It’s starting to break through my cement interior now. I just need to go through the motions and leave before I crack and crumble. Orla doesn’t come to my defense and I can practically feel her silent judgment from behind the bar. I start to leave the room, but Faith’s next words stop me.