How could she just stand there, indifferent?
This was the only man she had ever loved, the man who, over and over, confessed his love for her. Words she once dreamed of hearing, now sweeping over her like a hurricane, overwhelming and all- consuming.
"Liz, please don't cry. Did I say something wrong again? Did I upset you?"
Lizetta's tears fell faster, scalding drops landing on the man's hands and cheeks. Remington gently wiped them away, his handsome face a mix of tenderness and panic.
But Lizetta pushed him away forcefully. She staggered backward, nearly falling. Remington turned pale with fright, jumping up to catch her, only to be pushed away again. His tall, lean figure stood there, hand outstretched, watching her cry, wanting to embrace her but too afraid to do so, his expression one of deep regret.
Lizetta choked out between sobs, glaring at him, "Don't touch me, you jerk!"
"Alright, alright, I won't come closer. I'm the jerk, the absolute worst, unforgivable. Please, just stop crying."
Remington was at his wit's end, clueless about how to comfort her. The more he tried, the more she seemed to cry, the more hurt she appeared.
Lizetta calmed down a bit, accusing him, "Why do you act so innocent? With your way with words, knowing exactly how to hit where it hurts, how could you possibly say the wrong thing? Remington, you're doing this on purpose! You choose now to say these things, just when I found out about my real family, when I'm at my most vulnerable and my defenses are down. You're trying to sway my heart! You call me sly, but you're the most cunning hunter of all! Your love is nothing but calculated moves. I don't want to hear it!"
With that, Lizetta turned and quickly entered the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She was afraid if she delayed any longer, she'd give in to her softer emotions and once again swallow his honeyed words laced with pain.
Lizetta didn't see the shocked and pained expression on Remington's face as she closed the door. His deep eyes reddened, losing their usual calm, filled with hurt. Gone was his usual self-assurance and strategic thinking. Those words had come naturally to him, a true reflection of his feelings. But in her eyes, his heartfelt words were nothing but calculated manipulation.
Remington's thin lips curved into a self-mocking smile as he approached the bathroom door, his voice strained. "Liz, if I made you sad again, I take back what I said. If you don't want to see me, I'll leave now. Don't stay in there too long, it's stuffy."
He waited silently for a moment, but there was no response from inside. He didn't know if she was still crying, suppressing the urge to break in, he sighed deeply and turned away.
Inside the bathroom, Lizetta pressed against the door, her eyes wet but unable to stop the silent tears. Tears, perhaps, were the best way to release emotions, like lancing a boil, painful but somehow relieving the bitterness in her heart.
It was then she heard it. A gentle, familiar piano melody floated into the room. Lizetta paused, surprised. She opened the door and stepped out.
Remington was gone from the room, but on the floor by the bathroom door, flower petals spelled out three words: I'm sorry.
The opening door caused a breeze, scattering the petals, blurring the message. The piano music came from her phone on the bedside table, its screen still lit. It was Lizetta's phone, but she hadn't recorded that piano piece. She recognized it immediately; it was Remington playing, with his unique touch. And the piece he played was "Winter Snow," her own composition posted on Twitter, inspired by their first meeting when she was eight.
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