My dearest confidante,

I wasn’t sure how to end my last entry and less certain on how to begin this one. The events of last night are still playing, frame by frame, reel after reel in my mind. What have I gotten myself into? Who is this handsome stranger who showed up so surreptitiously at my door? Still, so many answers elude me. 

I spent the night at the shop and after our rather eventful ritual, Antonin decided to sit with me for a while. I’m not sure if he wanted to make sure I was okay or if he was waiting to see if his wretched mother would make another appearance. Perhaps it was both, but in our time together I began piecing together some of his so intricately woven puzzle. 

We sat together on the ottoman by the bed, careful not to touch. I listened as he slowly recalled how his mother's death was ruled a suicide, however, he never really believed that to be true. Said she enjoyed causing too much misery to end her life voluntarily. His words stung with poison laced with a begrudged sense of love and loyalty. Antonin spoke of her for well over an hour and I let him speak, but he was careful not to say too much. After what we had just experienced together, I was just as desperate to know any and everything, but there was something else. Something I didn’t dare lay my finger on. 

He finished his story with a defeated sigh, his head hung low, and his shoulders slumped. My heart broke at his resignation. “We will figure it out,” I offered gently before realizing what I had committed to. He looked at me, his amber eyes blazing, and offered a weak smile. “I can tell this takes a lot out of you. You really don’t have to do anything more.” That was it. There was my out. 

“I really don’t mind.” Well. Fuck. Part of me did mind. Part of me wanted to mind more. More of my own damn business. But I simply couldn’t let it go. Or him. 

——- 

I suppose I dozed off in the early hours of the morning and woke to find myself tucked into bed, clothing unmarred. So, he was at the very least a decent person, though I still knew very little of him. After a vigorous stretch to awaken my nervous system, I got up to brew a coffee before getting on with the day.

Just before I reached the stairs, I found a neatly folded piece of paper laid under a key. 

“Meet me inside the Windenburg library tonight just after close. -A” Below the quickly scrawled note was his phone number.

Windenburg was at least a two-hour drive from San Myshuno, but the traffic was usually light in the evenings. I wondered briefly about the significance of Windenburg before my phone rang. I looked down. Brady. 

“What do you want?” My words felt like ice passing over my lips. In that moment the anger from the day before came flooding back in torrents. Rage breaking like waves through my heart. “You didn’t come home.” It sounded more like an accusation than a statement. “Oh, and that worried you, did it? So worried you were that you had to go to the neighbor for comfort? And felt so goddamn comfortable that you kissed her? I was there. Just outside the door. I heard you.”

The laugh on the other end of the phone nearly sent me through the roof. “And what the fuck do you think you heard, Isadora? Sneaking around the door like a goddamn private investigator. You’re so delusional, it’s ridiculous.” In that moment, whatever commitment or loyalty I had to him was severed. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Brady. Take the two trash bags you walked in with and the third that is you and get the fuck out of my house.” His stunned silence was met with mocking laughter. “I may be delusional, baby, but you’re not. You heard me loud and fucking clear.” I hung up the phone and sat down to collect myself. 

______

555-170-1120…. The line was ringing. I don’t even know why I was calling him in this moment. Why the fuck would a stranger care that I just broke up with my boyfriend? I panicked and hung up. He wouldn’t care. Or at least he shouldn’t. 

I resigned to facing my now overbearingly empty apartment alone and stood to grab my things. My phone rang. Thinking it was Brady and without bothering to check, I answered, “I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT,” my voice somewhere between a scream and a sob. “Whoa, hey. Isadora, what’s wrong?” Immediate relief flooded my system and I let out the sob that had been trapped in my chest, threatening to suffocate me. I couldn’t answer immediately and soon became self-consciously aware of my own tears. This allowed me enough awareness to breathe. “I’m terribly sorry I yelled at you,” my voice was on the brink of breaking again, “but I thought you were someone else.” Even through the telephone, I could hear the realization click. “We can talk when I see you... if you’d like?” His tone was sincere and gentle, and he didn’t question me further. I was thankful for that. “Please.”