Josh - where the fuck is Josh? How could I run from him like that without giving him a minute to explain? If anyone deserved a minute, it was Josh, and I immediately assumed the worst when I saw those texts. If Josh never spoke to me again, it would be my own doing. He probably hated me for running like that, especially after what we shared.
I mean, we finally did it, finally plunged into taking the next step of moving our friendship into the future, and because of all my insecurities and the constant lies and deceit, I believed Josh was just like all the rest of them. And I was wrong. Josh had selflessly ended the Rossi and Voltaggio feud, as well as getting the hit called off Samuel, and he did it so I could be happy. He was never like my Dad or Clint or Samuel. He had always, and would always, be different to the rest of them. He is my Josh, or was my Josh. I didn’t know. All I could feel was terrified that I had lost him for good.
But I needed to try and focus. I needed to try and finish my last painting. This canvas collection was of particular importance to me because it no longer represented my future, but what I had stupidly ignored since I was thirteen. It now represented my sadness and regret. I sat in the middle of the surrounding walls and closed my eyes, listening to my heart thump as the decisions I had made, with all its truths and lies, had now resulted in me being alone. I was sitting, contemplating how to begin my final canvas. I had Lana Del Rey songs playing on repeat in the background as I tried to use my sorrow as inspiration, but this collection wasn’t about sorrow, it was about hopes and dreams. How could I possibly begin in this frame of mind? How could I express hopes and dreams if I gave up on them so easily?
The change in the music forced my eyes to open, and my head to spin around and behind me. A ballad was filling the room. It was a song I immediately recognized and I loved it. It was Ed Sherran’s, Give Me Love.. My eyes searched for movement, for something I had hoped would come and find me. I was clinging to hope, the same kind of hope I had put into this collection. It was all I had left.
And then I saw him.
Josh.
“Is this real? Are you really here?” I whispered, as I locked eyes on Josh who was walking towards me. Low-rise faded blue jeans, a dark-blue polo shirt, messy chestnut brown hair, stubble on his face, and that look he had always given me that told me I was the one. I couldn’t believe he was here. It was almost too much for me, and I stumbled as I got to my feet.
Josh hurried over and put his hands on my hips, so I could find my footing and stand up without trembling. His fingers felt electric as they gripped onto my skin. An overwhelming sense of calmness and relief filled me as I met his eyes again.
“Yes, I’m here, for you, and I thought I’d play something for us,” he said, moving my hair out of my face with one of his hands, while the other rested on my hip. I wanted to cry I was so happy. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to hold me. So many emotions flowed into me all at once. They were overwhelming, but they were real and genuine, and I wanted desperately to embrace them, but I couldn’t, for fear of the imminent rejection.
Josh had come here, even after I doubted him and pushed him away. He was here right now, in front of me and I couldn’t find my voice to express to him how happy I was to see him. I swallowed, feeling meek and vulnerable as his hands gripped into me tighter, pulling me closer to him. I instinctively closed my eyes and rested my hands on his shoulders, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. He didn’t.
“So you know everything then?” Josh asked. I held him, and let the weight of my body lean on him as if he was the only strength I had left.
I nodded against his shoulder as I searched for the right words. “Yes, I know Josh. I’m so sorry. I should