Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Over the next couple of weeks, I steer clear of town and most every room
in my house, taking to sleeping in my office in an attempt to avoid anything
that might remind me of Elena.
It’s like trying to live without the fucking sun.
The one time I do go to the Flaming Chariot, Blue approaches me at the
bar and practically kicks me out, citing that I’m harshing the vibe, and since
he’s tending for the summer tourist crowd, he’s more reliant on tips and can’t
afford me chasing away customers.
Normally, I’d probably fire him and tell him to get off the island, but
instead, I just leave, heading back to the Asphodel to drink my evening away.
When I arrive, I walk around back, not in the mood to see Marcelline just
yet, or to feel the weight of her judgment over the fact that I haven’t shaved
in days.
“You’re starting to look too much like your jungle rat friend,” she says,
referencing Jonas in disdain every chance she gets. “Lord, I hope that girl
comes back to you.”
Me too, Marcelline, but two weeks and no phone call? My odds aren’t
looking great.
I must’ve stood outside her grandmother’s penthouse for hours after the
recital that night, fist raised and poised to strike, ready to drag her back to
Aplana with me.
To Hell, where I wanted to keep her.
Still do, if I’m completely honest.
But every time I tried to knock, I remembered how little of her life has
been left up to choice. Since she was born, everything’s been decided for her,
and I played right into that same notion when I forced her to marry me.
Regardless of the feelings that developed after, I would never be able to
exist, in semi-decent conscience, thinking hers were born out of necessity. A
way for her to cope with the life thrust upon her, rather than the culmination
of fate.
So, I’m giving her time.
Space—to grow, forgive, reflect.
The beauty of opportunity.
After spending so much of my time obsessing over her, determined to
ruin her for any other man, and reveling in the warmth her existence
inherently gives, the distance is torture.
If she doesn’t show before our days are up, then I’ll go after her. Track