Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Novels & Stories

At least, Freya hadn't turned her back on him and that was the most important thing. However, he couldn't shake off the fact that he had already lost so much and was bound to lose more if he pushed further. His heart ached, and he felt a wave of despair wash over him as he thought of that. He poured another drink, the whiskey glugging into the glass. The sound echoed through the silence, a rhythm which matched his wandering thoughts. He leaned on the couch, his glassy eyes fixed on the whiskey bottle and empty glasses which littered the coffee table. He was lost in a sea of self-doubt and regret, the once-confident CEO now a shadow of his former self.

Regret letting him in. Regret letting him touch me. Regret letting him leave this piece of himself behind on my machine, in front of Cain, who stands there listening, silent and still, as Mark pleads for a second chance he’s never going to get. The message ends with a soft click, leaving behind a silence that roars in my ears.

Glancing at the 27 missed calls I had made on my phone screen, I suddenly realized that whether or not he came did not seem so important anymore. The glimmer of hope that the month-long silent treatment was about to end had long been worn away by these 27 phone calls. Even if Jules came right now, I had already given up on making up. I took a few deep breaths, composed myself, and opened my bag, ready to go in alone.

When the news announced that a hurricane was about to hit, Astor Ballroom was glittering with dazzling lights. It was my birthday party tonight. The Don, Kane Miller, sat at the head of the table, with Vera Hayes seated beside him. Yet I was seated at the Consiglieri’s table despite being Kane’s fiancée and the person this party centered upon. Every guest noticed, yet not a single person thought there was anything wrong with it. A low rumble of thunder suddenly rolled across the sky, followed by a torrential downpour. Kane glanced up at me. “I’m going to check the storm preparations at the docks. I’ll be back to pick you up.” Then he handed his car keys to a subordinate and instructed h

What was wrong with me? Why did his words still reach places I swore were dead? Did I care that he regretted it? Did I want him to? I had come too far. I couldn’t back out now. Not even while he knelt there, broken. Not even when part of me wanted to kneel with him to get him back on his feet. “You’ve not regretted it enough.” I replied, my voice barely cold. “It’s until you beg for life to take you back to where it was given to you.”

He looked at me like he was searching for something-a crack, a weakness, a reason to believe I didn’t mean it. “I regret every moment with you,” I said. My voice was calm, but every word cut deep. “Every single one. I regret trying. I regret loving you. I regret begging. I regret offering you everything and getting nothing back. I regret wasting three years of my life on someone who never saw me as anything more than a business transaction.” My voice didn’t shake. “I regret all of it, you asshole.” Damon’s face changed. His mouth twitched, his eyes flickered. For a second, I thought I saw pain — real pain — but it didn’t matter anymore.

“You think you know what you want, Bryan, but you’ll regret ever saying this to me.” I stood, my chest rising and falling like I had been holding my breath for years and only now dared to exhale. I turned my back on her, my voice steady but ragged at the edges. “The only thing I regret is not seeing you for what you are sooner.” I couldn’t look at her anymore. Not when grief was still clawing through me, not when the memory of my mother’s broken body was still carved into the back of my eyes. My chest was raw, my soul scraped bare, but through it all, cutting through the chaos I had a clarity.

I use that to propel me forward. Those voices of yours are drowned out by the loud thumps of my beating heart, the thumps that are my own cheerleading squad telling me just to try. Just. Try. Just Try. And I know myself now just as I am knowing more about you, is that what I don't want to feel, more than you in my head and my heart, is Regret. Fear, you come and go. But Regret, well, Regret stays forever. And Regret is the most unwelcome guest because, in most cases, I can prevent Regret from coming into my home.

I don’t know what will be the thing that kills me first— the exhaustion or the humiliation. “You’re going to regret this.” “Regret what?” He asks, and I don’t even have the strength to put the snap I want in my voice. I just breathe out the words and hope they connect. “You’ll regret taking me back. Make me sing. Fine, whatever. But I swear— I swear that the moment you slip, I’ll be there to shove my claws straight down your throat. Or into your eyes. Whatever does the most damage.’ “You’ll regret this moment when the next place you wake is hell.”

“Anthony, tomorrow is the wedding. If Amelia doesn’t show up, what then?” Anthony fell silent for a moment. Then he said firmly, “She will show up.” Vincent laughed, tears streaming down his face. “Fine. Let’s see what happens.” With that, he turned to leave. At the door, he paused and looked back. “Anthony, you will regret this. For the rest of your life.”