Just the two of us
When we were children, we used to play often.
Étienne de Clairmont. My best friend. My everything.
He was the only one who used to play with me, the only one who didn't care who my father was. The only one who...
—Matteo, look!
It was a drawing of the two of us holding hands.
—It’s you and me.
Just the two of us.
Just him and me.
No one else around—and that was fine.
The two of us together.
I cared about him.
I cared about him as a friend, and I didn't want anything bad to happen to him.
We played a lot; it was fun. I didn't feel like I was being watched; I didn't feel like I had to prove anything to anyone.
It was just me playing with Étienne, and nothing more.
I remember when he told me he’d run into Edmund again.
Étienne was so happy that time; I remember the way those beautiful, heterochromatic eyes of his shone.
Even though we ended up fighting for a while, when we started talking again, I was happy to know our friendship hadn't been broken.
And when he told me he was dating Edmund, I was happy for him.
I didn't know Edmund that well, but he didn't seem like a bad person; he made Étienne happy, and that was a good thing.
When they got married, I was truly happy for him.
Truly...
Seeing him that day—seeing his eyes shine and that lovely smile of his—made me happy.
I knew he was happy and that he would be happy with Edmund, and that was fine.
I remember how sad and angry he got when he fought with Tomás; I remember how he used to tell me all his problems.
Then we stopped seeing each other for a while, until I ran into him again.
We talked that day, and he told me they’d been having marital problems lately.
Marital problems. Just that.
I didn't want to leave him alone.
He had stopped speaking to Tomás a long time ago, and Edmund was busy in England.
I didn't want to leave him alone; I didn't want him to feel abandoned.
He told me he still loved him—that he cared for him. I just wanted to be there for him.
I wanted to be with him, just as he had been with me in the past. But...
Things didn't turn out the way they should have.
Forgive me, Edmund.
Forgive me, Étienne.
I don't know how I could have done this.
