I'm Sorry

She sat on the couch, her head leaning back comfortably as she inspected the ceiling quietly. Her thumbs twiddled in her lap, and she bit her lower lip anxiously.

He watched from his window next door, his heart aching with every passing moment. His fist clenched around the beer can, he took the last few sips before throwing it aside with the others by his bed. Pressing his hand against the window, he wished he could be there with her, maybe say- something. What? What could he say? He'd messed up. He'd messed everything up, and now all he could do was watch as she hurt by herself.

He hadn't meant to hurt her. He hadn't meant to get drunk that night, or talk to that girl. He certainly hadn't meant to kiss her, or touch her, or whisper sloppy nothings into her ear. And when Isabelle had walked in, shocked, he most definitely hadn't meant to laugh in her face.

He hadn't meant to do a lot of things. But, like usual, it was too late.

John had never been the best for her. He'd never been the type you see more than two times, he certainly wasn't the type you take home to your parents. He drank too much and smoked too often, spending his weekends partying and riding his motorcycle. John had made a point of putting a bright red danger sign on his head, and people stayed away.

Except for Isa. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rode his bike. She went to some parties with him, and made him stay home for others. She helped with the drinking, and the smoking, and she'd brought him home to her parents twice, for Thanksgiving and her birthday. She hadn't left, she'd stayed.

And most days, John could picture himself telling Isabelle he loved her. He could imagine vividly wrapping her in his arms, softly kissing her, and confidently telling her how much he loved her. John couldn't see his life without Isabelle.

But it didn't seem like he had a choice anymore. Watching Isabelle choke back tears in her home, John slammed his fist against the glass. He wanted her attention. He wanted her forgiveness. He wanted her. John was a poor excuse of a man and knew he was a huge fuck up who didn't deserve a first chance, let alone a second one.

But he needed one. He needed another chance with her, he needed her to look in his eyes again and kiss him again and nag him to wear a helmet again. He wouldn't be able to go on without it.

Turning back to his room, he grabbed another beer and headed out, immediately walking out the door and towards his motorcycle. He finished his beer quickly as he settled on his bike, throwing it into the yard before kick starting the motorcycle. He briefly wondered if he should drive intoxicated, but quickly decided he didn't care.

He drove and drove and drove, swerving in between cars and flying past lights, his thoughts on the brown eyes girl he'd hurt. He turned off the road when he saw flowers being sold out of a van. Buying some blue orchids, he lit a cigarette and mounted his bike once more, turning around towards her house.

He'd reached her house a little past midnight, but the lights were still on. Stopping in her driveway and letting the bike fall without a kickstand, he strode over to her door and knocked. He'd forgotten his key next door, and he didn't think she'd appreciate him barging in anyways.

The door opened, and she stood before him. Her eyes slightly puffy from crying and her hair falling out of its braid. Seeing John, she quickly wiped the dried make up from her face and sucked in a deep breath. She scowled, but it couldn't reach her sad eyes.

"What do you want John?" She asked. "I'm kind of tied up right now."

For a moment, John could really only stare at her. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Even when she was a wreck, she was glowing.

"I wanted to talk to you." John said slowly, stumbling over his words. Isabelle smelled the air faintly, her face morphing into disgust.

"Are you drunk?" She demanded. John took a moment to answer, but she'd beat him to it. "You're drunk, aren't you? I can't believe you." She shook her head, scoffing. "No. I'm not doing this, not tonight. Come back when you're sober, John."

She began to close the door, but quickly rammed his foot in the doorway, holding it open. He pressed himself against the mostly closed door and whimpered.

"Isabelle!" He cried. "No, please. Isa I need to talk to you. Please let me in. Please."

Isabelle hesitated, looking at the intoxicated boy at her door. After a moment, she slowly opened the door again and let John in. Once inside, John leaned against the closed door and looked at her cautiously. Her red lips trembled in a forced frown, and she turned her head away from John.

"Isa," John slurred, blinking. "I didn't- I didn't mean what happened the other night." Isabelle scoffed.

"Don't start John, I'm not listening to your shit."

"I'm not lying!" He insisted, "I promise. I'm telling the truth, I couldn't lie. Not to you."

Raising an eyebrow, Isabelle looked at John. He ducked his head sheepishly.

"At least, not tonight." He admitted. Looking up, he pleaded with the brunette. "Please, you have to believe me when I say it was all a mistake. I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing."

"Like right now?" She shot back, crossing her arms in front of her.

"No, I know what I'm doing right now."

"What are you doing right now, John?" She drew sarcastically. Taking a step towards her, he offered her the flowers.

"Right now," He said softly, "I'm standing in front of the most amazing girl I've ever met, asking -begging- for her forgiveness. I'm asking for her to look past just one more of my flaws -because there are many- and to take me back. Because I love her. And I'm-" He closed his eyes, trying not to stutter over his words. "I'm sorry."

Staring at the flowers extended towards her, Isabelle was silent. John swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart pounding as he waited for her to say something.

Finally, she dragged her eyes off the flowers and up to him, blinking away the tears. John instantly regretted everything -the flowers, his apology, coming here...

"Shit." He cursed, "I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry, I just- I'll leave."

She grabbed the wrist holding the flowers before he could turn, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She gently took the flowers from him, noticing that they were her favorites.

"You love me?" She asked, watching him cautiously. John nodded, smiling.

"More than anything. I love you so much Isa -and I am so sorry. More than sorry."

Suddenly, Isabelle's arms were around John's neck and she was pressing her lips to his passionately. She pulled away and pressed her forehead against his, staring into his eyes.

"I love you too. Oh, I love you too."

Smiling, John quickly pressed his lips to hers once more, steering them over to the living room. He threw them both onto the couch, knowing he'd squish the flowers but not caring one bit. As they fell towards the couch, John felt himself fall.

But instead of landing on the couch, John found himself feeling the cold wind on his face instead. Jumping, John realized he was still on his motorcycle, driving back to Isabelle's house, the flowers in his hand. Speeding up, he hurried on, wanting to get to her house as soon as possible.

Had it been a dream, he wondered? Had he imagined the whole thing? He'd wanted it so much, he could easily see why he'd slipped into a daydream. Idly he wondered if she'd say no. Everything could play out differently. She could not answer the door, or be asleep. She could not let him in. She could refuse to hear him out, or laugh in his face when he confessed he loved her, as he had when he'd walked in on him and the floozy blonde.

John clutched the bike handles, turning his knuckles white and closed his eyes, his heart breaking at the possibility. It had to work out, she had to forgive him. He simply could not go on if she didn't.

John hadn't noticed when he'd steered slightly off the right side of the road, and onto the left. He hadn't noticed until he could hear the car swiftly advancing towards him hunk urgently, snapping him out of it. Immediately he swerved out of the way, off the road. But he didn't stop. The bike kept driving, faster and faster as it sped slightly downhill, unable to slow down. The bike ran into a small, almost unnoticeable rock, stopping the bike but not John. He flew forward, not stopping until he simply crashed.

A few yards away, a bouquet of blue orchids lay, untouched.