If Only

This story is by ScarlettBoleyn and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

You never forget your first love. That first time you truly connect with another.
You never forget that person, especially when it’s life that tears you apart. When you are both left wanting more, craving what’s just out of reach…
The passage of time preserves that love. It overlooks the dark side… any red flags fade into the shadows – until it’s too late. Until you realize you’re not playing with fire, you’re playing with dynamite.
And they never forget you.

—
If only I’d known his true identity… I wouldn’t have taken this case. The police assigned it to me for a standard psychological assessment. I recognised him as soon as I saw him.

I’d had to change my name, but what was his motive? Background checks only showed recent history, and why he’s here. Famous footballer on an assault charge.

And now my first love is pacing around my waiting room while butterflies with wings of barbed wire beat my stomach mercilessly, as I watch him on my CCTV.

If only I’d known that Mitchell Halston was Nicky. From my past.

He’s a professional football player now, as famous for his rogue behaviour as his athletic prowess. He’s wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeved white shirt, the sleeves rolled up exposing powerful forearms, the hint of a tattoo. The mandatory number of open buttons exposes just the right amount of his pecs to attract attention without being explicit. He’s cultivated the perfect amount of facial hair that millennial men made sexy.

Even on the CCTV, he still leaves me breathless.

I’m confident he won’t recognize me. I can barely recognize myself.
Witness protection changed me. A name change was just the beginning. The physical metamorphosis followed. And not only my hair, physique, and manner – also gone are my kaleidoscope eyes. My central heterochromia, which had defined me all of my life until that moment, was gone in an instant with green contact lenses.

Also, it’s 22 years almost to the day that I last lost myself in his eyes. A lifetime ago.

He’s also changed with the passing of the years. The boy I once adored is a ghost.
Until his stance suspends time – and he faces the window head on, fixated on something in the street below. His fists clench, his shoulders snap back. A chin-jut… his second biggest tell… a subtle detail that triggers an unwelcome train of thought, and a visceral reaction in my chest. My thoughts spin back 22 years to the night I pulled him out of that fight.

I was gazing at a star-filled sky, the ex-school captain’s arm around me. When I’d shivered, Nicky (alias Mitchell) had wrapped his leather jacket around my skinny frame, pulling the arms around me like a straightjacket. It was one of those sultry nights with only a breath of a breeze – we’d both known I wasn’t shivering from the cold.
As I looked into his eyes, I’d known my future lay within.
“My girl with the kaleidoscope eyes,” he’d called me. For once, I didn’t hate my eyes and how they branded me.

The night didn’t end well, though. I lied to protect him.

Then our story ended just weeks later when my life fragmented on my sixteenth birthday, and the authorities relocated me. It’s not protocol to leave a forwarding address when you’re in witness protection – and hiding from your father. The father that murdered your mother.

The police car, driven by Pete, had sped away, transporting me to my new life. Nicky was a lost, confused shrinking figure through the back window. A tormented silhouette in the shadows of our willow, the image was forever burnt into my retinas. The willow’s branches, that had provided the perfect hiding places for the notes we’d leave each other when it wasn’t safe to meet up, wept around him.
If only that day could be erased.

That was the last time I’d seen him, over two decades ago, in 2002.

And now, I see the same anger uncoiling underneath his cool exterior. He’s triggered by something out there and struggling to maintain control. I knew his tells back then. I still know them. He has serious anger issues. Always did. That’s why Pete (aka CI Peters now) has assigned him to me for a psychological assessment, although he’s unaware of our history. I never told Pete about Nicky, it wasn’t relevant.

When my clock ticks over to 2pm I’m dragged from the past.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly helps combat those butterflies that have taken up residence in my stomach since I saw Nicky – I mean Mitchell – in my waiting room.

As I open the door to my office, his eyes, so familiar and yet so strange, scan me.

No glint of recognition – good. I’ve played my chameleon card today, just in case. Messy fringe plus the contacts, and cat’s eye glasses – another layer of camouflage.

“Mr.Halston?” I make it sound questioning. “I’m Dr. Bentley, please come through.”

His anger is palpable – lips flat, a sheen of sweat makes his brow glisten. I can almost feel his heartbeat. Interesting to observe, but I need to bring him back. In the past I used to whisper his name… Nicky… and touch his hand… Now, I need to use less personal tactics.

“Mr. Halston, I understand that CI Peters has briefed you on the process; but if you have questions?”

Almost in slow motion, his head turns to me, his eyes, cold and flinty. Looking down he draws in a long slow breath.

Pointing to the left of the two sofas facing each other in my consulting area, I sit at the other.
Once seated, he regains composure. Looking directly at me, his face changes – almost imperceptible, but I spot it. His eyebrows furrow, then release – he leans forward, staring. A slow smile builds, reaching up to his eyes. Curiosity.

“Call me Mitch. Okay if I call you Michaela?”

I nod and smile. Most of my clients like to use Christian names. It gives them a sense of intimacy. Pete taught me that, years ago. It’s one of his tactics. With Pete, there’s always a hidden agenda. I’ve worked with him a long time and known him even longer. And Pete sent Mitch. God help Mitch. And God help me.

“Just so we’re on the same page, Mitch – CI Peters has requested we discuss the event on Elizabeth St last week, wherein you and Mr. Montgomery engaged in a scuffle resulting in his admission to hospital. I understand he’s pressing charges. Your solicitor advised that you’ll be defending this accusation from a self-defence position. Correct?”

He nods, leaning forward, his pupils massive. I’ve piqued his interest at some level… I need to shift focus.

“Perhaps we could start with some history. Tell me about yourself.”

I always like to establish a baseline and a snapshot of the client’s version of themselves. This is going to be good. I know everything about him till he was 21 – I’m wondering if he’ll reinvent himself.

He recites the story of his youth that’s known by the press. Mostly, it’s the one I’m familiar with. A good start. Although he doesn’t re-write history, he skims over the fighting I witnessed on several occasions back then, calling it usual boy stuff. And there’s no mention of the name change.

—–
Fast forward – five weeks later, I’m standing outside a two-way mirror at the station, watching Mitch being interrogated, a suspect in a murder case. Pete’s next to me, looking all of his 61 years, and some.

I’m invested, because Mitch and I reconnected. Some attraction is impossible to fight. But why’s Pete so invested?

Despite everything, Mitch is still in the dark about my true identity.

I always swore, if only I could have a second chance … I’d take it, no matter what. Red flags fade…
I could provide the alibi Mitch needs. I was with him that night.

At considerable cost though. It would put everything at risk. My identity. My career.

“Pete…”

Shaking his head, he walks away, phone pressed to his ear.

His footsteps fade into white noise when I see it – Nicky’s biggest tell… now Mitch’s… the twitch in his left eyebrow.

It triggers splintered images that crash through my mind. Of stirring in the night semi-conscious… alone in Mitch’s cold bed… searching for painkillers… finding the old photo…
Of us…
Mitch waking me with coffee. My mind foggy, seeing the twitch then.

The truth hits. My heart splits in two. He drugged me!

Pete’s footsteps grow louder.
“Forensics, confirming Mitch’s DNA matches… Hey, you okay?”

I nod, gasping.
If only I hadn’t witnessed that…

Pete leans back. I can’t miss the resemblance now they’re side by side.

Now I understand the big picture. My world just tilted on its axis.

“You were saying?” Pete asks hopefully.

“If only he had an alibi.”