If I could change anything, I would make love to Sergey the night of the fight. He was in heat and tipsy off ketchup martinis. We were cruising down Hollywood Blvd at two in the morning in a baby blue 1970s mustang, top down, and smoke billowing into the air. I could hear the ocean crash, and a full moon rolled against the horizon. He turned to me at a stop light, gazing softly into my eyes, and said, "I've never loved anyone, like I love you" - we kissed passionately, I could taste salt and relish on his chapped lips. I noticed the light turn green out of the corner of my eye, his strong hand met my thigh and I heard him let out of soft moan, "Linkie..." - I jolted up and pushed him back. I thought this was another man, he'd already cheated twice and I told him it was over if he let it happen again. It broke into a huge argument on the beach. I told him never to call me again, and went home. He sent letters, emails, flowers, big macs, I ignored him. I only realized years later, what he meant when I read those words he wrote to me.