Four Week Fiance 2(19)

“Is that a good thing?” I asked him softly, hope starting to bubble inside of me.

“I’m still trying to decide.” He looked confused.

“Do you love me?” I asked, my throat immediately freezing as soon as the words were out. How could I have asked him that? I wanted to die as soon as I’d said the words.

“I’m trying not to. I’m really trying not to.” He looked so bleak and I wasn’t sure, but I reached over to him to bring him even closer to me, to comfort him, even though it was my heart that was breaking. All I could think inside was love me, love me, love me, please, love me.

“Don’t fall for me, Mila. Please don’t fall for me,” he said as he kissed my neck and held me close.

I already have. I closed my eyes and held him close, praying that more tears wouldn’t start to fall.





Chapter Seven

TJ


Twenty Years Ago



The whole room was dark as I crawled out of bed. I was thirsty and hungry and I rubbed my eyes as I made my way to my bedroom door. I saw my toy soldiers on the floor next to my bed and picked up two of them to take with me to the kitchen. I walked quietly to the door, as I knew my dad would be upset if he knew I was out of bed. I’d get in trouble and grounded and I wouldn’t be able to play video games, and that would suck.

My hand froze on the doorknob as I turned it and it squeaked. I paused and held my soldiers tightly as I peeked into the corridor. There was no noise and no doors were opening. I was safe.

I crept out of the room and walked softly, avoiding all the loose floorboards that I knew made noise. I made it to the top of the stairs when all of a sudden I heard a noise. I froze, my eyes widening, and I looked behind me to make sure my dad wasn’t coming out. No doors opened, but once again I heard the noise. I tilted my head to the side and listened again. It sounded like a sob. As if someone were crying.

I felt my lower lip wobbling and I wasn’t sure why. I started to head back to my bedroom but then stopped and walked towards the bedroom my mom slept in. My friends thought it was weird that my mom and dad slept in different rooms, but it was all I’d ever known.

I made my way to her bedroom and opened the door slowly. I stared into the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness and then I saw her, curled up on the bed, her face in her hands and she was sobbing, her hair a mess on her pillow. I stood there, watching her, my heart thudding, my stomach feeling empty and my face turning red with heat. Her sobs seemed to get louder and louder as I stood there and I felt both of my toy soldiers falling to the floor. I bit down on my lower lip, scared that my mom heard the noise, but she didn’t. If anything, her sobs got even louder. As her tears cascaded down her face I watched as her fists hit her pillow as if she were punching it. I didn’t really understand what was going on.

“Mommy?” I said softly, not sure what to do. I wanted to go over and hug her. I wanted to go over and ask her if everything was OK. I wanted her to hold me in her arms and kiss the top of my head like she did every morning before I went to school.

But my feet wouldn’t move. I leaned back into the doorway and started to suck my thumb. My dad would be pissed if he saw me sucking my thumb. He told me boys didn’t suck their thumb. I tried not to, but there were some times when I just couldn’t stop myself. This was one of those times. I wanted to be a big boy, I really did. I was eight, I should be able to stop, but sometimes I just couldn’t.

“Mom,” I said again, softly, wishing she would look up and see me, and stop crying, but she didn’t hear me or see me. Instead she just kept crying and crying.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” she cried out into her pillow and I started sucking on my thumb harder.

“Mom,” I whispered, feeling scared, my whole body feeling cold with uncertainty.

“I just want to die,” she cried out and I so badly wanted to go over to her and kiss her. I so badly wanted to go over to tell her I loved her. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. I stood there for about ten more minutes and then quietly picked up my toy soldiers, closed the door and made my way to my room and crawled back into my bed, closed my eyes and pretended to sleep until sleep finally took me.

When I woke up the next morning, my father told me that my mother had gone to Heaven earlier that morning. All I did was stare at him as my heart closed in and my stomach tightened. He didn’t reach out to hug me or ask me if I was okay and I didn’t reach out to him. Instead I just walked back to my room, got back into my bed, curled into a ball and sucked my thumb.

Present Day



Every morning, I would wake up and just lie there without opening my eyes. It used to be that I wanted to avoid the beginning of the new day for as long as possible. I’d lie there and imagine that I was somewhere else, anywhere else. Sometimes I’d picture I was on a deserted island somewhere, the sun on my face, the salty air caressing my cheeks as I tried to figure out how to climb the closest coconut tree and pick as many coconuts as I could. Other times, I would picture myself at Mila’s house with her family, playing board games or just sitting around the dinner table talking about our days.

I’d always found it funny that they’d always seemed so interested in hearing about my life, as if I were important or mattered to them. No one else had ever seemed to care. Certainly not my father. He cared about: my grades, my sportsmanship and what girls I dated. There was nothing else in my life that was important to him. I’d learned at an early age not to bother going to him when I was happy, excited or sad. He didn’t listen and he didn’t care. And I learned not to care. Not about anything. It wasn’t important. I wasn’t important. Though for some reason I was important to Mila and Cody, and their parents, and even Nonno looked at me like I mattered. It was a strange feeling, nice, but uncomfortable.

When I woke up in the mornings now, I still kept my eyes closed, but it wasn’t to think about other places I could be, it was to let my mind think about Mila completely unadulterated. I would picture her smile, the bright happy look in her eyes, the way she plays with her hair when she’s nervous. I would think about the way she smells, like roses on a dewy day, fresh, crisp, clean, fragrant. I would imagine her touching my arm or chest, imagine her holding me close, pressing her head against my chest and holding me tightly. I would see myself pulling her into my arms and kissing her forehead and then we would just be there, bound together by some emotion I didn’t want to acknowledge. And then as my anxiety crept in, and the doubts started to come, I would find my eyes opening slowly, ready to face the day, to forget the fantasy that I didn’t think I really wanted. And then I would focus on the task at hand and on why there will never be a moment like that in my daydreams again.

This morning, I awoke, but I didn’t just lie there. I didn’t focus on anything. My eyes flew open and I looked over to the right to look at Mila, to see that she was okay. It was weird having her share my bed now. It was weird that sometimes I woke up and thought of her and kissed her and caressed her in my mind, yet in person—in real life—I just lay there, not able to express the feelings within, in person.

“Morning,” I said softly when I saw her eyelashes fluttering as I faced her. I knew she was awake and was just trying to pretend she was sleeping. She didn’t answer me and I smiled to myself as I felt a surge of happiness trailing through my body for no real reason. It always surprised me how happy I felt just being in her company. Unfortunately, I also felt surges of anger and jealousy when around her. If she looked at another guy and smiled in her sweet, friendly way, it enraged me. Didn’t she realize that other men might read something into her smile? What annoyed me even more was wondering if she was interested in them as well? What really did she see in me? What did she want from me? Would she be happy to be with another man?

I knew these thoughts were irrational, but they always came and I absolutely hated them. I hated feeling like she was taking over my brain; making me think and feel things I didn’t want to feel. She opened up doubts, pains, hurts I didn’t want to think about. The happiness was a high, but the flipside of that, well, the flipside was dark.

“I said, good morning, Mila,” I said again and reached over to tickler her under the arm.

“No, you didn’t.” Her eyes popped open as her body reacted and she pushed my hand away. “You said ‘morning,’ not good morning.” She smiled at me sweetly as she yawned gently. I watched as she pushed her hair away from her face and wondered at how beautiful she was. How could her brown eyes do so much to me when she looked at me?

“So you were awake?” I grinned at her and leaned forward to give her a quick and soft kiss on the lips. Her eyes widened slightly and she just lay there and stared back at me as I moved back.

“I never said that.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes sparkling. “My subconscious must have heard.”

“Uh huh.” I nodded, rolling my eyes. “That must be it.”

“Yeah, it is.” She laughed and then reached over and touched my hair gingerly, running her fingers through my unkempt, short, dark locks before leaving my hair and touching my face. Her fingers ran along my jawline, touching my stubble, touching me lightly as they made their way to my chin. Her fingers were dainty, light as she touched me, and I felt my body freezing uncomfortably. Her touch was like magic, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the way she looked at me adoringly as she caressed my face. It made me feel . . . well, I can’t describe the emotion. It turned my stomach into knots and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I felt out of control.