Second Chances [On Hold]

Chapter 17

Tears. He was crying—legitimately crying. I’d known him for years and he rarely cries! Not even when his parents were fighting. Not even when he fell off the monkeybars and broke his knee when he was seven years old. The only time I ever saw him really crying—tears-streaming-down-his-cheeks-crying—was when his dog died when he was ten years old.

        He’d always held things in, no matter how much I told him to let things out. He’d said it was for the weak—since he was taught to never ever show weakness by crying. But I was slowly seeing another side of him—something I wasn’t used to in the past.

        When another tear rolled down his cheeks, my heart almost stopped. It was like I couldn’t breathe—couldn’t move. I literally sat there, and stare. Everything in my vision was gone. All that was left was Liam. But that quickly changed when he shifted his eyes away from me, completely ignoring me.

        Next thing I knew he was storming out of the diner with every pairs of eyes locked on him. Hearing the chattering amongst them, I knew they were just as confused as I was. Then again why wouldn’t you be? One minute, he was fine, and the next he completely blew up, throwing chairs left and right.

        I faced Wyatt, not knowing what to do. Should I even check on him? Let alone go near him?

        “You okay?” he asked startling me. I looked up slowly seeing the worry in his gray eyes.

        “I-I don’t know.” I didn’t know what to feel. Seeing him like—it was shocking. Sure, I had seen him on the verge of tears just earlier today, but he wasn’t full-out crying. He’d held them in—just like he always did. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

        “Why don’t you go and ask then?” he suggested, his voice soft.

        “Ask?”

        He nodded, as his face held a hint of a smile. “Yes. Ask. See what’s wrong.”

        “But—”

        “—Don’t worry,” he cut me off, grinning. “You’ll not going to blow up on him. You wouldn’t dare curse him out when he’s in that state.”

        I smiled, rolling my eyes. “You know me so well.”

        “Of course.” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “Now go and talk to him.”

        I nodded before I changed my mind, in search of a peculiar brunette. I didn’t have to look too hard before I found him sitting on the side of the street, next to some store. His head was hung low, as he kept his gaze locked on the dirty streets of New York City. He just sat there, quietly starting at the pavement. But as I got a closer look, I noticed he was mumbling incoherent words under his breath.

        Even when I was two feet away from him, he still didn’t look up. I sighed, not exactly knowing what to do—or what to say for that matter. I wanted to yell at him for stalking me, I wanted to tell him to leave me alone, but then I thought back to his tear-stained face and I couldn’t help but go quiet.

        It was then that I knew I still cared. Cared about him. No matter how much I wanted to erase those memories, I couldn’t. I practically spent my whole life with him, but, I also couldn’t erase the pain he’d put me through. The stress, the suffering, the depression.

        A part of me wanted to reach out and comfort him, but a bigger part of me wanted to smack him for doing what he’d done to me. For leaving me—for breaking my heart—and for coming back.