sᴜɢᴀʀ sᴛᴏʀᴍ | ✓

36

There was no name for what Primo was feeling at the moment. Betrayal? He couldn't believe Amara would put him through this. And she said she was on his side.

But mostly, anger buzzed in his ears.

Antonio Pavlov.

Primo never thought he would face him again. He looked at the man, cringing inwardly at how familiar his features to his were. "What now?"

"Primo..."

He gritted his teeth at the pathetic sound of his father's voice. He tried to recall good memories with him and placate the inferno inside his chest. Like the time his father had taught him how to read a musical score and invented their own signs.

Or that one time when they went to see Swan Lake.

And then, eating verhuny and making snow rabbits. Singing and skating. Lake Baikal and Moscow.

The memories sent flutters of unwelcome joy to his heart. But it only took one bad memory to bring back his anger.

The memory of when her mother had knelt in front of his dad. Crying. Begging. Crawling after the leaving figure of her husband.

Don't leave us! Please!

"I promised Amara that I would stay but not forever," Primo muttered, glaring at the older man. "Go on. Say your speech."

"Primo, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to live. I didn't mean for your mother to... I admit that I handled things badly. But if I could..." Antonio paused, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his handkerchief. "I would—"

"You would what? Done things differently?" he mocked. "Don't tell lies, Father. You are completely happy with your new family, aren't you?"

Primo hated the bitterness that laced his words. He clenched his fists and spoke once more. "And if you didn't get sick, I know you wouldn't even remember me."

"Primo..." he mumbled as a guilty expression crossed his face.

"So, you're really sick?" he asked. "It was just a guess but I knew it was either that or money. Or maybe you still need money?"

"Son, please..."

"My father is rich, you know. How much do you need to leave me alone?"

"Primo Alonzo, enough!" Antonio raised his voice, blue eyes flashing in ire. He shut his eyes as his other son came running to ask about his condition.

Primo's pain doubled at the sight of father and son. His father was happy while he had to deal with his mother's death alone. What an unjust situation. "Are you dying now? Good."

Zeke jerked his head to his. "Don't be an ass, Primo. He's your father."

"I already have a father." He shrugged and stood up, preparing to leave. He had enough of this farce.

"Primo, I know you can't forgive me after what happened to Sofia. But believe me, I didn't want all of this to happen. Ten years ago, I had followed my selfish desires and it hurt you and your mother. And I know that I cannot do anything to mend your broken heart but please...please know that I am truly sorry."

Primo turned his back and headed to the exit. The edge of his eyes burned as his tears threatened to fall. His father was sincere. But forgiving him means forgetting that his mother had died a miserable death. That his mother died knowing she wasn't enough for that man.

He swallowed the knot on his throat as he saw Amara near his car. He wanted to embrace her and drown in her heat but he couldn't forget what she did.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"How'd you think?" He shot back, hiding his hands in his pockets.

"Primo..." Amara began. "I only want to help."

"Help?" He sneered at the word that Amara flinched in response. "All you did was inflict pain! You said you'd be on my side! What happened to that?"

"I'm sorry! I thought—"

"Well, you thought wrong!" Primo shook his head as his voice cracked. Agony, hatred, exhaustion. They combined into one, rushing to get off his chest and damned anyone who dared block his path. "You think you know everything about me but you're wrong! You're wrong, Amara! And you stepped over the line!"

"What?" Amara's tone dropped and for a second, regret hit Primo.

"I only meant—"

"I heard what you said, Primo," she muttered. Her grey eyes were clear and bright as their eyes locked. "Loud and clear."

"Damn it." He yanked at his hair in frustration. "Now, you're acting like it's my fault!"

"No. You're right. I stepped over the line. I thought... that you and I...." Tears rolled down her cheeks. Amara shook her head, angrily wiping her wet cheeks as she looked heavenwards. She blinked back her tears and gazed at him. "I'm sorry, Primo. I'm sorry if I hurt you. But.. you basically said that I don't know you! What does that mean, huh? That we aren't even friends? That I'm not allowed to worry about you now?"

Primo glared at the ground, digging his nails into his palms. "I don't know! Stop asking me!"

"I get it," she said with a broken voice. "You don't need me! You don't need my useless interference!"

"It's not that Amara! But sometimes you're suffocating!" he yelled as his feelings overtook his mind. "You always nag at me and do things you believe are right! Do you know who does that? Adults! You act like an adult, rolling your eyes at other kids' pathetic problems. But guess what? You're not an adult! You're a kid like me so stop acting like you're better than everyone!"

"I never knew you feel that way." She paused and yanked the ring off her finger. "I never knew my concern was a nuisance."

"I wanted you to understand me! To listen to me! Not take care of me like a fucking kid!" Primo groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Maybe... we need space."

Amara slapped the ring to his chest that it fell to the ground with a small tink. Her eyes flashed with pain and outrage. "If you needed space, all you had to do was ask. There was no need to trample on my feelings."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled in shame.

"I get it now. What you said..."

Her tears fell again that Primo couldn't breathe at the sight. Was it too late to take back his words? No. But this proved that he was a bastard and he would only hurt her in the long run. It was better this way.

"You're right." Amara let out a bitter smile. "We don't know each other as well as we thought we did."