"And you're still out of my reach. And you're still all of the things that I want in my life."
7
It is Warren’s father, Angelo Evangelista, and a passing doctor who pull us apart. Or will it be more reasonable to say tear us apart? Let’s face it. My fingers are strong and I’m not just about to let go of this sorry excuse of a woman.
“You beeyotch!” Rachelle gurgles angrily, kicking her high heeled shoes at me with the ferocity of a tigress. I lunge at her again, snarling, but the arms of steel around my waist prevent me from getting another lump of her hair.
“Stop! Stop it! BOTH OF YOU!” roars Uncle Angelo, his expression dark and grim. Everyone within hearing range visibly cringe, even the doctor. “I want an explanation in ten seconds!”
Struggling is no use, so I let my body fall limp, air deflating from my lungs in a whoosh. Pride wells within me at the sight of my fingers’ red marks on her throat. So close. I was so close to –
“Carla! What is the meaning of this?”
I turn and face Aunt Sylvia, Warren’s mother. Her dark eyes are watery, sad. I feel shame and guilt wash over me as I understand the disapproval in her mouth. She doted on me like I was her own ever since the first time Warren introduced me to her. She was the one who insisted I call her Aunt and her husband, uncle. She said we are family.
Disappointing her is like disappointing my own mom.
I open my mouth to explain, but Rachelle beats me to it.
“She just attacked me!” she shrieks, eyes full of venom and hatred. “She’s crazy!”
Aunt Sylvia frowns. “You must have done something. I’ve known her all my life, and she never hurt anyone. Carla here is a very gentle, sweet, child.”
Rachelle hisses like she’s been slapped in the face. “What? You’re going to take her side? You don’t even know what happened! I’m the one who got hurt here! I’m the one who carries the baby! You should be yelling at her, not me!”
“She’s not yelling at you,” I quip.
“Shut up, bitch! I’m not talking to you.” She violently disengages herself from the poor doctor and runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt to look halfway decent.
“Watch your language, young lady!” Uncle Angelo barks, and she immediately backs away. Her glare is still pinned on me.
“You’re not even my father yet, and you’re already telling me what to do?”
“Did nobody teach you manners, Rachelle?”
Rachelle crosses her arms over her chest, scowling. “What I do or say is none of your business, old man.”
“Why you rude – “
“Warren chose me. Me,” she emphasizes, and I know it is directed to me. “Who are you to tell me to change, when he wanted me the way I am?” she challenges, brows raised in defiance. “Sorry if you have this notion that I’m this polite sugar girl who can’t stand up by herself. I can. That’s who I am. I say what I want and do what I want.”
“That’s just plain selfishness.” I hold my own glare against her.
“Selfish or not, Warren knows this and still wants me even though I kick him like a puppy in every way I can.”
Now, it’s my turn to hold back the enraged man behind me. “Uncle – “
“I was tolerating your attitude because of my son – “ His face looked like he was about to explode.
“A son who now has a face that even plastic surgery cannot fix.” Rachelle points a disgusted finger at me.“All because of you.”
My whole body stiffens. A low blow, Rachelle. She knows that I blame myself. She knows it, and she’s twisting the serrated knife in my gut.
I ball my shaking fists. “So what?”
“So what? So what?” she shrieks. “Can you imagine me walking down the aisle with that hideous face of his? Me, this thousand-dollar face that had graced magazines all over the country? Are you daft? I’ll be the laughing stock of the industry!”
“Does his appearance matter if you love him?”
She graces us with the nastiest smile I’ve ever seen on a girl. On a human. “I don’t love him,” she says simply, like it is the most obvious thing in the world.
“This baby,” she points at the nonexistent bulge on her stomach, “is not even his. He knows I’m having an affair, but my Apple Pie is willing to take responsibility if that will keep me by his side.”
It’s like everything around me turned to fragments of glass. . . and broke, violently tearing me apart inside and out. Like the world doesn’t make sense anymore.
I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand.
All the fire burning inside me is snuffed out, leaving me cold and hollow. Useless. Worthless. Naïve. I don’t know why I’m still here, fighting for him, if he’s known this all along.
“You know what? I’ve had enough of this.” She stands up straight, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t deserve this kind of treatment from anyone.”
She picks up her phone that has fallen on the ground and dials a number.
“Tell Warren when he wakes up that I’m calling off the wedding. Tell him that I cannot imagine myself ever marrying a person who looks like a beast, and having parents-in-law who chooses Ms. Pretty Musician over me.” Her eyes were narrowed meaningfully at me, her lips pulled in a smug smile. “You can marry him then. I’m sure he will be thrilled. Ecstatic.”
She leaves with her head held high, her high heels echoing on the white-tiled floor. . .and I do the same, only my version is more pathetic, more miserable. I pad barefooted back to my room, hearing nothing, feeling nothing.
Funny how the world works. Rachelle is such a lucky woman. She can afford to throw away Warren like a piece of thrash, the very person who had been my pillar of strength, my most important person. For me to learn that he loves her enough to make a fool of himself, that he loves her flaws and all. . .
. . . what am I compared to her?
After what I did, Warren will never, ever possibly look at me again.
He will forever be unreachable.
He will hate me.
A/N
I’m so sorry I didn’t manage to reply to your comments in the last chapter. I was running errands… and I feel you deserve an upload more than my messages so… hope you ENJOYED it. (^-^)
P.S. Honestly? I think Warren is an idiot. Carla deserves better. Waaaaaay better.
And a picture of Warren at the side ---- > (Imagine him as Jean-Luc Bilodeau.)
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Best Friends
Short Story"Once you loved someone, you can never stop loving that person. Maybe more or maybe less, but it never stops." This is more than just a story. This is their reality. About a girl waiting in the sidelines, a boy who made his choices and their beautif...
