How do I explain my feelings to you, when even I don't understand them?
I stared at myself in the mirror, hating the woman I've become.
Since when have I started losing my patience? Since when did I snap at people for no reason at all? Since when have I become this--this crying mess who cannot keep herself composed?
I feel a surge of anger at myself as more tears leak out of my eye. I don't want to cry!
Fine! Rot in here all alone!
I flinched at his harsh words, clenching my eyes shut, somehow hoping the memory doesn't resurface. But his words roam in my head, creating a headache.
"UGH!", I groaned loudly in aggravation. I get out of my favorite jeans that don't fit me anymore, now refusing to look in the mirror. I'll only see the undesired changes happening to me. To my body.
I slip in a pair of loose white shorts, controlling the urge to scream all the while.
I didn't mean to call our baby stupid. I didn't mean to call Zach a dumb idiot. It just--it came out of me before I could even comprehend what I was saying. That's what's been happening all these days. I say things I don't mean.
I don't behave like myself. I don't talk like myself. I don't feel like myself.
I--I feel sad. Sometimes I feel extremely happy. Sometimes I don't know what I'm feeling, but I know that it's odd. Something...something hurts inside, and I know this isn't sudden.
It's like slow built-up, a heartache that I've been suppressing for way too long, and now it's threatening to spill out of me. I don't want it to. I want to keep the past memories buried deep inside.
I want to talk about them, yet I don't. I feel confused, dammit!
Still sniffling occasionally, I crawled into my bed for a nap. I close my eyes, longing for a dreamless sleep, but the odds are not in my favor.
All I get is another memory resurfacing into the forefront of my brain, forcing me to acknowledge it.
"Mamma. Let me in, please!", I request my mother.
My one hand is banging on the main door of what once used to be my home. It took me so much courage to come here again, but as it turns out they don't even want to open the door for me.
"Maybe they're not home, Zara.", Travis's half-attempt to console me goes in vain.
He tries to pull me back, away from the door, but I don't dare budge.
I didn't fly states after a whole year of not talking to them to just leave when they don't open the door for me.
"They have to open the door, Trav! I'm their daughter!", I reason with him.
"Papa! I know you're in there!", I say loudly, banging on the door again. "Papa!", I cry out.
"Zara. Come here, baby.", Travis pulls me into him, burying my head in his chest.
"No, they have to open the door for me! For us. Their daughter has brought a man home for the first time to introduce him to them...", I cry even more.
I don't care what the neighbors might think. I don't care about anything if it my parents open their door for me.
Just when Travis is leading us away, the coldness of the winter numbing my skin, the pain I feel inside keeps on increasing.
YOU ARE READING
Do We Let Go?
RomanceZara was leaving the man who she considered to be the love of her life, who'd become her first ever home, to pursue her life-long dreams. Heartbroken yet determined, she arrives in U.S.A. to work in her favourite publishing company. Miles away, Zach...
