Sequel • Worth Fighting For
It is commonly known and spoken that time heals all wounds.
But what they don't tell you is that those wounds remain, leaving behind a plastic film of torment and affliction with those subconscious memories nudging you l...
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"This was not how it was supposed to happen."
Denial was the last thought I had assumed would enter his mind upon hearing what I had to say. And yet I found myself questioning the way in which the words sounded.
"Excuse me?"
"Fuck—" he stood and began pacing, a move that made me more nervous than it should have, "this isn't going to go down well." My brows furrowed once again at his wording. He was being cryptic and yet not actually addressing me, just speaking aimlessly to himself as if he did something wrong and yet in actual fact, I was the culprit in all of this.
"Nathan—" I stood and grasped his arm, to which he quickly swiped himself away from, "Nathan—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," a lone tear escaped my eye, except not for losing him; just for the way I had treated him, "—Nathan."
My words seemed to be falling on deaf ears as he continued to pace, seemingly with more anguish than I'd ever seen him before.
"Just talk to me, please!"
I reached for his bicep in a last ditch effort to fix whatever working relationship we could salvage after the blow out, but with yanking himself away, he thrust himself in the opposite direction, punching the wall in the process.
I watched as plaster recoiled from his fist, creating the circular dent that was now left behind. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"You have no fucking clue what you've done!"
"What I've done? You really think I don't understand what I've done, Nathan?" I took a short, fleeting breath, "I could've kept this a secret from you, I could've—"
"I would much rather not know about this right now."
"I know what you—"
"Just let me fucking think!"
The way in which he followed every one of my replies by interruption felt like something I deserved. I had no way to explain myself because the truth of the matter was just that; I cheated on him, and I deserved any possible verbal punishment for it.
Except that as I attempted to reason with him, I'd crafted the fateful mistake by standing deadpanned in front of him, just beside the very same place his hand had met the wall with.
I never thought I'd allow another man to ever hurt me again since back in high school. Their hateful touch had tainted my fears for long enough until I was with Josh, and everything changed. He no longer allowed me to be afraid of another man's infliction of pain against me. Because he'd never allow it or allow the man to keep breathing because of it.
