Mindlessly, my hand reached up from beside me, my fingertips begging for just a touch. My hands craved to feel the body made perfectly for mine, to feel every curve and every dip, to feel every scar that illustrated the path he took to get to me. My...
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Sometimes I wonder if maybe I had been honest from the beginning, my situation could've turned out even the least bit different.
Maybe if I had told the boys the real reason why I couldn't stay and why I couldn't have a mate, then I wouldn't be put in the position where I felt like I had to choose. Though in reality there wasn't much choice to begin with. There shouldn't even be a second thought to this decision, but my heart so badly wanted there to be.
The second we're born, our fates are sealed. Our destinies are written. We're stuck with what we're given.
Though for me, my fate was sealed even before I was born.
Know the difference between a selfish act and a selfless one. The line between both is very thin. She used to say to me. With your "gift," you'll be put in impossible circumstances with impossible decisions.
She was right.
Looking up at the morning sky, I let a tear fall from my cheek.
What did I do to deserve this? I thought to myself, hoping somewhere up above my Mom would be able to hear my thoughts and feel guilty for everything she's putting me through. Why can't I be selfish and stay?
No response as expected. Having a dead mom didn't exactly make it easy to have the best mother-daughter conversations. But I could almost see her cold eyes looking down at me, her monotone voice whispering in the wind what she had said to me every time I cursed my own fate.
Nobody does anything to deserve anything. Sometimes you owe life and have to suffer the debt. You owe, Gray.
Maybe she had been right. Maybe she had been wrong. But I guess there was no right and wrong in this situation. Both ways I still lose. Both ways I'm still destined to a life of loneliness and stained hands.
If my mother could see me now I knew she'd lecture me for sitting here, crying to myself quietly. She'd lecture me about how she had not lost one but two lovers and how I couldn't complain as she had gone through double my pain in half the time. She'd berate me for my self-pity and probably tell me the story of how my father died as if I didn't already know it. As if her bitter eyes that could hardly look into my own and the absence of her presence in my most dire times of need, weren't constant reminders of that story. The story of how my prewritten destiny was to have my father killed. The world had stained my hands before it'd yet to touch me.
But thinking now, maybe if I was honest with the boys then my life would've been easier. Maybe they would've steered clear and left me bloodied and dying against that tree stump. Maybe I wouldn't have had to make the decision to leave my mate because I never even would have met him in the first place. Maybe leaving wouldn't be so hard.
