Always Is Not Forever (Breaking Myself - Part II)

5. K I A R A ' S P O V

"So," Jiya said as if that monosyllable was a sentence in its own structure.

"What?" I snapped, snatched the pencil out of my lips, and wrote down on the paper. "It is his birthday."

"And I don't know to remember him being interested in parties," She mused and flourished the flowers in her hand-the whitish of color as he preferred-plain and boring. Or maybe white was a color which could be used in any way, moulded into different colors of the life if used with delicate and precise hands.

"I am aware."

"Technically, you are doing this to divert his mind. Nice," She smacked and rolled her eyes. "Devise a better plan." I didn't have any better plans. I didn't want to think of any plan when I felt too tired to even stand in this place and plan out the surroundings when everything was twisted in the knots of endless secrets I harbored in my heart.

"This is fine," I mumbled, my jaw ticking.

"Look, K, he deserves to know," She whispered with an edge to her voice. Her hand came to my elbow as she twisted my body to face her. "He was the father." I shook my head. "Why can't you tell him?"

"It will kill him." Her eyes softened to the limbo of realizing my position. "I cannot do this to him." If only that was possible. With those words, she went back to her position of looking at the flowers and I submerged to the endless tasks of decoration even when I could sit and let others do it.

I don't know what you are talking about.

He lied to you.

Nothing like this happened.

I was not pregnant.

Your mother is lying too.

When the rest of the work carried on, these thoughts bugged me to such an extent that I threw the pages on the floor, screamed at the emptiness of the room, and desired an escape plan. There should be a plan in order to avoid your ex-husband with whom you are in love now, a way to tumble down the corridors of the webbed lies you construct around yourself.

While I smiled at others for gracing their presence in the hall and celebrating his birthday, I was lost to the train of my thoughts.

"Happy Birthday," I mumbled, my hands cupped his lower jaw and brought his lips near mine. "How does it feel?"

"Old?" He joked, hooking his arm around my waist, and flushing my chest against his. "Feels good to be old with you." He hummed, nuzzling the tip of his nose next to my ear. "You smell good."

"I haven't even bath yet."

"Doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it?"

"It's you."

It's me.

Just me.

I mattered.

"This ring is beautiful," I whispered, placed my left palm flat on his chest and reflected on the diamond staring back at me. "Thank you for this."

"Yeah." He caught the strand of my hair. "I am sorry for your loss." My lips tightened in response. I thought he would have forgotten by now-that the words would never take the day of the light in this place. "Kiara," The only one who used my whole name to address me. "I am sorry he died."

I lifted my head to look into his eyes, search for the answers of the death, and wonder if I could get lost in them, or put too much into it that there would be no escape from the endless torture.