"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."
- Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
(Read chapter one before you read this. Thank you bebe.)
10 MONTHS AGO:
Fuck. I'm late.
Rubbing a tired hand down my face, I get out of bed and freshen up, not feeling like having breakfast. It's silent here, as it usually is. The coffee is warm enough as I sit on the kitchen stool, staring into an empty fucking space.
It's dark. Right, the blinds. I barely open them, anyways.
Kipp wanders around, pecking me on the head as I feed him. He finishes eating up and does something I wasn't sure he'd know how to do. Using his beak and newfound strength, he pulls on one side of the curtain, letting in a stream of light that makes me squint.
"What'd you do that for, huh?" I scoff, rubbing his back and giving him extra treats. I don't bother staying mesmerised at how illuminated the house seems and instead, I grab my coat and leave for work.
No damn point in loving something that won't last.
The ride to the joint is short and silent for the most part. I stop somewhere close to the local high school and pick up some soda for Rafael and Jan. God knows why they're drinking soda at seven in the morning.
Grabbing what they want, I place it on the counter along with the money. The cashier seems alert as she gets up and adjusts herself, her eyes scanning my form before she- Ah fuck, I avert my eyes instinctively, keeping them down until she finishes her job. Taking the plastic bag, I nod at the dejected woman before rushing out of there.
Sorry, lady, you probably deserve better.
The morning is unusually cold and the sun irritates the fuck out of me so I walk faster to get to my car, only stopping when I hear a meek voice.
"Please." I turn my head and take a step forward, towards the car. It's none of your damn business, get in the car and get to work, is what my mind tells me.
I sigh and turn, peeking into one of the corners on the sidewalk to find an old man with a cup in his hand.
There are soft footsteps ahead that tell me that someone just passed by.
I take out my wallet, sympathy nagging at my bitch of a heart. Fuck man, it's cold out here too and he's only wearing a thin coat. I make a mental note to buy some clothes and ask Raf to bring them over here.
Grabbing a fifty dollar note, I pop it into the cup, surprised when the man rests his hand over mine, patting it softly, almost...reassuringly?
"God does great things, young man. May He bless good children like you two."
Two? I wonder but stop and nod in response. Makes me want to smile, not everyone wishes for something so pure. She did the same.
But she's gone.
_______
"Hey, boss. How was yesterday?" I pass the bottle of soda as Rafael takes a seat on the couch.
"Clean shot. You got the papers ?" I ask, knowing Dan must have another mission ready for me. It's what my life is, every fucking day.
"Ah, Dan needs more time for the next one so we wait until tomorrow. You can leave if you want, the filing's been done for today." He says warily.
Don't ask about it.
"Aight." Don't ask about it.
"Hey, you good? It's the anniversary today, isn't it?" He fucking asked about it.
I clench my eyes when my heart does the same, and grab my coat off the chair.
"Mhm. See you." I hear a sigh as I leave. He doesn't need to care. No one needs to. Just stop fucking caring and it'd make things easier for me.
The ride is short, too short that I can't come to terms with the fact that it's been two years. Two years without her.
The dried leaves crunch beneath my shoes as I walk, a bouquet of flowers sagging in my hands. Almost as if she's waiting, alive and well, I smile when I reach.
"Hey ma'. Everything good?" Placing the lilies opposite the gravestone, I caress the engraving on it's front. My throat tightens up, a nagging pull stressing the strings of my heart.
It hurts so fucking bad. Every fucking day. It hurts.
Unable to hold the pressure of my grief, my knees give in and I sit in front of her, my hands cradling my head.
"Ma', it's been two years," I whisper, my jaw clenching in order to stifle the fucking screams I want to yell out.
"I didn't find her. She doesn't exist, she doesn't. You said you'd haunt me, hm? Then where are you?" My last words dissolve into a cold whisper and I swallow down warm urges, urges to let out tears.
"I've been waiting, ma'." They come out anyways, and I sob weakly. I've been so fucking weak. I can choose to move on, to forget but I just can't.
Just not fucking strong enough.
"I'm waiting." I rest against the back of the tombstone, one fist over my eyes to get rid of my escaped signs of fragility.
We talk for the next hour or so, telling her what I've been up to and all the damn things I can't seem to share with anyone who's actually alive.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I sigh, taking it out after apologising to my mother.
"Hey Ricky, uh, Landon's stirring up trouble again. He's at spire." My eyes clench in frustration. Just what my day was fucking missing. It's not a surprise that he's partying on his mother's death anniversary.
What a fucking asshole. It's people like him I'd rather use as a punching bag.
"Gotta go, ma'. See you soon." I kiss my hand and tap the stone, making sure the flowers are laid out properly.
Tipping the gardener, I make my way out of the place I can't help but visit every damn week.
I grab a few wipes and make my way into my club, annoyed at the people already. I don't spot him anywhere so I make my way to the bar.
"Hey Ricky, what can I get ya?" Dave, the bartender, greets and I nod in response.
"Nothing. Don't let anyone upstairs." I murmur, my eyes scanning the crowd that dances to some weird fucking tune.
"The only washroom's upstairs, you know?" He laughs. I glare at him and he shuts up. God, I'm so fucking rude.
"Fuck's sake...only if they look like they need it."
Making my way up the stairs, the awful music blurs out and I shut the office door, leaning against the desk.
I'd rather be anywhere else right now. But I need to take care of him. A promise is a promise. If I ever do break it, they must be pretty damn important.
Good thing no one like that exists. Get a grip, pussy.
Hell, I'd admit it's all I've been silently wishing for.
Someone to come home to.
Someone to hold when you're feeling like shit.
Just someone for you. And only you.
My person.
But people like me don't get people like that. No, its a wish and that's all it'll be. Who the fuck would love someone so scarred and broken, anyways? I scoff, taking my guns out of the holster and setting them on the table.
I hear laughs from downstairs but choose to ignore it, my eyes focused on the view of the city as I lean against the back of the desk.
My hands itch, a burning sensation arriving. Fuck, I forgot I scraped it last night. I should probably get it checked out. Fuck it, I'll do it sometime later.
The door clicks and my fingers reach to grab my gun, but I halt. One, because the guns are on the table and two, because of the soft voice that echoes in the room.
It's hesitant and pained, and my brows furrow at that.
"May-May I use the bathroom, please?" The voice mutters after a brief hiccup.
I want to turn around, I really fucking do, but she'd cry even harder. Not exactly a pretty sight with the several bandages I have on me.
I nod. Rushed footsteps enter the bathroom and the door shuts close. I move cautiously closer when I hear minuscule sobs. Shit, is she crying in there too? The towel's harsh on the skin and I worry. Fuck, I should upgrade these offices soon.
Thinking I should turn away and stop eavesdropping on her, I move to do just that but that's when the door clicks open.
My body stills as warm, honey eyes meet my own.
Oh.
Fuck.
"Ricky,"
Wow.
"Ricky, she's coming. What the fuck are you thinking about..." A hand lays itself on my shoulder and I shake my head, trying to figure who the fuck is tapping me so aggressively.
Warm rays of the golden sun touch my skin when I come back to reality. A reality I only called an unachievable wish.
I don't have time to do so when the music starts, blending in with the squeals of Opal and the kids from the hospital. My eyes stay trained on the aisle, the rest of the venue suddenly out of focus.
The penguin-shaped cookies, a picture of Maya and Ricky on one of the food stations, the seats just for the fatasse-the Jones family, our family smiling as they take their seats- it suddenly hits me.
I'm marrying my person.
The boys line my right side, all wearing grins and bowties. Kipp is wearing one too, just like she insisted. She wanted to have it where we had our first date. The field where I became hers.
She wanted a community wedding. Free food for everyone, including terminally ill children that have fallen in love with her gem of a heart. Sorry, kids. It's mine to keep.
Soft footsteps sound on the carpet that leads to me, footsteps that seem eerily familiar. The noise around me blurs as I see her for the first time today.
One hand interlocked with Jim's as Kipp sits on her shoulder. Opal scatters flowers in front of my queen and I feel my eyes burn with so much fucking love, respect and utter disbelief. Disbelief in the fact that this girl is mine.
That I get to be called hers. I raise one fist to wipe away the drops on my cheeks but it soon falls. I want her to see how she makes me feel. I want to fucking cry. So much.
I met her, Ma'. She exists. She's here. You see her, right?
How fucking perfect she is? How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest person in this damn world? how she makes me more of a man than I could ever be? how she holds me when I feel like fucking shit and how she lets me come home to her?
Ma', I'm happy.
I'm really fucking happy.
I never realised I wasn't until she walked in, with that damn golden smile and even shinier heart.
It's like she found my deepest, darkest, most untreatable wounds and entered its tunnel, picked up a torch and ran towards me.
I couldn't see her for a while, I couldn't see that I can't fucking smile if she's not the reason for it.
Once all I could see was black, illuminated by the lit of a gentle match. I thought it wasn't worth it. A small match couldn't do shit, right? It's too little.
These wounds won't heal with too little.
But as she neared them, suddenly there was a glimmer of damn hope in my cold world. A world without love or care. She held me, the tunnel no longer a dead end, the darkness no longer blinding, until all I could see,
was her.
"Sorry!" The soft voice squeals and my heart beats faster. Run away, scream, don't look at the bandages. Just go. She stills and honey eyes skim me, glazing every inch of my being. The cold organ that moved robotically now disobeyed itself, every beat apparent as a thump against my chest. It should be uncomfortable, her gaze on me.
"Mayella Morrison, do you take Dalaric Mikael to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honour him all the days of your life?"
But it's really fucking not. It's like she's admiring the scenery. How her lips stretch when she looks at my face, her eyes glittering at the sight of me. God, I sound so fucking delusional. But as if she tries to prove me wrong, she meets my eyes. They oddly comfort me, seeing something in me that I've never fucking seen before.
"I do."
Her lips part and she steps closer. I notice her wet hair, soaked shirt and slightly rugged jeans that contrast the way her skin shines in the moonlight that escapes the bounds of the glass behind me. She's messy. She's not like me at all. Then why is she looking at me like that? And why can't I look away?
"Dalaric Mikael, do you take Mayella Morrison to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and to honour her all the days of your life?
Even as those warm eyes grace my scarred skin, I see no judgement. I don't see sympathy. Those lips part once more, and out comes words that I don't think I will ever forget in my entire damned existence. I still when those three words have more of an effect than I expect.
"I'll always fucking do."
Three words I've never heard before. Three words I don't think I deserve. Three words someone as damaged as me only dreamt of hearing.
My mind tries to rationalise where I am right now so I blink twice. And suddenly, as if the tunnel I had kept myself in so long had decided to end, I reach the end of it. What once seemed like a never-ending abyss, is now the reason why I made it out. The light doesn't seem out of reach.
In fact, it seems as though I'm damn near deserving of it. I deserve the fucking happiness, I deserve her. I deserve to hear those words. I deserve the way she doesn't let the priest finish his words and instead chooses to hug me, both hands cradling my face before soft lips attach to my own. They tell me all I need to know. They tell me I've found my person.
Right in front of me, dressed in white as the diamond on her ring finger touches my cheek and wipes away the remnants of my awe.
Awe of her.
So I do it.
I reach the light.
I reach her.
My person.
To hold. To be held by.
And to forever love.
"You're so pretty!"
My Mayella.
T H E S T O R Y O F D A L A R I C
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"I guess that's it." She murmurs as she shuts her laptop. She stares at the wall in front of her, as a smile stretches on her tired face. The penguin stickers that she picked up at a store, reminded her of a story she had a different type of love for. The sticky note cramped with ideas that crept into her mind during online classes.
"Fuck." A whisper left the young author as she ate the last pringle. It's just a story, is what she thought. She wasn't meant to be writing fiction. Not once had she ever planned on it. Sure, she topped her year in English but she couldn't describe a tree for shit. She argued, researched, wrote informative articles. Romance? Fuck that, is what she said before she literally wrote one on an app filled with too many Draco Malfoy fanfics.
Zero experience, zero passion and a million grammatical errors.
Yet, she really fucking cried.
The lovely people she met along the way, the best friends she made, the private messages that really made her day, the comments she giggled at and the abundance of hate that made her roll her eyes and flip the bird. Everything was worth it.
She hated how little girls were shown immoral, ruthless, cruel men as princes. She wanted a story where the man finds happiness in morality. Where the man respected all women, not only the one he loves. Where the man treated his girl like a queen and was given the treatment of a king.
That's what relationships are. She grimaced at those cruel mafia murderers. Once, she obsessed over them but now she shivers at the thought of how romanticised immorality, arrogance and cruelty is. How men took advantage of naive girls who were never shown true love or gentleness. How the men 'owned' their bodies.
Sure, they get the reads. Smut gets the reads. As if she could give a fuck, she wasn't even getting paid dammit. Grr.
So she wrote. She wrote about Dalaric. That is who we should dream of. Maybe even better. And he exists. Not on Amazon, or ebay. But he's there.
It was really damn stressful, though. She thought to herself as she blinked her eyes rapidly, her fingers cramping and her need to take a piss getting worse.
A few more words...they deserve this, she thought again as she wrote on her phone, this time. She does have ideas for a new story, but should she let them know? She shook her head, she had school to focus on and this wasn't helping much. Maybe...definitely after, though. For sure.
She'll be back. After she gets more pringles and Grammarly pro or something.
And I love you, yeah, you, reading this. Ricky and Maya love you too.
Have a great day ahead.
Love always,
-Aj.