I was shaking with either anxiousness or anger - or maybe both - when I had finally found the courage to knock on Declan's door. I had hidden most of the day in my room claiming I had a headache,once again running from my problems which seemed to work just fine until I realised that I was ultimately only making things worse. So I changed into a fresh tank top and new pair of shorts and marched - reluctantly - over to Declan's room. I had stood in front of it for about two minutes, which consisted of me wanting to back out, but giving myself a mental pep talk that resulted in me finally knocking on the door. He opened it a few seconds later, a smile plastered on his face, but his eyes said it all and I knew right there and then that I wasn't leaving here happy. I walked past him and into his room without saying a word and immediately turned to face him when he closed the door.
"Hi," he said. "Do you want something to drink?" I almost scoffed, now who was running.
"No thanks," I said anyway unable to stop the bitterness that crept into my tone.
"Okay," he said before sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at me as if preparing himself for whatever was going to happen next. It was only then I realised I had come into this without a plan of what to do or say. I was hoping he would just apologise and tell me to never listen to his mother again, but as I sat there watching him I realised that was the last thing that was going to happen right now.
"I spoke to your mum today," I began. He nodded confirming that he knew. "She spoke to you too, I'm assuming?" I asked. He nodded once more. "When?"
"This morning, before she spoke to you," he answered calmly which bugged me even more.
"Did you know she was going to speak to me?"
"No I didn't," he replied, but I couldn't tell if he was being honest. I didn't know what to believe with him anymore. He took a breath and looked at the ground before looking up to me again. "What did she say to you?"
"Basically that she wants me out of your life because I'm a bastard, a burden and an array of other lovely words," I spat.
"I'm sorry," he said but he made no move to tell me that none of it meant anything and wouldn't affect us.
"So?" I questioned. He looked up to me hesitantly before standing.
"I'm sorry," he started but I held up a hand shutting my eyes. I attempted to swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the knots growing in my stomach before opening them again.
"You don't get to do this," I muttered shaking my head at him.
"I'm sorry," he tried again.
"Stop saying that," I yelled at him becoming frustrated.
"They're my parents, I'm their only son, they have a plan for me. I can't disappoint them," he tried to explain.
"Oh I'm sorry, I knew I was a burden to my own family but I didn't realise I was to yours as well," I cried out.
"You're not a burden Sofia, but I can't go against my parents wishes."
"Why?"
He stumbled over that answer. Opening his mouth before immediately shutting it again. He sat back down on the bed.
"You don't understand," he explained eventually.
"Then help me to."
"It's always been just me and them. They've always told me that when I took over the business it would be the proudest day of their life. But they also always told me it would be tough but that they would help. So, I've always listened to them, about everything: what sports I did, what grades I had to get, where I applied to university, who my friends were..." he trailed off. I got the idea, but it still didn't explain to me why he always listened to them. He had just told me yesterday that he didn't even want to run the family business, and that he wanted to be a photographer instead. I rubbed a hand over my face, a real headache was forming now and I could feel my heart beating through my chest.
"So that's it then," I shrugged. "It's done."
"Sofia," he sighed.
"No, whatever Declan. I'll keep running from my problems and you keep listening to your parents extravagant demands. I hope that makes you happy one day, but if I'm being honest it won't, and I think you know that too."
"You still don't understand," he groaned.
"What don't I understand?" I yelled. "It's clear and simple. You choose them."
"And I'm supposed to choose you?" he yelled back standing up. "They're my parents, the people who raised me. I've known you for a little over a week."
In a rather cliché way, I felt like a knife had just been driven into my heart as the words left his mouth. The immediate regret he felt was clear enough in his facial features but it was said and it was too late because the knife was in my heart and the blood was trickling out and there wasn't any hope left.
"I honestly thought you were different," I said quietly, wiping away the stray tears that were now spilling from my eyes.
"I didn't mean that Sof," he pleaded reaching for me but I stepped back.
"Yes, you did and it's the truth. You have only known me for a week; of course you'd choose them. It makes sense."
"I'm so sorry," he said again.
"I told you to stop saying that. I've had people telling me they're sorry my whole life and it's never made a difference because sorry means that you knew it was wrong, and if you really believed what you did was wrong then you wouldn't do it again. But people make the same mistakes over and over and over and keep saying sorry, and it's a vicious cycle that never stops. So don't tell me your sorry when you're going to let me walk out of this room without planning on ever speaking to me again."
"Can you please just let me hug you?" he said reaching for me again but I stepped back further.
"Please don't make this worse," I begged. "It's so ridiculous and I know I've known you for like a week but I really thought you were different and that you didn't see me as the bastard child and I really liked you." The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them, but the embarrassment of my statement sank in immediately after and I turned away from him so he wouldn't see the stream of tears now flooding down my face. He didn't reply on reached for me once more and I let hold me. He hugged me into his broad chest and stroked my messy brown hair that I hadn't bothered to do.
"What if I didn't listen to my parents?" he asked.
"We just spent that last ten minutes arguing about that and now you're going to calmly suggest not listening to them?" I questioned him as I took a step back. If this boy was going to play games I was not interested. I felt as if we were going in circles. I crossed my arms over my chest waiting for him to continue.
"Well, if I do get into the photography course I think I want to take it, so then I could tell my parents and we could be together, they'll get used to the idea."
I shot him a look that told him that I thought he had completely lost his mind. After speaking to his mum earlier I remember distinctly not getting the 'get-used-to-an-idea-that's-not hers" vibe at all. For him to think otherwise was sheer lunacy.
"I don't think so," I shook my head.
"Why? They might."
"No they won't and even if they did get used to photography, they won't ever get used to me," I added.
"They might though."
"And if they don't you'll just get rid of me?"
His silence was my answer.
"Dec, I am not playing games, okay," I sighed. "I'm not here for you just to drop me when your parents say so. You have to make a choice. And that choice right now isn't me."
I'd had enough of this conversation. I realised there was no saving whatever we had and my heart was weighing down on me. I started to walk towards the door when he caught my arm.
"The minute I get an acceptance letter from the photography course I'll come find you."
It broke my heart but I shook my head. "I think it'll be too late by then. Goodbye Declan."
I walked out the door ignoring his calls. He didn't chase me as I walked back to my room and somehow I knew that I'd made the right decision even if my heart was cracking into small pieces and it felt like I'd just lost something terribly important. I think the worst part about having a broken heart is the knowledge that someone you cared for so much was responsible for it breaking.