I've officialise my playlist for Miss Incomplete. It's not completed—if I run across more sounds that relates back to this story, I'll continue to add. They're not soft-melody type of songs; it's a mixed culture of folk, indie, pop, r&b, hip-hop and such. my music taste is quite vague (except for country. i can't deal with that one). overall, this is your sneak peek. if you want to listen, Spotify has decided it was a smart idea to get rid of usernames (created now) so, Ive added the link to my profile under my social medias. I've planned it out all from the ending type of vibes to the beginning—some songs you'll run to now, you'll be confused as to why they're there. it will all connect soon.
That broke me.
I broke down into another layers of tears, now containing harsher hiccups and shallow breathing. Julian tightens his grip around me as I return the gesture, holding onto him like he was my lifeline. My head digging into his shoulder, crying. His hand found their way to the back of my head, stroking my hair in an effect to calm—and it worked.
"You're okay, you're okay," he hums quietly, probably hoping to tame my breathing pattern before I resort back into another asthma attack. His calming gesture works; stroking my hair in light, faint touch as he breathes sweet nothing into my ear.
"I–I'm sorry," I said through a hiccup, drowning myself in blame. I take all of it. Everything. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," his grip on me never loosens as he provides a sense of warmth—of love—around my body. "It's okay."
—
Julian's arms still contained around my body, refusing to spilt for a moment and release. We now laid stretched out across my bed; Julian's arms holding my body as I bury myself into his chest, hiccups here and there to fill the silence.
I was calmer now; I wasn't crying, bawling my eyes out. My breathing wasn't coming out ragged and in pants, swallowed in hiccups. They move in a slow and steady pace. He helped—definitely.
We didn't say anything. It was quiet for the past hour, nothing but the familiar feel of him running his hand across my back in a smoothening effort.
I didn't know why he was here, but I didn't question it. I was thankful—so fucking thankful—that he was here, right now, comforting me just days after I messed up our relationship.
"Do..." Julian slice into the silence, breaking the comforting moment, as his deep voice spoke. "Do you want to talk about it?"
The last time I talked about my mom—really talk about her—was years ago. Around the time when Graham became my best friend. I told him, the light, shorten version of everything, just like I did with Iris. I told them what she did, and why she left. I never told them about what happened after she left. What happened to me.
I nod into his chest, refusing to move. His chest rises, and falls, waiting patiently for me to speak. It took a moment, feeling my voice dried from the crying, the tears and the constant sorrys I spilled into Julian.
"When I was four—just recently turned four. My mother—" I stopped, shaking my head. He wouldn't get it, I need to start at the beginning. I let out a deep breath, readying myself to spill my worst secret in front of him. "When my parents got together, it was a moment. It wasn't based off of love, they only married because they were young and dumb and both of them were there. It lead from one date to another, learning to fall before he popped the question and her answer in a definite yes. It was blissful—for a moment."
How I know this—my grandma. She refuses to let me hold in the dark, if I asked anything, she answers immediately. She was blunt, truthful. Something I'm always thankful for.
"Then they live together, had me and my brother. That's when everything comes to reveal. My mother, at a prime age, decides that gambling her day's worth of income was the best idea to rise to the top. It's easy, she would say. It works. She would argue. She said it was something to do; the rank up the dollars in hopes of supporting us, the family."
"It started slow at first; a couple hundreds a couple of weeks. My father and mother would slowly argue, he would always complain about the problems and she would always yell in return. We're running out of money, I remember him saying. It's working! I remember she returns. It was bickers, arguments late at night when he thought I was sleeping. What he didn't know was the walls weren't thick, and a cough could be heard from the other bedroom. I heard everything; every argument, every problem that stirs in the family. I heard it all."
"I was three when I remember my father came home, screaming and crying. All the money in their bank account was gone, finished. She didn't have a dollar to her name, and he didn't have cent to his. It was horrible."
I suck in a breath, eyes closed as I remembered everything. I was a toddler, given, but I knew more at my age that I should've. I remember it—I remembered her.
"My brother was born a year later and we were slowly obtaining money. Debts on debts, my father took three jobs to fix our income as my mother roll her dices. She promised things would get better when Kenji was born, she promised that she would make it work."
I laugh at the thought, into his chest as I found out the next detail of the story. She made it work alright. She left. "One day; drained and tired, my father came home from his job as I wanted to come downstairs to kiss him on the cheek before I slept. I was way past my bedtime, but who cares? That's my dad, and I wanted to see him before I dreamt."
"Then I saw her; she was dressed in worn out clothes, sweats and a tee shirt to clean up the mess. She carried one single suitcase in her hands as the other carried a wallet. She told him, she told him that she couldn't do it anymore, she couldn't do it with us—the family, with him. Like it was him that stir up thousands of dollars in debt, like it was him that decided to put my college funding to the boot as he drained them for some scam." I clench my jaw, absorbing every information myself. Remembering it.
"And then she left. Left my father with two children, broken and no money to his name. She took off, without a care about her children or the care of the relationship. No number, no contact—no nothing." I felt a tear slide down my cheek, as I wipe it with the back of my hands. "I hate her, and though I always use to say it—she wasn't a horrible person. She was just a horrible mother."
I quiet down, feeling my chest thumping as I felt suffocating. I was drowning, and somehow, now, I'm obtaining air. "I went to school not knowing how to explain to my teacher what my mother does—rather then spreading cards and gambling in poker. I didn't know how to explain to my teacher that I didn't want to make a mother's day card because there would be no receiver. I didn't know how to tell the kids, who had mothers coming to their recitals and plays that I, didn't have one in support. I heard that a mother's bond was supposed to be the strongest among people, but how do I explain to people that I didn't even have a feel for such power."
"As a child, I was a troublemaker. I broke things, I was destructive. My emotions craved my mind, and I listen to their voice. My mom was the only one that could sit me down and told me that the voices don't control me; the only one that could calm me." I sigh, "and when she left, I've been the most destructive I've ever been in my elementary years. It was problematic; there were phone calls, there were yelling and there was a lot, and lots of trips to the office." I stopped, feeling a pause needed. I let out a breath as I continue on; the memories, the pain.
"I had to survive the rest of my life, not knowing the answer to a question that stuck to my head: why was I not enough? Was it something I did? Was it because my anger represented me, or was it because I wouldn't eat the food she made for me? Was it because I kept taking my dad's side, or was it because I kept clinging onto my father's leg instead of hers? Was just a child, her child, not enough to make her stay?"
The familiar hand fell down to my spine, moving his fingers along my bare skin as the shirt cling to his hand. "I want to say that I'm not as affected with her anymore, but that would be a lie. I think of her whenever I make a new friend, wondering if I would be enough to meet their standards. I think of her whenever I see parents with their child. I think of her whenever someone doesn't reply to my question quick enough—"
"Because you're afraid that they'll hate you if you cross their boundaries." Julian quietly finishes for me, and I nod, having him finally found the answer to his own question.
"And now she's back... and it's not even for me. She wants my brother. Kenji. She doesn't want me; she never wants me. I'm not enough for anyone to want, I'm just enough for someone to just have."
I clench my jaw, feeling the emotions coming back wild. Julian doesn't say anything, just his chest rising and falling as he hears me out—pouring out everything behind me. The sole reason why I act the way I am.
"I'm sorry," I found myself mumbling, slightly self-conscious about telling him everything. It was probably too much for him to take; he hasn't breath much, just a small sentence in replacement of my story. "I know it was a lot to take in—"
"Don't do that," his chest rise, and he exhales slowly, "you don't have to do that around me anymore. I already know what I need to know about you."
I tilt my head up, finally meeting his eye. His brown eyes bores back into mine, and from a moment of a blank stare, he tilt his lips upwards and form a smile. It wasn't a happy grin, or a sad one; it was just meant to be comforting—a soft gesture.
I couldn't help but appeal to his lips, and found myself smiling as well. It wasn't wide, or big, it was just small but enough as the corner of my lips creased. We didn't say anything, and I felt my heart begin to thump, ripping itself against the bones holding it down like a cage. My skin radiating off heat, as I knew just staring at him could somehow reveal all of my secrets.
Oh god.
I'm falling.
"I'm sorry," I found myself saying once again. Just as Julian parted his lips, about to interrupt me and tell me that it's okay, I cut in short. "No it's not because of this—but about everything else. The other day, when I confronted you in the locker room—it was wrong. I know it was. I was driven by this anger—" I stopped myself clean. In order for an apology to be sincere, I had to own up to mistakes and dispose of their reasoning. I can't make excuses. "Whatever. It was wrong. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry, I really am. I just want to let you know that."
His lips pulled back into a neutral stance. He looks at me for a moment, just a split moment, before nodding his head. "Okay."
Now that's conversation has been created, there's another thing that's locked in my head.
"Can we start over?" I suddenly blurted, refusing to wait a moment longer. "I want us to have a fresh, clean start. Everything, from the very start. About Miss Incomplete, about my feelings, about yours—can we just start over?"
"Francena..."
"I don't want to lose this friendship, Julian," I added, feeling the need for him to just accept. To know that I've been given a second chance at our relationship, "I don't want to lose you. I know I fucked up, and badly at that. I want us to move from it. I just want to have a fresh start. Can we forget about everything that has happened before us and just become a new?"
"Francena, I don't—"
"Please," my eyes locked into his, pleading. "Please, can you just give me another chance."
He sighs, deeply. As his chest sinks and I felt myself go alongside with it. He moves his eyes away from my face, as Julian seem to be pending the idea. For a minute of total silence, before he nods, "yeah, sure. Okay."
I smile, feeling secured with his answer as I lean back against his chest; my cheek pressing against his heart. I could hear the thumps of his heartbeats, light and faint. Julian still hold onto me, his grip slightly loosen around my body, but still there. Refusing to let go.
And I was happy—for a moment. Even thought I had a hell of a problem just downstairs, and another situation that needs to fix—it was out of my head for a moment. I didn't lose the guy I was falling for, and he somehow, is still here.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious to what he was going to say to me, but the moment that I would've let him spoke, he could've lead the conversation elsewhere that I might've not wanted to be put in. Somewhere that I can't go back on.
So, I went on, and I begged. I wanted that restart, I wanted that second chance. I needed it. It might've been stupid that I asked for the whole full one; maybe there was still a chance that he liked me and maybe I did have a chance after all. But it was a risk I wasn't willing to take, especially with everything that happened.
So, I'll take it. I'll take what I get, losing one over the other because now I was in that positon where I would have to choose.
I would rather have him as a friend that lose him altogether.
—
My eyes slowly opening as the wide, hot rays of the sun hits my skin. Altogether the touch of the sun was warm enough, I felt another heat radiating from my side—and it wasn't just from my blanket. I open my eyes fully, taking in to see Julian's sleeping face in front of mine.
His lips slightly parted, and his hair ruffled in a mess. Somehow, he still manage to look adorable—but that's about the same thing you would say for someone you're in love with.
Wait. What?
I didn't get a chance to think as the door was knocked on, burning fear into my veins. Julian's arms still wrapped around me comfortably as I twist, staring at the white door in open fear. "Reileen," my father's voice appears from behind the door, "are you still asleep? Sweetheart?"
"Umm," I mumble to myself. Despite the fact that my mother was probably still clinging to the downstairs flooring, and him allowing her in, I wasn't upset at him. "Dad, I'm umm, busy!"
I look back to Julian, still asleep and still mindless to everything that was going on, "can we talk about last night? Reileen?"
"Umm, not right now!"
"Reileen, you know you can't just ignore your mother all day, we have to have a talk first—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know dad," I said. What if my dad thinks to use the bathroom door and finds Julian laying out in the middle of my bed. "Can we talk later? I'm kinda busy right now!"
"Doing what?" My father said, as the doorknob rattled, "did you lock your door? You never lock your door."
"Dad, I'll really appreciate it if you could just leave me alone right now!"
"Fine, but you have to be there at dinner today, alright?"
"Perfect! Okay, dad! Bye!"
Footsteps descended away from the door, and I hear him distancing himself back into the hallway and away from my room. I turn back to Julian, about to let out a sigh of relief when I notice his eyes wide open, and a smile settled on his face.
"What?"
"Dad, I'll really appreciate it if you could just me alone right now!" He mocked and I lightly punch his shoulders.
"Oh shut up," I roll my eyes, letting out a small laugh, "I was trying to get him away from seeing this," I flick a finger between the two of us; still holding onto each other like a child with a doll. "He would kill me."
"Yeah, and not just you, I suppose," he said, still laughing. I aim back to punch his shoulders again, but just as I was about to make contact of knuckle to skin, he moves and takes my hand—pulling me forward, causing me to topple over him.
Our face just brushing centimetres apart, as I felt myself holding my breath. My cheeks begins to heat up, just from our proximity as the familiar reminder of thumping appears in my chest. His eyes cast over me, the goofy expression he sported disappeared, as he focuses into every little detail that decorated my face. I begin to feel self-conscious. "What?" I said quietly, "is there something on my face?"
He shakes his head, lips parted as a laugh escape his lips, "no. Nothing. You're just so beautiful."
My heart clenched, and I couldn't stop myself from breaking into a grin. "Thank you," I said slowly, "and not just for the compliment, but for last night too."
"Hey, if you need a friend or anything, you have me." The familiar words hit his lips, as I'm pulled back to the memory where I told him those exact words.
I don't say anything, as I move back into a fitting position to lay across his chest. He allows me, saying nothing as I felt my cheeks burning my skin, touching onto the fabric of Julian's shirt. His arm returns their way to my back once more, as we form ourselves into the original position. Comfortable. Soothing.
And I think that moment; I knew for sure.
Just as I was laying across his chest, hearing his heartbeat pressing against his ribcage as he caresses his fingers against my spine. We didn't say anything, as a comfortable quiet takes over the room, we laid still. I knew it there.
I'm falling in love with his boy—and I'm falling hard.