We stop at Jake's place to collect Mason's things. His 'things' being two shirts, a toothbrush and a bottle of whiskey. Classy.
As we climb out of the car Jake's door opens, and a familiar blonde haired bombshell stumbles out.
Mason looks at me with a smirk on his face as she finally notices us walking towards her, all of us stopping in our tracks. Her eyes widen and she almost drops her purse. "Oh, hi." she stutters. An actual stutter, and strangely it feels great.
Mason looks between us with a look of sheer pride plastered on his face. He reminds me of a proud father. A proud father of a daughter who beat up her middle school bully.
"Angel." I sneer, kissing my teeth.
"I'm.. I'm just on my way out." she mumbles, gently and slowly sliding past us.
I smirk at the sight of her scurrying away from me, her heels clicking against the ground as she fumbles for her keys. She flashes me a glare over her shoulder before climbing into her car and driving off. Mason begins to slowly clap, shaking his head with a grin on his face. "I've truly never been prouder."
"Come on." I roll my eyes.
As we walk inside Jake's eyes widen, too. "Hey, Amara." he smiles nervously.
I cross my arms against my chest. "To answer your question, yes, she did see her." Mason laughs, finding the whole thing beyond amusing.
Jake lets out a sigh and guilt is clear on his face. "Mason, don't you have something to do in the other room?" I hint with raised brows.
"No." he shrugs.
"Mason." I warn.
"Fine."
I walk towards Jake and give him a gentle shove, making him stumble backwards onto the couch behind him. "Explain."
"She's really trying, Mar. She took some time away, to think. She came back and we spoke about it, she cried and apologised." he tells me. He sounds like he believes it, but I sure as hell don't. And deep down, he doesn't either.
I take a seat beside him and cross my legs. "Jake, she's an abuser. Crocodile tears and a fake apology will only last so long."
"Amara, I know what I'm doing." he shrugs his shoulders. "You forgave Mason."
"Woah," I hold my hand up to silence him with wide eyes. "Mason and I have been through a lot of shit, and he hurt me, sure—but he has never and would never lay a hand on me. Mason and I's issues had reason, and never crossed the line into abuse. I know you're protecting her but don't you dare use Mason and I's situation as a comparison—because he's nothing like her." I snap defensively.
His face falls in guilt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I really didn't," he sighs. "But I do know what I'm doing."
"Really? Because I'm not sure that you do," I tell him softly. "You were so cautious to forgive Mason for what he did to me, and in reality it's nothing compared to Angel."
"How can you be so protective of everyone else around you, yet so lenient when it comes to your own pain?"
He stays silent, as though my words finally got through to him. "Mason hurt me, Jake. Bad. You seen it for yourself, and it made you so angry—but we hurt each other, and our situation was one of a kind. There is no excuse when it comes to Angel."
"Jake, I drew the line at her laying a hand on you. I will support you, always. And you can come to me, always. But I don't support this. I don't support her."
"I know." he nods.
"I love you, but you need to see through her."
He nods again, before pulling me into a tight hug—one that speaks more than anything he could say right now. It's never easy to get out of a situation like this, but I will do my best to help.
"Can I come out yet?" Mason's voice whines from the bedroom.
We both let out a small laugh. "Fine."
"Great, let's get going." he chants as he walks past us both.
"Talk later, Jake." I chuckle.
As we climb into the car I give Mason a side glance. "So, what do you think?"
"About?"
"Let's skip the part where we pretend you weren't listening in." I raise my brow.
He flashes me an offended glare, before giving in and rolling his eyes. "Fine."
As I turn the key in the ignition Mason's hand stops me, wrapping itself around mine. I look to him to see a worried look on his face. "Did I really hurt you that badly?" he asks.
"Mason, I meant what did you think about Angel." I mumble, my eyes flickering away from his.
"I know, but I lost track a little after that," he admits with an intense stare, his lips curling into a vague frown.
I remove my hand from under his. "Keep an eye out for Jake?"
"Jake is a big boy, Amara." he sighs.
"Mason, please."
"Okay, I will." he gives in. I turn the key and begin the drive.
"I'll be your inside man," he smirks. "Leaking the juicy details. A dirty cop, if you will."
"Shut up." I laugh.
After I take Mason home I make my way back to my empty apartment, with no sign of Elijah yet again. I check my phone and stare at the empty call log, and no returned texts from him. I order some chinese food and place myself down at the counter to eat. My foot taps against the ledge of the stool as I attempt to eat, a sinking feeling in my stomach taking away my appetite.
I throw my fork into the cardboard box and make my way to my bedroom. As I perch myself on the edge of my bed the same piece of paper taunts me. Just read it already, Amara. You can't just stare at it forever. Read it or burn it. Just get rid of it. I reach for it, my mind going crazy. I know I need to read it, ever since I found out it existed I haven't been able to focus on anything. Just read it. Read it, Amara.
I take a deep breath as I pull the paper from its envelope, a stray piece that's been folded over landing on my lap. It reads 'Open me last.'
My hands shake and my chest feels weak as I stare at the sheets of paper, covered in Mason's handwriting. I stare at it without focusing on the words enough to read it.
I bite my lip and pick up the first sheet, placing the folded one aside. As my eyes fall to the paper, I can't tell if this the right move, or a horrible, horrible mistake.
"Dear Amara,
Where do I start? I'm
sorry for the handwriting, my hands are
shaking as I write. This is the closest I've
gotten to you in a year, now. What a pussy
I've become, right? I've made it through a
year so far—and I know that you're
probably going crazy wondering
when the hell I'm coming back... I just
don't quite have the answer for that, yet.
That's why I'm writing to you now.
I'm writing to ask you not to give up.
Don't give up on me. Don't give up on us.
It's pathetic that I have to ask you this,
when I'm the one who landed us in this
fucking position in the first place.
I am so sorry, Amara.
I'm writing to you from the top of an old
derelict building—watching the nightlife
of Italy and thinking of you, how much
you'd love this view now that your fear of
heights is in the past. It's peaceful, in a
way. I can almost feel you with me as I
write. It's kind of calming, knowing that
no matter how far away we are from one
another, we're both under the same sky.
And the small possibility that you might
be looking at the same stars as I am, at
the same time that I am—it's comforting.
Maybe I'm finally going insane."
I turn the page with a lump in my throat, my heart leaping in my chest as I try with everything I have to hold myself together. It takes every piece of strength in my body and mind to turn the paper over.
"I think about you all day, every day.
It's suffocating. But it's also the only thing
that's getting me through this royally
fucked up situation we seem to be in.
It's selfish of me to ask you to wait.
It's selfish of me to write to you now—but
I'm a selfish man, and that's not news to
you. I shouldn't be writing to you at all,
if they found out... I'd not only be a
selfish man—I'd be a dead man.
So please, don't write me back.
I just had to give you hope, if you're
anything like me right now, you could
really use some hope.
It's not as bad as you probably imagined.
I'm not taking their shit, I'm standing up
against them. I'm not proud of the things
I've done here... but I had no choice.
And in case it's ever a worry, know that
you're safe. They aren't allowed to harm
you, I made sure of it. It was my one term.
I've thought about writing to you for so
long, but now that I'm doing it, I have no
fucking idea what to say, or how to say it.
I hope that you're safe, and healing.
I'm sorry that I couldn't be there to help.
I hope you have support from everyone,
and I hope that you never feel alone.
You know that I'm probably the furthest
you can get from religious—but I even
prayed, in the worst times, that you
would be safe. That you wouldn't be alone.
That everything will be okay when I
finally get to come back to you.
It wasn't until I was without you for a
while that I realised just how much you've
changed me, and my life.
I can't tell you how many times I thought
that I was going crazy without you.
Being with you was the only time I've
ever been truly happy."
I clutch the paper as the tears fall down my cheeks. I can feel Mason's pain through his words, and all of my own, suppressed pain along with it. I turn to the final page with shaky hands.
"This is my promise to you, Amara.
The first promise I've ever made, and
the first I intend to keep with everything
that I have.
I am promising you that I will come
back to you. I will come back, and I will
do it as soon as physically possible—as
soon as it's safe. Safe for us.
The only thing getting me through these
monotonous fucking days is the thought
of coming back to you. What it'll be like to
hold you again, just to be with you again.
Fucking hell, you're engrained in me.
In every decision I make, in every
thought I have—and I can't shake you.
Even when I try.
Stay safe, and wait for me, Amara.
Please stay.
Whenever you feel alone, know my hand
is in yours—squeezing it three times.
I can't wait to come home to you.
To put this horrible place behind me and
finally do everything I didn't have the
balls to do before.
I am with you, always.
No matter how tough things get, no matter
how different we are—and no matter
how far we stray from one another.
I will be here.
You can open that other piece of paper
now.
Yours for Eternity & a day,
Mason."
The final piece of paper reads:
"I'm asking you to stay. To wait. And
since I know how much you love my
grandfathers words, here is a poem
he used to read to my grandmother.
You should be able to translate it if
you really wish, but the Italian is much
more meaningful—and I'd like to be
the one who tells you what it means.
I'll read it to you when I'm back.
As many times as you want.
If you can wait till then,
I'll tell you what it says.
Rimani—or in English... Stay.
'Rimani. Riposati accanto a me.
Non te ne andare.
Io ti veglierò. Io ti proteggerò.
Ti pentirai di tutto fuorchè d'essere
venuto a me, liberamente, fieramente.
Ti amo. Non ho nessun pensiero che non
sia tuo;
non ho nel sangue nessun desiderio che
non sia per te.
Lo sai. Non vedo nella mia vita altro
compagno, non vedo altra gioia.
Rimani.
Riposati. Non temere di nulla.
Dorme stanotte sul mio cuore...'
I drop the papers to my feet as I sob into my hands, my breathing becoming erratic and my mind clouded with a constant reel of his words. Playing over, and over. This wasn't closure at all, but instead something that opened up old wounds with each word. Each sentence opening up a piece of myself that I had hidden away—covered up and tried to ignore. Each syllable resurfacing a feeling that I convinced myself was long gone. My heart is breaking all over again.
I peel my hands from my face and look at the distorted pieces of paper at my feet through teary eyes—my chest feeling as though it contracts each time I pay attention to the words written on it. I don't know what I feel. All of my emotions are clashing together at once, and the only one I can distinguish is pain. It shouldn't be like this, I shouldn't have to feel like this. Why does it still hurt so much? Why does it feel like my chest is being torn apart every time I glance at the scattered paper on the ground? This was his way of asking me, begging me to hold on. If only I had received it when I was supposed to, everything would be so different.
My breath catches in my throat as I hear my apartment door creak open. "Amara?" Elijah's voice echoes. No, no, no.
I fall to my knees and frantically try to collect the bundle of paper in my hands, the footsteps inching closer to my bedroom door.
"Mar? We need to talk, I'm fed up of fighting." he sighs, the tears uncontrollably spilling down my face.
I stand to my feet, the letter clutched in my shaky hands as he stands in the doorway. His smile disappears from his face in an instant, his eyes falling from mine to the paper in my tight grip. I feel my stomach drop as the look of realisation covers his features, and a deep sadness enters his perfect green eyes.
I drop the letter from my clutch, and feel it float to the floor. The look in Elijah's eyes, and the pain coursing through my body—I just know. My legs go weak and I fall to my knees, the tears falling freely once more. "I'm so sorry, Elijah. I am so sorry." I cry.
He sits on the floor beside me with tears in his eyes. This hurts too much, I hurt him and it was never my intention. I never wanted to hurt him. "I'm so sorry," I repeat through short breaths. "I'm sorry, Elijah."
He pulls me towards him and lets me cry into his chest, the sounds of muffled cries that aren't mine hurting my heart. "I thought it would give me closure, Elijah. I thought I would finally be able to put it behind me." I tell him.
"Shh." he croaks, trying to hold in his emotion. I grip onto his arms and try to linger in the moment, an awful sinking feeling in my chest telling me he won't want me after this. Why would he?
He holds me at arms length, wiping the tears from under my eyes. "I love you, Amara. I've loved you since the first day I saw you wander into that frat party with your eyes that lit up the room and your shy smile—but I don't want you if this isn't real." he bites his lip to cover the whimper in his voice.
"No, no!" I shake my head. "I want us."
"Amara, you're lying to yourself." he sighs, his hands still holding the sides of my face.
"No, I'm not." I cry, placing my hand on top of his. "I adore you so much."
"But you love him." he mumbles. His eyes tell me he believes it, this is what he really thinks. But I don't. I dont still love Mason, not like that, I'm not still in love with him. I can't trust him anymore. People seem to think that just because he's back, I can forgive and forget. But I can't. Time kept moving, and things have changed—and nobody can understand that, nobody other than us. It doesn't make sense to other people, but it doesn't have to.
"No," I shake my head.
"It's okay, Amara. Maybe we just weren't meant to be forever." he says through an attempt at a smile, but the heartbreak is all over his face. I didn't want this for him.
"Please don't do this, Elijah." I whisper, my eyes brimming with tears.
"Amara..," he sighs, a real smile on his face and tears in his eyes. "It's okay, we had our time. And it was amazing—and fucking hell, do I love you." he tells me softly.
"Then don't do this." I cry.
He gently brushes his hand against my cheek. "I have to."
"You said you'd never leave me," I whimper. "You promised."
"I'm not leaving you, Amara. I'll always be here," he sighs. "Just... not like this."
"I'm so sorry." I sob.
His eyes are full of pain, but also a kind of understanding. One that I haven't seem to have found yet. "You can't help who you love, Amara. I sure couldn't."
"This is as much for me as it is for you," he tells me.
"I love you with everything I have, and it's still only half as much as he loves you," he shrugs. "And that will never make sense to me, but it doesn't have to."
"And as much as you care for me, it's only a fraction of what you feel for him. I can't be loved in half measures, Amara. I won't be."
I nod. It feels like my chest is being ripped open but I nod, anyway. Because he's right—I can't give him what he deserves, and he deserves everything good in the world. I'm the selfish one. Deep down I know I can't love Elijah in the way he deserves to be loved, and the more I beg him to stay the more it hurts him. He doesn't deserve that. This is on me.
He stands to his feet, helping me up with him. As he turns to walk away, he turns back around and pulls me into a hug. It's a powerful embrace, one that we both know is goodbye, in a way.
"Amara... you are an amazing, insanely beautiful, smart, and unbelievably strong woman. You are so much more than a rehabilitation centre for a man who doesn't know how to love," he whispers, his hands tightly around my waist. "Remember that."
He leaves a kiss on my cheek as a tear falls from his eye. As I watch him walk away, placing his key on the table, a piece of me feels like it's gone—like I'll never get it back. It was selfish of me to expect him to stick around when I could barely bring myself to tell him I loved him, and maybe it's because I didn't—not really. Not in the way he needed. Every part of me wanted to beg him to stay, to burn the letter and tell him we're going to be okay. But I know that's not right, that's not what he needs, nor what he deserves.
I truly believed that I loved Elijah, despite my ability to say it. What happened with Mason left a bittersweet scar across my heart and mind that will possibly stay with me forever. It is both the reason I fear love, and the reason I believe it exists all at once.
I wipe the tears from my eyes, his parting words ingraining themselves into my brain. Here we are, back to square one. Heartbreak, confusion, loss. A bundle of emotions I can't explain, emotions that I can't understand.
I sit down, tears streaming down my face and an emptiness in my heart. What the hell do I do now?
{a/n— I just want to address something quickly! I've noticed some comments, regarding Amara's stance on the breakup with Elijah; and want to urge you to remember that Amara's internal dialogue is her own thought process. Amara and Elijah both entered into a relationship knowing about her past, with everything on the table. No, it is not all Amara's fault for thinking she loved Elijah—because as one of my readers so amazing put it; 'It takes two to tango'. Elijah was as much involved as she was, and you truly cannot help how you feel. But, in saying this, Amara is a selfless, caring person who puts others happiness before her own—and just because she blames herself, does not mean I, the author, am blaming her.
Just a little note to keep in your minds! The character's internal dialogue is what they think/feel/believe, and isn't always the way we, readers or writer, see it.
Often in my stories, you have to read in between the lines—and know that their internal dialogue is their stance only.
A character's thoughts and feelings is the way they see the world, the way they view situations and the way they feel is right to approach them. This does not outline what other characters, or in turn, me as a writer think.
I hope that makes sense! }