continued, further fanning my fury which I was trying very hard to suppress. “But it’s really not what you think it is. Nothing’s going on between me and Jaynie.”
“ U huh ,” I repeated. My dad thought me a cardinal rule that I should always observe whenever I was angry: the less I say, the less I compromise .
“ S o ... are we good?” he asked, his lips curling into a weird angle that resembled a curtailed grin.
I looked at his handsome face and I began to miss the happy moments we shared. For nine months, we loved each other and no one else mattered. We dreamed together. We hoped together. We planned together.
B ut he betrayed me .
I ’d be lying if I’d say that I didn’t consider giving him another chance. Maybe, that thing with Jaynie the Bitch was a momentary lapse of judgement... a mistake that people commit to learn about love and life... a mistake that is part and parcel of growing up. Maybe, his indiscretion was not his fault, entirely... that she seduced him, and he was only human... a man who was compelled to take a vow of celibacy because I told him I wasn’t ready for sex just yet? Maybe - just maybe - he still truly loved me, and his error has thought him never to take my trust for granted ever again?
I f I’d take him back, all those wonderful things we planned for college and beyond would push through. I understood that the pain will linger - it may always be there - but if love does conquer all, it should be enough to heal the wounds of treachery and enable us to forge a nice future for ourselves, together and happy.
I t’s been more than three weeks, yet he persisted. Every single day, he tried to communicate with me, to air his side, to ask for my forgiveness. His never wavered.
W as that how much he wanted me back?
W as that how much he loved me?
A part of me wanted to give him the chance he so despairingly wanted...
B ut ...
T here was another matter to consider.
I was not the same woman I was before he cheated on me.
I was different . I had to be different for what was to come.
I shook my head . I saw his eyes swell. I witnessed his powerful shoulders drop into a seeming heap of helplessness and sorrow.
A nd I walked away .
A s soon as I reached my seat in my classroom, I drew out my phone and started to type a message.
Please meet me tonight. I have something very important to tell you. Just be there. I’ll wait.
I reviewed the text once again. Then I looked for Nash’s number. Once I found it, I pressed on the send icon, and a tune informed me that it was transmitted.
I had to talk to him. It couldn’t wait. He has to know.
12
In Dreaming
I n my bedroom that night , I waited... something I have become accustomed to ever since we had sex. The first few days after he made love to me were very difficult. I lost countless hours of sleep just gazing at the window, expecting his hooded figure to emerge from behind the glass. He never came.
T he following days were a bit more bearable. The lack of sleep has made it easier for me to rest my weary body. I came to the conclusion that if he will come, he will come... and there was no point in waiting for him.
T hat night , however, there was a point in waiting for him.
A big one .
A nd so I waited and waited and waited. Hours passed by and everyone in my household - and quite possibly, the entire neighborhood - has gone to sleep, yet I kept waiting. The clock above my bed heralded the ungodly hours and I never yielded, I kept waiting. The small hand left one and arrived at two and I was still waiting. Two was abandoned in favor of three but I sat there, at the edge of my bed fronting the window, still in wait.
I lost track of things thereafter.
T he weariness of the day ...
T he fears that persisted ...
T he choices that had to be made...
T hey have taken their toll on my body and I succumbed to the call of slumber. And I dreamt. Of a perfect world where I was free, where I
“ U huh ,” I repeated. My dad thought me a cardinal rule that I should always observe whenever I was angry: the less I say, the less I compromise .
“ S o ... are we good?” he asked, his lips curling into a weird angle that resembled a curtailed grin.
I looked at his handsome face and I began to miss the happy moments we shared. For nine months, we loved each other and no one else mattered. We dreamed together. We hoped together. We planned together.
B ut he betrayed me .
I ’d be lying if I’d say that I didn’t consider giving him another chance. Maybe, that thing with Jaynie the Bitch was a momentary lapse of judgement... a mistake that people commit to learn about love and life... a mistake that is part and parcel of growing up. Maybe, his indiscretion was not his fault, entirely... that she seduced him, and he was only human... a man who was compelled to take a vow of celibacy because I told him I wasn’t ready for sex just yet? Maybe - just maybe - he still truly loved me, and his error has thought him never to take my trust for granted ever again?
I f I’d take him back, all those wonderful things we planned for college and beyond would push through. I understood that the pain will linger - it may always be there - but if love does conquer all, it should be enough to heal the wounds of treachery and enable us to forge a nice future for ourselves, together and happy.
I t’s been more than three weeks, yet he persisted. Every single day, he tried to communicate with me, to air his side, to ask for my forgiveness. His never wavered.
W as that how much he wanted me back?
W as that how much he loved me?
A part of me wanted to give him the chance he so despairingly wanted...
B ut ...
T here was another matter to consider.
I was not the same woman I was before he cheated on me.
I was different . I had to be different for what was to come.
I shook my head . I saw his eyes swell. I witnessed his powerful shoulders drop into a seeming heap of helplessness and sorrow.
A nd I walked away .
A s soon as I reached my seat in my classroom, I drew out my phone and started to type a message.
Please meet me tonight. I have something very important to tell you. Just be there. I’ll wait.
I reviewed the text once again. Then I looked for Nash’s number. Once I found it, I pressed on the send icon, and a tune informed me that it was transmitted.
I had to talk to him. It couldn’t wait. He has to know.
12
In Dreaming
I n my bedroom that night , I waited... something I have become accustomed to ever since we had sex. The first few days after he made love to me were very difficult. I lost countless hours of sleep just gazing at the window, expecting his hooded figure to emerge from behind the glass. He never came.
T he following days were a bit more bearable. The lack of sleep has made it easier for me to rest my weary body. I came to the conclusion that if he will come, he will come... and there was no point in waiting for him.
T hat night , however, there was a point in waiting for him.
A big one .
A nd so I waited and waited and waited. Hours passed by and everyone in my household - and quite possibly, the entire neighborhood - has gone to sleep, yet I kept waiting. The clock above my bed heralded the ungodly hours and I never yielded, I kept waiting. The small hand left one and arrived at two and I was still waiting. Two was abandoned in favor of three but I sat there, at the edge of my bed fronting the window, still in wait.
I lost track of things thereafter.
T he weariness of the day ...
T he fears that persisted ...
T he choices that had to be made...
T hey have taken their toll on my body and I succumbed to the call of slumber. And I dreamt. Of a perfect world where I was free, where I
Similar Books
