A DEAL WITH MR HEARTBREAKER

Chapter6

ARIA’S POV

I walked to the door, my footsteps silent on the floorboards, to check who was there; yet as I reached the entrance, all I found was emptiness. There was no person in sight. Slightly perplexed, I furrowed my brow and turned back to continue with the arranging of the bag, my hands working in an almost mechanical fashion while my brain concentrated on that. Just as I got down to arranging things, a sound suddenly made itself feel the sound of footsteps, creaking floorboards under the weight of another. I turned to see who it was, my eyes widening in disbelief to soak up the figure before me.

My mother stood before me with that ray of light smiling down on her glorious face, her eyes shining ever so brightly. "Aria, my love," she called softly, huskily, fitted out with her welcoming, outstretched arms. I stood still, awash in wonder and confusion. I mean, it had been so long. No one was ever the cause of her feeling this way with me. It was always Anaya or someone else who seemed to make her happy. A shiver trailed down my spine as I watched her, my eyes searching for an ulterior meaning or a hidden motive.

"I don't trust this woman," I soothed myself, almost whispering. Was my mind whirling? What does she want? Then I put my guard up the moment I found myself questioning her motives. And then Aria cleared her throat, shattering the moment. "Roman dropped a message for you," she said matter-of-factly, but with shining, knowing eyes.

Just like any magnetic force that can be resisted, my eyes turned straight to Mrs. Bella, my mother. Her expression was serious as she bonded her icy stare with mine - that expression made me think that she was trying to speak to me without words, saying something deep beneath the surface. "What's now, mom?" I coldly said under my breath, with a tone shadowed by unease, which had begun to settle heavily in my stomach as a premonition. My statement leaped into the air with deference, waiting for her response while holding her locked eye contact so glaringly that it could jolt you awake.

"Roman says that he has something to tell you," my mother's voice was measured, as though she chose each word carefully, in precise and deliberate fashion. I felt a jolt of surprise that was mixed with a healthy dose of skepticism, a slow creeping sense that was just like a thief passing through the night. "You're kidding right, mum?"I said to her incredulously and left the clothes I'd been sorting to inform my legs that I was on my way to the door, heart thumping inside my chest.

Gripping the doorknob, fingers curling in a vice, pulling open the door. Stepping out into the hallway, coolness wrapped even tighter around my body like a shroud. The hallway is long, narrow, and lined with doors stretching away to an end that seems to last forever, like a never-ending maze. I walked, legs on autopilot, the mind still buzzing with thoughts from the talk with Mom, thoughts all jumbled by the cocktail of emotions and doubts.

But then my thoughts just got interrupted when my leg stepped onto an oil spill that spread out like a dark crimson stain, an invisible slippery patch. It was so slippery that the next moment, my leg just flew out from under me, and everything started to happen in slow motion. I slipped and felt myself going down, arms flailing in wild gestures trying to uphold balance, my heart pacing with terror. My leg quaked violently, like a leaf in the tempest at that instant, and I crash-landed on the floor with a thunderous bang, as if being tried for unpremeditated assault, all the while losing credibility by overstating my misery.

Boaaaaa...." "An ecstatic cry of passion ripped from my lungs as I splattered to the floor, my head striking the cold, hard surface with a nauseating thud. "Ahhhh!" A yell escaped my vocal cords, as excruciating pain flooded through my skull, searing like thousands of knives stabbed into my brain. My God! It hurt beyond comprehension, unbearable, and my breath came out in gasps. I feared I might actually die".

Nobody came to my rescue, offered comfort, or hurried to my side like an angel. I lay on the floor helplessly and alone. I was very sad, my heart rather heavy with sorrow, as I thought about my mom's hatred for me. In disappointment, I shook my head as tears began to flow down my cheeks like rivulets of pain, struggling to gather strength to crawl back to my room.

The floor stretched away into a vast, cold, hard-tiled area designed to play tricks with my loneliness. I dragged myself forward, inch by inch, my body screaming in protest each time my mobility afflicted it. But I had to go; I had to find a way through this pain and sorrow that threatened to consume me. After a span of what appeared to be forever, I returned to my room and fell onto the bed as if shattered, unlike a doll that was broken.

As I was about to get enough breath, the sound of my mother's laughter mocking me came from the outside. "Oh my darling, did you slip off?" she said with great heaviness in her tone of sarcasm and contempt. Outraged and bitter, emotions came in but did not linger. They were soon washed away by the waves of sadness, the feeling of great loss and rejection that seemed to engulf all.

MRS. BELLA'S POV

"I told you that you are darn careless," I said and shouted in the boring room, followed by a devilish smile on my face while acting as if I was correcting her, but because of this, I guess, I'm feeling seethed with hatred and fury. But looking closely into her eyes, I could see that further from pain and vulnerability, my facial expression would have softened and melted my heart to feel compassion.

I walked towards Aria, feet dragging her to her with purpose, arms out-reaching to help her. "It's okay, sweet," I said in my softest vein as I helped her mount on the bed, that emigrant body weak and delicate as a flower keeps bruised and battered. She wrapped her hands around me, and I could sense her lying close to my neck as if, really, I was her lifeline, a source of comfort.

"Thanks a ton," she murmured, pushing some more pain into her voice and winching and groaning, sometimes even clutching her body with cries of agony. My heart this time went for her with empathy and compassion as I gazed into her eyes to see the suffering and tormented ones there. "I would make you some soup, so it can also maybe help ease the pain through its warmth, right?" I would ask now in a concerning tone, looking at her as an obligation to do engineering because I care and need to know better.

Aria closed her eyes while waving her head up and down as she managed to stammer out a very weak, hardly audible "yeah, yeah" and yet you could feel the warmth of her gratitude wrapping around you like a thick hug, filling you in an uncanny way with a sense of purpose and presence.

The feet carried me into a kitchen jamboree with fryers and heated fragrance from cooking food above the sound that blanketed me. There stands Anita-thought gazing at me with that curious look, furrowed brows of concern richly painted with anticipation, as if waiting for a news or report of what happened, by the counter as I entered.

"What's up, Mom? "What's the update?" she asked, her anticipation-heightened voice holding in it that quality of almost breathlessness waiting for an answer. I stood there, smiling, as something like a wave broke over me. "Well, would you give me a high five?" I said, laughing as I held up my hand, palm facing upwards, eyes shining as I spoke.

Anaya's face glowed like a thousand sun rays as she slapped her palm into mine. The sound of our hands meeting rang in the kitchen, a victory of sorts for us. It was a defeat against despair; a joyous clapping, the quietest of praises, but embedded in our hearts was a treaty, a realization of life that sparked joy and laughter.

"You did well," I called Anaya, steadily nodding my head while my eyes twinkled with pride and admiration in my voice. Anaya's face grinned with pride and accomplishment. "What do you want to do now, Mom?" She followed my gaze as I turned and commenced to dismantle pots and pans from the shelves, the clattering clang of metal upon metal spilling freely into the air, like sweet music in my ears.

As I began to prepare the ingredients for the dish, chopping and slicing, Anaya remained an interested observer, gazing at the pots and pans as if attempting to guess my preparations. From sounds to sights, our delicious offerings wafting through the minute crevices captivated the kitchen with golden warmth, charmed away by the alluring melodies of our coordination and countless hours spent side by side with each other like breathtaking choreography.

"I'll make the pepper soup for Aria, it should ease her pain," I told Anaya with great determination while gathering the salt, peppers, and other ingredients. Anaya's teasing tone underlined her words with sarcasm as she laughed through the kitchen's warmth, "Oh, such a sweet mom!"

But then her expression hardened in earnestness, her eyes burning into me with urgency: "Mom, please don't forget to convince her not to marry Roman." I felt a momentary pang of surprise laced with concern as I retorted, "She's married already; she has signed a contract." But Anaya had taken a determined stance: "Mommy, you can convince her to tell Romans she's no longer interested, or we can bribe the lawyer so that the contract will be dissolved."

I gazed intently at Anaya, searching her eyes for a sign of understanding; instead, I found malice stirring in them, a spark of cruelty igniting as she said: "I want Aria not to get married and live a happy life, I want her to suffer." Her words hung in an almost challenge-like fashion in the air as I felt shock mixed with dismay, realizing how deeply Anaya resented Aria and how much she wanted to see her sister hurt and unhappy. The kitchen, which had moments ago been suffused with the warmth of cooking and laughter, had turned cold and sterile, and an air of tension seemed to envelop us, while I tried to grapple with Anaya's mingled emotions.