Nine: Breakdown
1168 Words
When we finished eating, I excused myself and return to the room where I slept in. I managed to call Bella through Skype.
"Yssa! I've been waiting for your call, it's been like forever. What took you so long?" Bella's words came out in a rush. Concerned was lingering on it, and it almost threw me off the cliff.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, damn. Don't get emotional right now, Ysabelle. Don't.
"Yssa ? Are you still there?" Bella asked.
I'm afraid that if I speak, I won't be able to hold my tears. I miss home; I miss my friends and my Aunt.
"Bella, I... I don't know what to do," I managed to say, the tears already escaped from my eyes and cascaded down my cheeks.
"Why? What happened?" I wanted to answer Bella but I was sobbing uncontrollably. I shut my eyes closed, letting my emotions take over me. "Yssa , what's wrong?" she cooed from the other side of the line.
Let me think... what's wrong with me now? Everything. I have decided to see my Dad, but ended up running away with nowhere else to go. I don't want to go back there. I don't want to go near that house again, the walls, the halls; the rooms were still haunted with my past.
What will happen to me now?
Will I die? Die.
I shook my head. Not again. "I'll call you later," I hung up. Bella doesn't have to know. She shouldn't worry too much. My insides were knotted, and my emotions were still unstable. The familiar feeling of sadness was slowly creeping inside me.
Yes, that's the only way to stop the pain.
No!
I will feel no more pain.
It has to end.
No! Not this way!
My life would end anyway.
I shook my head, brushing off the thought that was running in my mind. My hands were covering my ears, and my knees were getting weaker until my shins hit the floor with a thud.
This is not happening.
This is not happening.
Yes, it is. I'm in pain; in trouble. I always have the choice...
The door flung open, hazel eyes were searching for me. His expression was flooded with concern when he found me kneeling and crying.
"What's wrong?" Zack pulled me up by my shoulders, and then examined me at arms' length. His eyes have these weird orange and green flecks in them, "Yssa?"
My heart flutters, and almost leaps out of my mouth. The way he looked at me, straight to my eyes, was heartwarming. Why is he so worried? His brows almost knit together. There was a shadow of fear in his eyes. I'm confused, this stranger in front of me; this very man, who I just met a few days is worried about me.
"Aren't you going to talk?" his voice was full of authority. He shook me lightly, "What's wrong?" he pressed.
"I'm sorry."
"What?!" he was looking at me as if I had grown two heads, "What’s wrong?"
"I said I'm sorry," I looked down. His hands were still resting on my shoulders; I can feel the warmth of his palms. I stepped forward, folding my arms around his waist, and I buried my face on the crook of his neck. His smell traveled its' way down to my lungs as I inhaled, there wasn't any faint perfume, just him.
Maybe he was still processing my actions, because his arms were still in mid-air; careful not to touch me. But I don't care.
We stand like this for minutes. He didn’t push me away, nor humiliate me.
My eyes were closed. I want this serenity that I feel to last forever. I want him to wrap his arms around me, but I won't force him to do so.
"Ysabelle?" he said again. I felt his hand run up and down my back. But I can feel that his actions were still guarded, and I was drowned with a s**t load of guilt; spiraling in my stomach.
"I'm sorry," I pulled away from him, though deep inside I never want to. I wish my friends were here to give me the embrace that I need. My eyes averted, avoiding his. I tuck a lose strand of my stubborn hair behind my ears.
What did you just did, Yssa?
You freaking embraced a guy you just met a couple of days ago! My subconscious was glaring at me. What has gotten into me?
"It's okay. Don't worry, okay?" he run his thumb against my jaw.
"I should go," I said. I mean it, I should go. Though I don’t have anywhere to go, it’s not right to take advantage of someone else’s kindness.
“Tell me what's bothering you."
"Why would I?"
"Maybe I can help," it was his turn to look disarrayed. His hands were now on his sides, eyes wide but raw. The green in it was ruling.
"We barely know each other," I know better. Men don’t like drama.
"Tell me, so I can help," I almost wince with the annoyance in his voice, "I won't ask again," he emphasized the last word.
"No, thank you," I said under my breath. I don't want to offend him, but it seems that that’s what I’m good at. "I should go now. I need a bath," I can still smell the alcohol from the previous day. My hair is sticky from my sweat, as well as my skin.
"Could you, uhm... drive me back to Elgort's?" another favor. Damn, I'm on full debt.
"Why would you go back to that bar?" he looks totally confused now.
Just say yes, Zack.
"I'll walk from there to my parents' house," here we are again with me explaining a lot of things to the people around me. I think this is inevitable.
"You can take a shower here," he suggested.
"I don't have an—"
"Okay," he cut me off. He was half way out the door, leaving me.
"Why do you always do that?" I asked, I sound so silly, "Cutting people off while they're still talking."
"I don't like wasting time, s'why," he shrugged. I was punched right to my face with his pomposity. Then he left me, open-mouthed and still reeling over the way his moods changes quickly. I never knew even men can have PMS. He was kind the first second, and like a jerk the next.
I followed him, locking the door of my room behind me. I don’t even know how I will pay for this one. What a time to be alive, right?
I called out for his name when I stepped in his hotel room but received no answer. I noticed a drawer open wide at the far end of the room, curiosity took over me and I take a look of what was inside.
- Writer
