The Beauty and the Inked

Five: Home

I was waiting for my luggage when I turned my phone on. I used to be fascinated with carousels when I was younger but now I'm annoyed with it. The sun was almost setting, giving an orange sky.

Zack was a few feet away from me, and I caught him every now and then looking at me. Or maybe he caught me looking at him? I'm confused. Either way, I should be avoiding him. Not that he did anything wrong, but sensitive ass is hurt.

When my luggage finally came, I rushed to hail a cab. Not that I want to reach my parents' house right away, but I want to go on different ways with Zack immediately. Because my self-esteem is in a bad shape.

“Hey!"

I almost stumble on my own feet. What is he going to do? I looked at him over my shoulder, he was jogging towards me. s**t.

"You dropped this," he handed me my phone which was still on aero plane mode. I dropped this... where? "Don't worry, I did not put my number there, neither took yours," oh, his arrogance almost punch me right to my face. He was smirking.

"Let me get this straight," I collected myself and stood straight facing him, "I don’t follow you around, so stop doing this.”

His eyes were lit with amusement and I've noticed that it has a strange orange-like color in it. "Doing what? I just gave you your phone. No 'thank you', then? Fine. I don't know what's with you, but I hope you have a nice day," he shrugged, "And we haven't formally introduce each other," he said with a grimace on his face. “I’m Zack” he said offering his hand for me shake.

My eyes dart back and forth to his eyes and hand. “Okay, nice meeting you, Yssa,” then he walked away, and for nth time of encountering this guy, my self-esteem seems to dissolve completely and would never want to be back again, for good. He seemed to be friendly for a second by my pride couldn’t keep up with him.

. . . .

The cab stopped right in front of my parents' house. I can't say that 'I'm finally home!', because I'm really not home, home is where I get unlimited ultimatum from my Aunt Ruth and endlessly reprimanded. I scanned the neighborhood; so much has changed since the last time I was here.

My knees were getting weaker as I stepped to the front porch, getting nearer at the door. I'm breathing heavily and I feel nauseous. I had noticed that my knuckles were almost white because of my tight grip on my suitcase. Should I knock? Maybe I should. I don't want to be stuck out here for hours. I put down my suitcase then wrapped my arms around me. My shirt isn't enough to keep me warm. It wasn't cold, but there was a chill in the evening air.

Did my Aunt Ruth tell them that I'm coming today? Did she? Of course she did. The house hasn't changed that much. The front porch was still colored with moss green paint which I thought when I was little: is very hideous.

I knocked lightly, and my stomach continues to tie in knots. I let go a sigh as the door swung open. Dark brown eyes looked straight into mine, there were circles under her eyes, and her laugh lines were almost visible. Her lips were fastened with a smile, a face-splitting smile, "Darling," I heard her voice for the first time in many years... she seems happy. How?

My heart was pounding loud inside my chest, and the anger that I was trying to hold drowns me. My nails dig in my palms as I continue to stop myself from bursting. I felt as if I was stabbed right through my heart, and the knife was continuously twisting and twisting and twisting.... Our eyes were still holding each others' gaze. Her eyes suddenly looks so sad, depressed even... that is the look she deserve.

I walk past her, headed to my old room. I was quite impressed how I managed to carry my suitcase effortlessly. I slammed the door behind me, doubling my effort to drag air into my lungs, and before I even know it, I was on my knees, eyes shut close, with tears running down my cheeks. My silent cry turns into sobs. I don't know what to say or do... all I know is I need to cry. I need to ease the pain in me.

There was a knock on my door. I don't know how long I was lying on the floor, maybe minutes or even hours. I'm hungry, exhausted, and emotionally wounded. There was a knock again, but this time after knocking the door was pushed open.

"Ysabelle?" I looked up, there she is again. I was silently praying that I hope this is Aunt Ruth talking to me. But I know she's not. She is my mother, "Darling, I have missed you."

"You're a liar," I spit the words to wound her, and I can see that she was hurt. I succeed. Perfect.

“Ysabelle, baby I-"

"Don't," I put a finger on the air, "This is a bad idea," her expression changed from hurt into oppressed. This is a very wrong idea; I thought I can handle seeing this woman. I thought I can handle being here, in this house again. But I was wrong. My past crawls back into me and completely wrecked the Ysabelle I built.

I was on my feet heading towards the door. I'm running again; escaping from my rotten past. How I wish I could fly back to New York tonight. But I can't, financially and physically.

I walked down the street, trying to remember anywhere I used to go when I still live here. But so much has changed; I can't even remember these streets anymore. The wind blew and I shivered. s**t. I should have at least worn a sweater or a jacket. I continued walking and walking, passing by some café. I don't need coffee, I need a drink... yes a drink will do. I look for a bar. My eyes scanning every sign, and there I found one. The neon light was almost blinding.

I pushed the door open then slid on the empty stool at the bar, the bartender took my order. Minutes later, I was on my third martini.

I rest my head on my palms. s**t. I'm exhausted and tired, but I don't have anywhere to go. I want to reach Bella or Lexi, maybe James or Aunt Ruth, but I can't. I would have called them but my mobile was dead. Damn, how am I going to handle this? I was sobbing, ignoring whether the people around me will be disturbed or not.

This is overwhelming, and I can't deal with this. My sanity is starting to crumble. For so long I have thought all is going to be well, but I was smitten with reality that I'm only putting up lies in my mind. What now?

"Do you need help?" I almost jump, being startled by deep voice. I looked up to see the guy standing beside me. He was wearing a button up shirt, and his copper-brown hair was brushed neatly. I admired the concerned expression on his face, but I shook my head. Now is not a great time to meet some random flings. For heaven's sake. I rest my head back to my palm, my tears have dried up and I'm definitely sure my mascara has been smudge around my eyes.

There was a movement beside me, "Maybe you want to talk?" the guy said, sliding on the stool next to me.

"Just leave me alone,” I hope the rudeness in my voice will throw him off.

He cleared his throat then ordered two drinks. He slid one in front of me. I didn't turn to look at him; maybe ignoring him will finally make him leave. I just want to be alone, because I really don't know what to do. But I also need to talk to someone, someone that will listen to my tangled emotions and unstable sanity.

Minutes later, he was still seated beside me. Humming some songs; this guy knows how to sing, apparently. But he is annoying. And who said he can sit with me? I was battling inside whether to flip him off or not, I turn my face to look at him.

"Excuse me?" I couldn't help to show my insolence. My eyes were half closed, and I can't quite comprehend if he was amused or disgusted with my appearance. His eyes were on mine, examining my face, "May I help you?"

"You're not so friendly, huh," his eyes were on his drink, "But anyways, I'm Andrei," he was smiling, an I-am-handsome-and-you-know-it smile.

I emptied the glass he gave me without saying anything. The rum burned all the way to my stomach, and I felt a smarting pain in my head. I almost fell on my seat as I tried to steady myself, "Shoot," I muttered to myself.

Andrei has his hands on my back, trying to help me. His touch was warm, but still it send chills to my body, "Maybe you've had enough al-"

“Shh!"

He laughed. What? I was supposed to silence him, not to make him laugh. I'm intoxicated, the room was spinning and the music was almost like slurring.

"Where do you live?"

“I'm financially incapable of going home," I explained, I can see the is-she-crazy expression fastened on his face.

"I'll drive you home," he suggested.

“To NY?" I slurred. Am I already blitzed? Maybe I am. My mouth isn't connected properly to my brain.

"You gotta be effing kidding me," I suppressed a laugh. His face was remarkable; eyes wide, mouth open, nose crinkled. But still, he looked like a stupid super model trying to communicate with a blasted lady. I shouldn't be called lady. A lady doesn’t drink alone.