Chapter Fifty Nine
2421 Words
Was I dreaming? Surely I had to be, right?
Because that had to be the only sensible explanation to such.
But he looked so damn serious, I thought I might pass out from how that look made me forget how to breathe.
“What do you mean?” How I managed to form words was still a surprise to me till this day.
“Well, if I hadn't met you, I wouldn't have been able to become the CEO, so yeah,” he clarified, a smirk playing on his lips, “what did you think I meant.”
The breath flowed back, but my heart still raced, which I tried concealing with an eye roll. “Next question, and this one's from me.”
He laughed as though aware I was changing the topic because of what I thought he'd meant. “Alright, ask away.”
“Why did you become a basketball player when you could have just focused on your CEO position?” Then I added, “and tell me the truth this time.”
The last time I'd asked, I knew he wasn't fully telling the truth.
But when his face fell, it made me realize this might be a little more personal topic.
Maybe I was getting too deep in his life. He might not want that.
Who knows, this might not be something he'd feel comfortable to talk about.
So I quickly said, “you don't have to tell me, let me just ask another question,” my mind scrambled for something else, “how was—”
“It's okay,” his tone was so low, I'd almost not caught it.
“Oh.” So I leaned further into the couch, readying myself for some private life discussion.
“This is something I've never told anyone, so don't let this pass between us.” His gaze was directed at anywhere but me.
“Okay, but you seriously don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable with it.” Although the thought of him about to tell me something personal warmed my heart.
I wouldn't force anything out of him.
“I know,” he continued, “but I guess it's time to tell someone about it.”
I just nodded, giving him room to continue.
“When I was younger, I had this guy who, we were best friends,” he started, staring at the table, “his name's Lid, and we were both close. Basketball buddies.”
“He was very great at basketball, even better than me and so we played together very often. While I already saw my future career as a businessman, he said his dream was to join the NBA one day and become the world's famous basketball player, which I always thought was possible.
“Until we turned fifteen and he got diagnosed with cancer.”
My heart knotted at the sound of that one life crushing word.
That demon, cancer, had been the one to ruin my dad's life for so long.
It was what made me have sleepless nights. Worse that I had to make sure Oliver didn't have one.
And it had also gotten to Lid.
“That ruined a lot of things,” his tone had a lot of hurt in them, “he couldn't play any more, and so, if my play buddy couldn't, I also stopped playing, convincing myself I would do so when he got well and could play with me.”
“For about five months, the hospital was his house. The only place he ever was, and I visited every day with gifts and would try making him forget the fact there were so many injections of his body.”
My heart ached as I recalled how scary visiting the hospital was when my dad was being treated.
He had so many injections on, there were tons of pipes connected to his body. Breathing and talking was a problem.
Recalling it made me shiver.
“And then one day he was released,” he continued bitterly, “I thought that meant he was cancer free and all, so I went to visit him, but his family looked so sad, it only confused me.
“Then I went to his room where he sat on the wheelchair, expecting to see an excited Lid, because, I mean, that was what I expected since he was free from what he had battled for months already.”
I watched him sigh, before continuing, “the thing was, he hadn't been cancer free, but was going to die soon so the doctors had said he shouldn't live his last days in the hospital, but around the people he loved.”
Though I'd expected that, it didn't help loosen the knot that tightened even further in my heart.
“He told me then that he knew I wasn't going to continue my life as a basketball player, which was very true. But he didn't want me to stop because of him, and made me promise to pursue a profession in it.
“He said he was aware the last time we played might be the last for him, but he didn't want it to be the last for me, and so if I could fulfil a dying boy's last wish and become what he would never be able.
“That was when he made me promise to be a member of the NBA and become the best player worldwide. He begged me to not let my talents die down.”
He sighed again, shoulders slumping, “I couldn't even argue with that, especially when I decided to sleep over at his place that night and he woke up midnight to plead with me to listen to him, Nd so I agreed.
“The next day, he never woke up.”
Silence followed his words, that I found myself hiding back the drop of tear that threatened to fall.
“I'm sorry,” was the best that felt right to come out at the moment.
“As I grew older, my dad wasn't too pleased with the idea since he didn't know why, so he said he wasn't going to help with any financial needs.
“Which was why I worked as the head manager to the company,” he continued, “to gain enough money financially, before I started then became very good, I was taken to the NBA where I became the world's best basketball player, and fulfilled Lid’s dream.”
That coated my skin with goosebumps. How nice his story was.
“Wow.”
He nodded, finally staring at me. “So that's my story, now tell me how you became a writer.”
When I'd asked the question, I hadn't expected him to have such a deep story to it.
My plan was to say that I became a writer because I loved it, but after he'd told me something so personal, it made me actually feel free to open up.
“Well, I became one because I have a procedural learning disorder, which makes it hard for me to learn new skills.” I explained the one thing that had been a problem for me all my life.
His gaze stayed unwavering, but I noticed a softening in them.
“As a child, I always failed in every single test and exam no matter how hard I read,” I started, seeming to relax a little, “it was annoying for me, which worsened when my mom used to scold me every time, telling me all my efforts weren't enough and she didn't want to have a dull child.”
“That must've been tough.” He spoke softly, “and how was school?”
“Stressful as I was one of the only few girls who knew nothing in all the subjects,” I shook my head recalling it all, “worse of all, it wasn't only school that was difficult but every other thing, which meant, I couldn't learn how to ride a bike or learn how to swim or anything because my brain just wouldn't understand.”
He nodded as though understanding why I drowned at his parents place during Thanksgiving.
“It was when Oliver searched for it, that she let me know I could either have dyslexia or ADHD or procedural learning disorder, which after further search, turned out to be the last.”
“But one thing I figured was the fact I was very creative,” I continued, “I could create a story from a man coughing while in a plane, and my brain will work it out that within minutes the story has reached a plane crashing and a man who just met a female start saying their last goodbyes and things like that.”
I chuckled at how ridiculous that was, but also true how my mind worked.
“I started writing it down in a book, but didn't have any plans on publishing it or anything like that, until my dad was diagnosed with cancer.”
His expression changed as though recalling Lid.
“Everyday, I would read a chapter of the book I'd written, and most times when I got home, I'd write another chapter before the next day so I could read it to him, since he told me my stories always made him forget any pain he was in.”
Against my own will, a drop of tear fell off as I recalled thinking each day would be the last I'd tell him a chapter of my book.
“When he became cancer free,” now I avoided his gaze, “he told me my stories were a part of that, then advised me to make many others feel how he felt listening to a work from me.”
I chuckled softly, “that was why I decided to publish, and he helped me look for a publishing agency that will take my novel. The one I used to read for him, ‘If I don't see tomorrow’.”
We were silent for a few seconds till he asked as though unsure if to, “and your mom?”
That released a bigger chuckle from me. “She left the second my dad came from the hospital with news that he's been diagnosed with cancer.”
“Oh, that must've been tough for you and Oliver.”
“It was very tough,” I found myself continuing, “especially with the sleepless nights and as the big sister, having to try ensure she doesn't have a sleepless night and also trying to convince her dad will be okay, mom will come back and things like that.”
“After what my mom did, I knew then and there that love wasn't a real thing. It's all just some bullshit.” The annoyance in me made me spit that out.
Followed by silence.
Like dead silent type of silence.
After what felt like eternity, he finally asked, “you don't believe in love?”
Well, I'd said a lot today, so why not just continue, “about ninety percent of the people who fall in love end up heartbroken. It's all just one dumb ole stressful shit.”
“Oh Kim,” his tone dropped as though talking to a fragile child who could break if he went any louder, “you've let your parents situation get to you and make you create your own theory of things.”
“It's not a theory.” I retorted.
“Not all relationships end in shackles.” His tone didn't change.
“It is. Everyone either ends up with an abusive or a cheating man, others with a greedy woman who knows she will gain a lot from divorcing you, or maybe a woman who doesn't trust her husband. Or she might even be sleeping with his friend.”
“Kim—”
The anger in me felt just like how it had when mom had packed her luggages shouting she was too young to start stressing over a dying man.
“Or maybe because he is going to die soon, she leaves, certain there's going to be another man out there with a healthy life that will take care of her bitchy life!”
“Kim—”
“Or maybe,” tears annoyingly started falling as memories flashed back, “she doesn't want to have any f*****g relationship with the children that came out of her womb!”
“Kim!” He left his couch to sit beside me, placing his hands on my shoulders to pin me in a way I had no other choice but to meet his gaze.
As much as I hated the fact tears were flowing freely while in front of him, that didn't stop them from increasing.
“That's so not true,” he said softly, “the divorce rate isn't as high as you think. As a writer, you yourself should know that love isn't just something as fragile as you say it is.
“Just because one, or two, maybe three, ten couple's didn't make it doesn't mean everyone doesn't. I'm not trying to be a preacher or anything, but you've left yourself in a cage just because of your mom.
“Lots of people would have come, but you let them go because of your uncertainty. Don't look at the people whose marriage hasn't worked, look at others like my parents, Katie and Kelvin, many more people.”
His hands moved to cup my cheeks, wiping the tears with his thumb, “you shouldn't miss an opportunity when the right one comes.”
Jordan, just like many other guys, flashed to my memory.
Was he right? Had I left too many people because of what I feared might be the end result?
“But I don't think it's safe to just give one person my heart. What if he breaks it?”
“And what if he doesn't? You'll never know if you don't try.”
He ate the gap between us, pressing his lips against mine.
My eyes involuntarily closed as I grabbed onto his suit.
As our lips moved together, it reminded me that I'd so much anticipated the night together just for fun.
But as we kissed, I realized something.
Not only did I want to be in bed with him, but wanted something more.
And maybe, just maybe, that something more was…
Love.
- Writer
