Paint Me Saved ✓ Book 1

38. Loving Me was a losing game

Leonardo

It was easy, saying to the void that I missed her.

I missed Zemira like the stars missed the moon at dawn and passing spring missed blooming blossoms. She took a part of me with her.

Within days of her leaving, I felt like an emptying barrel seeped off her love, trickling every day till one day I was drained completely. I longed for her to fill me up again.

Zemira also took the melody of music with her. Whatever I was listening to now were only words. Harmony shattered when I told her I didn't love her, leaving me with the dissonance of my life.

The word selfish wouldn't even begin to cover the magnanimity of my actions but breaking her heart wasn't one among them. It was a necessity. Zemira didn't know whom she was loving, whom she was tripping towards. Loving me came with a price, she didn't know of.

Though at one point my greed forced me to meet her and ask for forgiveness, it was the slap of reality that got my bearings in order. If I hadn't sealed our fates with separation, I would have kept her reserved for my solace. Zemira would hang her life to a side, waiting for my letters and checking emails to see if I'd sent her anything.

Zemira would stay stagnant, waiting for my return to restart living.

I couldn't do that to her.

In a way, I was selfish.

I wouldn't be able to console her if something were to happen to me. I wouldn't be able to ask her to move on with her life. The thought of dying wasn't scary. What scared me was the image of Zemira clinging to her knees and wailing into her chest at the news of my demise.

I was selfish to deny her love.

If love came at the cost of Zemira's suffering then I refused to love. 

I saw what love did to my mother when I placed the Power of Attorney and my will in her hand. I saw her fallen face, praying on the inside for my safety, for my will to never come into use.

I couldn't subject Zemira to that. I wasn't brave enough to watch her put on a smile and wave goodbye.

With these overwhelming thoughts floating in my head and hammering at my chest, I adjusted my seat, seeking a comfortable position as the car sped through sparsely spread traffic.

Kyle was driving me to the airport, humming something along the way.

The thing about having a family feud was its repercussions. Antonio narrated a different version of the assault to Dad. The useless pile of flesh and bones that was my father, believed every word of his money-minting manager.

I somehow failed to convince Dad of the truth. My decision to resign from the Director's post at Brenton Media rather than taking a sabbatical didn't help my case either.

So unlike last time, it wasn't Antonio driving me back.

As was the case with verbal triggers, the mere reference to the word – brother - soured my thoughts. It revealed my inability in getting Antonio arrested for his deeds.

"What are ya thinking?" Kyle spoke after a long stretch of silence. "Something deep, I'm sure."

I dropped a look at my watch. Kyle had driven for more than an hour with quietude accompanying him.

"Nah, nothing..." I said, rubbing my face hard. "How's Debby?"

"She's good." Kyle's face lit up. In a desperate attempt to hide his smile, he tilted his head to the side away from me. "She kept asking about your girl since the day they met. Zemira didn't want to send you off?"