Interlinked

Chapter 35

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Chapter 35:

Giving up ...

  I thought of giving up for many times now. Giving up on the one I love and giving up on the plans I've had on my mind since I came back to Vancouver after years of fighting to fit in a society that was so shallow, that if they drowned in the ocean, they'll look like they're walking on water. 

I believed that everything around me was about to park aside and watch me sulk in my bed, thinking of how much I've lost in the time of four months. 

  But I'm quite startled to see how far I've reached and how weak yet determined I've become in a journey of this malevolent abyss. I was in a moment of time where I was being pulled down by men in hoods and robes, who came from the descending, and tried to vacuum the soul out of me. 

  Though I know this is fault. I know that because I felt safe that night in the arms of the person who I called for help. Wrapped in his embrace and buried in his chest while I enjoyed the scent of amber mixing with peace within me. 

I felt peace in a moment of silence, for I was in the arms of a best friend, and a personal savior, even when the moment of silence was torn apart with my mother's clacking heels on our floor. 

Even when she yelled at me for kicking my grandfather out from the house, I felt strong and safe because although she wasn't aware of the truth, I knew that I was. Which is why when I fought back, when I told her that she was blind to see the hideous man her father was, and I couldn't care less if she found out in the wrong way. I stayed in my ground, just staring at the black tight dress that hugged her petite figure and although the timing was not right, I dared to compliment her and ask her where she and my father were. 

"We were in the Four Seasons hotel. It's the Diaz's 31st anniversary," was her stern reply that only brought the aches into my heart. Her answer was the reason I drew hurt on her face, and I only realized what I said after I felt Zayn's hand tightening around my hand and when I've realized I indirectly called my parents immature, I felt ashamed. 

Ashamed for telling them: "it could have been you, but you're bunch of hypocrites trying to fake a happiness to people who don't care about you."

      Two days went by after that night and now as I walk inside of St. Jude's, a smile takes over my face when I see the same old fragile faces of little girls and boys, adults and teenagers sitting on those light brown couches while they occupy themselves by reading magazines.

There is something about seeing those people every week bring back the light in a tunnel I've lost my way in. With their wide eyes glaring at me and a smile curls from the ends of their lips, revealing their teeth so that they remind me that it's okay to be afraid, and it is okay to feel hope every once in a while. It's almost as if it is a symphony we hear that takes to a whole new world, where words cannot be described or spoken coherently - and that's what hope feels like, to me, after crashing down between my silent walls.

  When we know life does not get worse, there is always a whisper that reminds us that it is okay to cry, or to be afraid or even to hate ourselves, but it is not okay to remain seated in a place we believe is not made for us - not yet at least.

  "You really did not have to come with me, really." I sigh out, allowing my muscles to relax as the medicine starts running down my the tub that connects to my hand, and then stare back at Zayn's worn out face as the black circles under his eyes show distress and the way his fair long hair that reaches below his earlobes stick slightly from each side.

 "I told you yesterday that I will come along," he firmly replies and rubs his temples before I nod and rest my head backwards, trying to relax for the first time today, but I can't. Because when I walked inside the room 20 minutes ago, I found Eric's seat empty and the equipment are not found nor was his favorite comic magazine resting on the left armchair, in its usual place.