August & Colin | WRU series | book 1
We take risks. We make mistakes. We lie. We love. We hurt. We lose total control.
I took a risk. I paid the price.
I made a mistake. I felt the guilt.
I lied. I lie.
I loved. I try not to.
I hurt. I still do.
...
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The moment I turn the corner, I notice her sitting on a bench next to the entrance of the coffee shop we decided to meet at over text.
She's dressed in a woman's suit and high heels, her hair tied up in a tight bun, and her hands are tucked between her crossed legs, hiding the shiny rock that broke my walls down and built them up all in the same second.
I half expected her to be zoned in on her phone, furiously typing away on her screen to last minutely arrange something for her work. However, her phone is nowhere to be seen as she's anxiously waiting for my arrival.
"Hi, mom." The tapping of her heel against the concrete abruptly stops and her head snaps to me as if I snatched her out of a daydream with my timid greeting. Her tired eyes find mine and something inside me cracks because they look as broken as I feel.
How did it come to this? How did we end up like strangers?
I want to be angry. I want to be cold, harsh, and distant, yet the truth is that I spit all those emotions out yesterday. I let them burn and rage inside of me until only ashes of defeat remained.
She casts me a smile as she scoots a little to the side to invite me onto the bench, and I accept the invitation, averting my gaze to my feet as I wait for her to start.
"There are a lot of things I want to say, August," she pauses as if every single piece of her prepared monologue wants to come out all at once, and she needs a second to reorganize her thoughts.
I know she prepared this because when it comes to our minds, we have similar ones. Ones that never stand still, ones that can trap our body and soul into spiraling thoughts, good and bad. Ones that think and rethink a million times over.
We have minds that trap words, and my understanding of it is one of the reasons why I stay quiet and give her the time she asked for.
"I want to apologize for everything because I know I've been absent, that I've been too caught up in work. But I hadn't realized how you'd been feeling until yesterday. I'm ashamed it took me bringing you to tears because it pains me to know I make you feel that way, that I made you think I didn't want you, or that I regret my years with your dad because I don't. I don't regret the family we were. I don't regret those years and I don't regret you. I don't-" Her words die away into a heavy silence and when I swallow the lump in my throat to push back the tears stinging my eyes, I glance up at her.
Her jaws are clenched, her eyes are closed and the smallest teardrop rolls over her cheek, silently. If I hadn't looked up, I wouldn't know she's crying. I wouldn't know she's breaking too.
My heart is hammering in my chest, my lungs are heavy, and my throat is hurting from the emotions constricting it.
I want to say something, anything at all, but the truth is that I don't know what. All I'm able to do is listen as she continues.
