How to be loved

48 - Delusional

How to be loved

48 – Delusional

Freen's POV

"Oh... this is bad," Irin whispered, her voice barely a breath, but I heard it all too clearly.

My eyes followed hers toward Becky, and a knot of confusion—and jealousy—twisted tighter in my chest. Becky wasn't just glancing at the brunette beside Amanda; her gaze lingered, heavy with something I couldn't quite place. Something deeper. It gnawed at me. The brunette was stunning—sharp jawline, chestnut hair cascading effortlessly over her shoulders, and eyes that seemed to command the room with ease. But it wasn't her beauty that unsettled me. It was the way Becky looked at her—not with the surprise of a stranger, but with recognition. Familiarity.

Was it admiration? Guilt? Fear? The questions spun relentlessly inside me, stealing my breath. Whoever this woman was, she mattered. She meant something I wasn't prepared to face.

Before I could fully make sense of it all, Amanda's cold, clipped voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Becky, come to my office," she ordered, leaving no room for defiance.

Becky blinked, as though waking from a trance, her eyes flickering from the brunette to me, torn and conflicted. My heart pounded, struggling to decode the storm swirling behind her gaze. The hand that had been holding mine loosened, her fingers slipping away as though the connection between us was unraveling before my very eyes.

Amanda's voice rang out again, sharper this time, impatient. "Now, Becky."

The air felt frozen, the moment suspended in hesitation. Becky's grip weakened further, her gaze clouded with indecision. My heart sank as I watched her falter. She turned to Irin, her voice soft, almost apologetic. "Irin, please take Freen to lunch. I'll join you as soon as I can."

But my concern shifted, the brunette's presence momentarily pushed aside by a deeper fear: Amanda. She had the power to shatter Becky, to drag her back into that dark, insecure place where she felt unworthy. Where she felt like a mistake.

My chest tightened with the dread of what Amanda might say, how she might tear Becky apart. How Becky might crumble under the weight of her mother's words. She must know—she must feel—that no matter what will be said in that office, she's not alone. I love her—fiercely, deeply, unconditionally.

As Becky turned to follow Amanda, panic surged through me. I couldn't let her walk away like this, not without making sure she knew... I reached out, grabbing her arm gently but firmly.

"Babe," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. She stopped and looked at me, her eyes wide. "I love you," I said, each word carrying the weight of my heart. "Remember that."

Becky's eyes softened, her gaze locking onto mine as though my words had momentarily anchored her in the middle of a storm. For a fleeting second, I saw the Becky I knew—the one who felt safe in my arms, who trusted me with her heart. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but the hesitation hung in the air, stretching the silence between us until it nearly snapped.

I couldn't take it anymore. Gently, I pulled her into me, pressing my lips to hers. The kiss was tender, yet brimming with all the words I couldn't speak. I needed her to feel it—to understand that no matter the storm brewing inside or out, she had me. Always.

When I pulled back, her expression wavered, the weight of her inner turmoil clear in the way her lip quivered, her eyes shimmering with unspoken fears.

"Hold onto my love, baby," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my attempts to sound strong. "Whatever happens, don't forget it."

She gave a small nod, her eyes filled with an unspoken response—a promise she couldn't yet voice but that I could see shining there. She understood. She felt it.