Maven and Adrianna were like the sun and the moon. Their paths were meant to cross but not to sync eternally.
Both from prominent wealthy families separated by hatred and vendetta, they should've left it at that. But fate has a funny way to let them...
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You know what's the worst kind of crying? It's the silent one.
I didn't mean the type of crying where tears just cascaded down to the cheeks from the ducts.
No, that's far from it. It was the kind that made me jolted awake in the middle of the night for the past nights.
The kind that I wanted so badly to scream but I can't, The kind that I heaved from the inside, the kind that I felt in my throat and crushed my ribs to the very core, piercing me and letting my heart bled.
It's the type of crying that nobody heard or saw... because I simply wont let them.
6:21
Thursday, January 26
Maven now
Missed Call (34)
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Maven now
Baby, please pick up the phone :-(
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It's been a week since the last time I saw him when I decided to stay with my mother back in Green Meadows. It's been a week since I have had any communication with Maven.
He used to text as often as he called, dwindling away as days went by until by the end of the week, there was none. No calls, no texts, no emails. Nothing. Nada.
I told my self it was for the best but in reality, my mind rebel as my heart bled for Maven—for the both of us—blinding my sight when the tears fell so easily. I hated how easily Maven paved his way, crawled into my heart and I couldn't seem to shake him off me now without ripping my heart out as a whole with him.
I hated the way he made me feel that I could have him for me—in my own selfish reason--when I knew, in my mind, I couldn't.
A wall was building up between us and I could only stare at it as it closed in-- separating us completely.
We couldn't be and that was the sad truth, our own reality. I have to stop this sooner than later but at what cause? I was a coward, I was too indecisive and too high of love to end it.
How do you leave someone you are madly in love with?
Every morning when I wake up and share breakfast with my mother, the sound of her crying echoed my ear as how I remembered it, high-shrill as she quivered, and the haunted look in her eyes when she gazed back would tear me up, churning the pit of my stomach with guilt.
I knew, by then, it was only the beginning of the storm.
