Destiny ~ Book Two Of The "Meant to Be" Series

Chapter 1

O n e    y e a r    l a t e r

I scream in a high pitched voice, laughing as I run away from Dylan that follows me in high speed. My feet start to ache and my lungs gasp for air as I try not to stop. A feeling of excitement and fear burns inside me. I made a joke of his new haircut – which is actually pretty good, I just wanted to see how annoyed I could get him– and he started following around the park. It's probably the twelfth circle we've ran around the park and I am starting to get exhausted.
    "Tris, stop. You're gonna pass out" says Dylan as he slows up a little. He has a lot of practice with physical activity. He is the captain of the basketball team and he's a very good player. We met at the market a few years ago. It was a weird place to first meet, but he was very nice and convinced me he was a good person immediately. We went–and go– to the same school, but we didn't know each other well. Not to brag or anything, but in LA after my bullied times, I actually got popular a little. I had my own group of girly friends –that I never really liked that much, to be honest– and he had his own group of guy friends. People at our school always "shipped" us together, but we never really like each other that way. We are good friends (best friends), but it's not getting any further than that.
A few years back, my mom sent me to buy some milk at the store, but it was placed so high up – so thanks to my shortness– I couldn't reach it. I tried stretching and jumping so I could reach it, and then I saw an arm on top of my head and grabbing the milk easily as I turned around to see who it was. Dylan's lips creeped into a kind smile as he pulled out his hand, offering it to me.
"Here you go, Tris" he said and I got the milk from him smiling in thankfulness
"Thank you, Dylan" I said imitating his manly voice and we laughed. He was out grocery shopping with his grandmother. I also had a little chat with her and then they left. When a guy isn't embarrassed to show his love for his family, then that guys is a nice guy.
"We should hang out more" he said and then he left with a slight smile across his face.
My feet give me out and I fall to the ground panting and trying to catch my breath as Dylan kneels down beside me and helps me sit up. I gasp for air and my lungs feel like they will burst out any second. I hold my stomach as a few laughs as a few laughs escape my mouth.
"Are you hurt?" He asks and I shake my head.
"I'm fine, just help me up" I say and he grabs my hand and lifts me up firmly. I mumble a "Thanks" as I out my hands on my knees and bend down so it's easier to breathe. I start laughing a little as he looks at me like Im crazy.
"You almost died and you're laughing?" He asks in a brotherly worried way.
"There is no possible way I could die by running" I say shaking my head and rolling my eyes smiling and walking slowly to a bench as he slowly follows me. We sit down next to each other breathless.
"So, school is over" he says. "What are you gonna do this summer?" He asks as I smirk.
"I may or may not be going to Chicago in a few days" I say smiling and shrugging my shoulders in innocence and giggling.
"Really? How long?" He asks exited.
"All summer" I reply grinning. "And . . . Maybe . . . I am moving there . . ." I say and he gasps. "It still isn't sure though"
"You'll finally get to see your friends again!" He says but our smiles disappear as we both think the same thing at the same time and look away. The grin on my face is now replaced with a sad look and my eyes fill with tears as I blink them away,
"He still didn't write anything . . . Didn't he?" Dylan asks and I shake my head.
Tobias only wrote the first month. After a few letters, he just stopped writing or responding. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a full year that Tobias Eaton hasn't replied to my messages or sent me anything. The pain has been killing me slowly everyday, trying to find explanations for him not responding, because I still am madly in love with him. We both wanted so badly for this relationship to work, and he was the one giving me hope that he'll never give up on me and he'll always be waiting.
    "I just want to see him, you know?" I say as my voice starts to crack. "I just want to know why the hell hasn't he sent me any message or letter this whole time" Tears start streaming down my face. Dylan wraps his arms around me and gives me a little pat for comforting.
    "If you want, I can come over there and beat his ass and kill him painfully" he says and I shake my head while a few laughs escape my mouth as I wipe my tears.
   "There has to be a reason" I say. "We loved each other more than just to forget about one-another with the snap of the fingers"
   "But still" he says. "Do you want to give up all your life and childhood you've had here in LA, just because you want to be with a bastard that hasn't texted you back on months? How does that even work?" He asks and I stand up walking away.
   "Shut up, Dylan" I say and he follows me.
   "I'm making a point" he says.
   "And you're pissing me off" I say. "Just leave me alone right now, please. I just want to feel the painful pleasure of being alone, and overthinking the brains out of me" He nods slowly and sadly as he hugs me and walks away. I sigh and wipe my leftover tears while I walk home fast. I hold my school backpack in one hand and my jacket in the other . . . Tobias bought me both of them. . . Mostly everything I own, its either a gift from Tobias or its something I wore when I was with Tobias, so there is no living way I can forget about him (like he forgot about me).
   The plane for Chicago leaves in two days and I just can't wait to see him again. Even though I hate him for not writing me like he promised and forgetting I exits, I still love him with the bottom of my heart and I've prayed so long for the upcoming day when I'll see him again. His ocean blue eyes, and his thick, short, curly hair. His soft warm lips against mine. The feeling I always felt when I was with him, a mixture of excitement, love and nervousness, burning inside me. His firm and soft touch. I can't wait until I get to re-live all those moments with him again.
   I slam the door as I enter the house and I can hear my mom jump in frighten from the loud bang. She sighs in relief when she realizes it me and says "Beatrice, no more slamming the door in the house"
   "Mother, no more telling me I'm not gonna move in Chicago" I snap back, but nit that harshly. Since we moved back here, I can't remember any time that me and my family had a decent memory together (except for that one time when Caleb said he liked me more than Sardines . . . He hates Sardines). I have snapped them back all year, and I've been hating myself for it, but I just hate them for making me leave everything –Chicago.
I start running upstairs and I throw my bag on my bed and sigh while I jump on top of it. I hate this room–my old room. I have owned this room since I was five and it's so childish. Its colored with a dark pink color and it has bits of glue and duck tape all over the walls –pieces of tape left from ripping out every single magazine poster from the wall. I got rid of all my stuffed toys and barbie dolls that were laying in my room. On top of my bed, the cliché bed curtains make their way to the floor from the ceiling and they go around my bed. If there is one thing I hate the most, its this dying room. Though I can't say that the bed isn't the most comfortable human-made object in the world, because it is.
   I just lay there for the next couple hours, clearing my thoughts and thinking of different ways I could ask Tobias;
"Hey, why the hell didn't you write me letters every fucking day like you said you would?"
Or ;
"I want to show my undying love for you, by kissing your soft, warm lips and lay down together while I smell your scent and listen to your heartbeat"
As I enjoy the silence of being alone I hear a huge breaking noise from downstairs and I sit up in fear. First its just quiet but then I hear muffled and quiet sobs that belong to my mother. I stand up confused as I slowly walk downstairs. My mom is kneeling down while her small and pale hands slowly pick up the broken glass, which causes her white hands to cut and make a pool of red. I gasp as I kneel next to her and take the broken glass from the hands then carefully placing it on the table.
"Mom what happened?" I ask worried as she continues to cry. The feeling you get when you see your mothers tears streaming down he face as she sobs quietly is the worst feeling ever. Its worse than any feeling on earth. I have never seen my mom cry before, I just heard her sobs from the other room once. It was when I tried to take my own life away by swallowing those damn pills. While I laid in the hospital bed, my mother cried in my fathers chest causing her sobs to sound muffled. That was the time I have felt the most guilty in my whole life, and I'll always regret how I wanted to suicide so badly. Back then, it seemed like there was no cure anymore, no possible way to be happy. I still am not happy, but al least Im not that depressed.
Mom just shakes her head as he covers her face with her bloody hands from the glass. "Its nothing, Beatrice" she says trying to stop. "Go upstairs, its not the best feeling to see your own mother cry" she says but I gently grab her hands and pull them out of her face. By seeing her cry, my eyes start filling with tears as I start shivering and my voice starts breaking.
"Mom, just tell me what happened. Please" I whisper calmly while my voice shakes and seems like it will break any moment. I don't want to cry, at least not now. If I cry now, mom would feel worse and I don't want that to happen.
"I don't even know" she says shaking her head. "I just . . . I miss talking to you. And I am so sorry I made you come back here in LA, but I just couldn't see you deal with the people that almost killed you. I couldn't stand you lying to me. I couldn't stand you snapping at me all the time and yelling at me to get out of your room. I thought that if we came back here, you would go back to being the little girl you always were" she continues blubbering. My eyes fill with tears as I wrap my arms around her tightly and feel the most miserable and horrible feeling a person could feel. "And I feel bad hiding them from you" she says and I pull back wiping her tears.
"Hiding what?" I ask and she lets out a sob as she opens a drawer and searches for something. She pulls out a pile of envelopes and mails as I gasp loudly and cover my mouth with my hands. A few tears slide down my face as I get the letters. They're all from Chicago and written by Tobias. I let out a few sobs as my mother pulls out more and more letters. The mails she pulls out from the drawers seem infinite as I keep sobbing and blubbering, wiping my tears which are replaced faster than me realizing. Every letter is stamped and has a little heart on it and each mail has two to three letters of writing. I look at the dates and see there are more than ten letters from every month and the latest letter was written two months ago. "How could you?" I whisper shaking my head as tears keep repeatedly streaming down my face. She just closes her eyes and sucks a deep breath.
   "I thought it was for hour own good" she whispers, not even daring to look at me. She stares at the ground and the broken glass. I know she already feels bad and regrets what she has done, so I don't have to make her feel more guilty. I harshly grab every last letter from the ground which causes me to get a few cuts on my hands and fingers because of the broken glass. After I garb every last one of the letters my hands are full and Im scared Ill drop some, that's how many letters there are. I run up to my room, still crying uncontrollably as I sit on the bed reading the letters. I start from the first one sent to me and he explains how much he already misses me even though its been only one week since I left. He wrote that he is so lucky to have me, even if we aren't close to each other. The first letters he sent are more light and they have long paragraphs, telling me how school has been, asking me questions, telling me his inside/deep thoughts . . . But as I read the ones that were sent a few months later/these past months, the writing becomes a little more dark, and empty. He kept asking me to write back snd why am I not responding which breaks my heart. The last few letters have only one to two written paragraphs.

Maybe you don't want this to continue . . . And you are probably annoyed of my every-week writings and stuff. . . Just please, write one letter back. Only one so I can know you are reading this. It doesn't even have to write anything, just send me a white piece of blank paper. Please just give me something, anything.
  I won't probably write any more letters, because I feel weird sending them to you when you never respond . . . Or seem to care. . .
  Ill say it one last time ; I love you.

That is the last letter he sent, which is exactly two months ago. Some of the papers are now wet from the dripping tears that keep uncontrollably streaming down my face. In every envelope there is a drawing that Olivia drew. I sob as the corners of my lips lift upward as I see all her creativity drawn in just a piece of paper. All these letters make me miss them more, and see how much I've missed while I was gone.
Only two more days, I tell myself. Wait only two more days.