Bought #complete (Sequel to Sold)

Chapter Nineteen

When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned, the flames will not set you ablaze

Tia died in her sleep a month later. Her immune system had crashed completely. The days leading to her death was emotionally and physically draining for Sisi. She practically lived in the Hospital. Tia's illness progressed so much, a tube had to be put down her throat.

After her death, Sisi adamantly refused to sleep in her own house so Jean asked her to move in. She would sit in her room and stare at the walls, her mind lost in a world of sorrow. She ate very little and spoke less. Andrew visited a lot but she was never up to accommodating visitors. That didn't stop him. He would come everyday bearing all kinds of gifts; flowers, chocolates, candies, cookies. But nothing made her feel better.

One evening, three weeks after Tia's death, she needed to get some more clothes from her house so she had to go there. After accomplishing her mission, she turned to leave the room when her eyes caught the black journal sitting on the table, just where she left it. She grabbed it and walked out of the room.

Sitting in bed that night, she opened the journal and found the page she had read two months ago.

Note to self
I'm losing myself. No, I have lost myself. I have died everyday for sixteen years. The death I have feared for so long has in truth, killed me everyday. I'm dead.

A loud sob escaped her lips. These words hit her hard across the chest. Was she truly alive, had she ever been alive? It had been from one sad, disappointing moment to the next, she had lost everything, she had been striped. She opened the book and continued to read.

Note to self
It's ironic, I have been running away for so long, it's been three years since I left home and I find myself in the same spot. No progress. I'm stuck.

She wondered at whose journal this could be. Could it be Andrew's? No, she shook her head. It couldn't be. Andrew was too calm, clean, happy. He didn't strike her as one who knew what sadness or loneliness was. He almost seemed perfect. Perhaps he was. This writer, on the other hand, she almost felt like she knew him. Every time she read his journal, she pictured a young boy; lost, homeless, addicted, suicidal, alone. Just like her. She was lost and had lost so much. She was homeless and while she might have a house, she didn't have a home. She wasn't addicted but sadness was addicted to her. She had tried to kill herself. She was alone.

She closed the book; she had had enough for one day. Placing herself on the bed, she promised herself that she would talk to Andrew about the journal, if only to find out whose journal it was.

****

After weeks of pleading, Sisi finally agreed to leave the house and he knew just where to take her.

He pulled open the door to his SUV and helped her in. When she was settled, he ran to his own side of the car and turned on the engine.

“Are you ready?” He tried to sound cheerful.

“I guess I could use some time away from the house” She shrugged.

He drove all the way out of the city and pulled over by the side of a hill. She turned to him, confused.

“Is there a problem with the car?” She stared at him.

“Nope” He stated simply and climbed out. He went all the way to her side of the car and pulled her door open. “Let's go” He helped her out and pulled out a picnic basket from the trunk.

They climbed up the hill together, his hand clasped around hers. They got to the top of the hill and he pulled out the blanket from the basket and laid it down so they could sit.

“A picnic” She smiled. A rare, beautiful smile he hadn't seen in a while. “I didn't see this coming. Good thing I always wear jeans. If Tia...” She started to say then glanced down.

He reached for the basket and pulled out a sandwich. “This is for you” He held it out to her and she laughed. He stared at her, confused.

“I hate bread” She threw her head back and laughed some more. “You have no idea how refreshing it is to say that out loud. Everybody keeps offering it to me but I hate it” She laughed. “Isn't it ironic, we get what we hate” Tears filled her eyes.

“Okay, no bread for you. How about a chicken salad?” She nodded her head and he gave it to her.

She ate her salad silently and he watched her, feeling sorry for her. In truth, he had grown to do more than care for Sisi, he had grown to love her. He wanted to protect her from her fears, he wanted to take her pain away.

“Can I ask you something?” She said, pulling him back to the present.

“Please”

“The journal you gave to me, whose journal is it?”

“Mine” He stated simply and she seemed surprised. “Did you like the salad, I made it myself”

She stared at him for a few seconds then nodded her head. “I feel a need to go back to Nigeria, there is nothing left here for me”

“Have you finished reading the journal?”

“No”

“Then do me a favor Sisi, don't leave until you do”