Shattering Truth

Chapter 3

"How about him?" Jacob asks as they walk down the street, her arm under his, clinging onto him as if she's afraid wind will blow her away.

The few people who walk by them give them a strange look, but aren't most people weary when they see true happiness in front of their eyes? They scowl at its existence, maybe out of jealousy, maybe out of habit.

"Yeah, the fake Rolex around his wrist is such a turn on," she jokes, pulling him closer to herself, hungry for the warmth his body provides her.

"He has a suit," Jacob points out, his look falling on the dark blue suit that the man in front of them is wearing, thinking how he would wear such a suit on special occasions only, and here's this man, walking in the middle of the street in one. Shirts, hoodies and jeans are more of his thing. You don't have to worry about wrinkles, plus it's way more comfortable than a suit. He was lucky his job didn't require wearing a suit unless he has a professional meeting. "I remember you saying you love men in suits," his lips brush against her ear, whispering in it silently, slowly.

She smiles gently, whispering right back, "I was a foolish, little girl. I know better now," she pulls her fingernail over his face seductively, smirking at him as their faces touch. There were times when she had thought men in suits and polished shoes and briefcases are more mature, and that she could spend the rest of her life with that kind of a man.

But truth be told, she's not that kind of a woman. She doesn't like black blazers and black polished shoes, she likes thick, olove green hoodies in which she can bury her face in and comfortable Nike's in which he can run to the nearest 7 - Eleven in during a storm to buy her ice-cream. She doesn't like mature and serious, she likes playful and silly. She likes sloppy kisses on her neck and teasing in the middle of a restaurant, when he lays his hand on her thigh, like it's an innocent gesture.

If her stomach never growled at the mention of cheesecake, she would have never went with a complete stranger for a slice of cheesecake, she would have never met Jacob, and she would have never found out what she really wants.

The moment they sat down and started talking over a piece of the most delicious cheesecake she ever had in her life, she knew she doesn't want suits and grayness and maturity, even if they mean wealth in which she thought lies happiness. All of a sudden she realized she wants a sky blue shirt and rough, bruised hands, angelic face and piercing eyes, and to have a piece of that cheesecake every morning for breakfast.

She knew that she wanted Jacob.

"Why do we even play this game?" She furrows her brows, even though she knows the answer to it. She was the one who started it by accident, after a moment of jealousy. He accepted it. Not so long ago, she falsely accused him of staring at the woman in front of them, when actually he was looking at the baby on her hip, who was shielded from Elena's point of view. Until then she thought not being able to have a baby was her cross to bear. That her problems with conceiving were hers and hers alone. That was the farthest thing from the truth because, even though he never said anything, Jacob wanted a child as much as she did, and not being able to have one had hurt him deeply. He was simply selfless enough to put her pain before his own, and she repaid him by rudely commenting "You probably wish you were married to her."

The lines on his face stiffened, his jaw clenched, and he looked at her with so much pain in his eyes, but with splits of anger as well. If looks could kill, Jacob's was a double pointed dagger going right through her heart. She could only imagine how fiercely her words stung him if he looked at her like that.

To turn it into a joke, he started playing this game, "Do you wish you're married to him?" Every time they were walking down the street. In the beginning, she would only be reminded of the cruelty of her words, but after some time she accepted it as Jacob's way of pointing out to her that there's not a person he would rather be married to other than her.