CHIKLIT/ROMANCE
"BULL! You still love that useless prick!"
"Harley!" I cry, "It's not him that I want! I lo-"
He punches the wall, forcing my favorite memory to shatter across the floor, "I'm going to kill him!"
Haunted by her memories, Liana...
This part of the story will take place as a part of Liana's memories of James. Every part of her memories count. Every action counts. No matter how big, small, happy, sad - they are all memories that help build her future and the decision she made...
I hope you like it!!
I feel his hand brush across my forehead. She's getting a fever! We have got to go now!"
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Tuesday, April 27, 2010:
I awoke to the comforts of my own home; no sounds of laughter, no sounds of tears, just a morning blue-jay greeting me by the bedroom window. I was wrapped warmly in a homemade quilt. It was quite heavy. Normally, it would have felt as if it was weighing me down against the full-sized mattress, but it didn't. Each piece of the handcrafted fabric comforted me. It also kept away the chill and the horror of losing Harley.
As I tried to sit up, a million hammers pounded upon my temples. I was sick, and nausea was riding dangerously to the surface. The moment I was about to run towards the bathroom a strange sound alerted my ears. It was the sound of little feet pitter-pattering down my small hallway.
A little girl came skipping into my room. With every bounce, her curly red hair swished from side to side. I was thankful I didn't stare too long towards her tiny button nose and sparkled-pink fingernails because she was carelessly carrying a tray full of food and a large glass of orange juice.
As she continued to skip in the room her voice bounced with every step, "Hi! My name is, Mary Lou! I made you breakfast alllll by myself!"
She grinned from ear to ear. I couldn't help but smile back.
The smell of crisp bacon, fried eggs, and buttered toast slithered up my nose.
Oh God! Don't throw up on this little girl! She will hate me for life!
I looked towards the banquet fearfully as she came to an abrupt stop. The glass started to rock back and forth. It spilled just enough to splash down half of my white cotton t-shirt. She looked dramatized. She was ready to cry by any word I was about to say.
"Oh, sweetheart...it-it's okay!" I reassured as I wobbled weakly on my two feet. I gathered the tray from her and plastered an excited smile on my face, "My food still looks scrumptious!" I cautiously sniffed the air all the while attempting not to hold my stomach, "Mmmmm! Is that bacon? I loooove bacon!"
I didn't want to tell how bad my stomach felt, nor had bad my head ached. There was just something inside me that wanted to nurture her and let her know everything was going to be just fine.
