The Fat Girl Somehow Stole My Heart

35

Months later, Natasha, Michael and her goons were still nowhere to be found and Wendy was still refusing to talk to me.

After telling the psychologist most of what had happened, she became comfortable telling the police and her family everything she could remember.

Though it was extremely hard for her and she broke down a couple of times whilst she spoke, she managed to tell us everything.

By the time she was done talking, all I desired at that moment was to hold her in my arms and never let her go. But of course, that wasn't possible as she hated me now.

The only reason why she and her family allowed me to be there when she talked about her kidnapping experience was to make sure I knew just how much pain my presence in her life had bought her.

She attended therapy for several weeks to get over the trauma and Michael. The counsellor made her realise that she had Stockholm Syndrome and what she thought was love, really wasn't. It took her some time but she finally accepted it and got over him.

At first, I thought the feelings she thought she had for Michael were clouding her feelings for me, but I was wrong.

Even after she got over Michael, her hatred for me never faltered. Her dad couldn't have been more happier at this.

I continued to visit everyday, despite the clear indications from her and her family that I wasn't welcome.

I was persistent until I reached my breaking point. I couldn't handle the rejection her family were casting onto me anymore and so, my depression came back.

I felt emotionally crippled and hopeless. I cried myself to sleep. Refused to eat. Felt no purpose for living, yet again.

This carried on for weeks until one day I got a completely unexpected visit.

When my mom told me she was here to see me, I thought it was just a stunt to get me out of my room. I refused to leave my room and so, she came to my room.

I literally fell off the bed in shock, leaving me exposed to Wendy in only my boxers.

She then did something even more amazing.

She laughed.

She actually laughed.

Not a full blown, head thrown back kind of laugh but a chuckle nonetheless. It felt like music to my ears.

It had been a really, really long time since I had heard her laugh. I made sure to savour it.

"W-What are you doing here?" The disbelief that she was actually here was evident in my voice.

"Hello to you too Tyler," She simply said with a ghost smile.

How I had missed her smile.

The situation was odd for me because not only did she pitch up at my house out of the blue though she hated me, this was her first time in my room.

When we were dating, she had never come to my room. She had only seen our small lounge and kitchen.

After moments of us looking into each other's broken souls, she came inside and sat down my bed. A couple of seconds later, she layed back and crossed her arms behind her, using them as a pillow.

Her casuality was scaring the fuck out of me.

I surprisingly commented. "I like how comfortable you've made yourself." A cautious smile made it's way up my face.

A smile mirroring mine became present on her features. "Surely a girl can relax on her boyfriend's bed, can she not?"

Every organ inside of me stopping working, including my heart.

Boyfriend?

She must have sensed my sudden stiffness because she continued. "You are still my boyfriend Tyler. We never broke up, incase you forgot."

There was a long silence between us.

"I didn't think you still considered me your boyfriend." I whispered, slowly.

"Well I do." She lightly shrugged.

I couldn't help but take that moment to properly scan her.

All her bruises had completely healed and all that remained were permanent scars etched onto her wrist.

They will always serve as a reminder of the horrific experience Wendy went through because of me.

She has regained a little bit of weight but not nearly enough. She was not chubby anymore. She was a few kilos short of being skinny.

Her face wasn't the round and chubby face I had grew to love. Instead, it was structured, holding with it visible cheekbones.

Her body wasn't the plumpy, soft and curvy body I had grown to love. Instead, her curves were gone and her softness had melted into solidarity.

Either way, I still found her equally beautiful.

"Tyler," she said my name like her life depended on it. "Are you okay?"

There was something about the way she asked that question. It wasn't an empty question. In fact, it was so sincere that I became uncomfortable.

"No. I'm not okay."

"Why?"

"Because your boyfriend is a murderer."

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