Always Is Not Forever (Breaking Myself - Part II)

39. The One Where I Face It At Last

[ A L I N A ' S P O V ]

Gripping the pen tightly, I wrote down the explanation of the sonnet, completing the work that had been due last night. I blamed it on my over-worrying boyfriend who couldn't keep his mouth shut on why I was traveling this much. From past two months, I had been pacing back and forth between Bangalore and Delhi every weekend.

He was getting angry.

And I was getting pissed.

Sighing, I placed the pen between the pages. Just two more lines, Alina and then you could go and shower to remove the aftermath of mediation and yoga.

"What you writing?" Hearing him, I levitated my head to stare at his face, but then, my gaze dropped to his chest.

Where was his shirt? And why the hell wasn't I changing my gaze?

Gulping, I paid attention to the white pages, overwritten by my hands. "Sonnet explanation. College work. You didn't go to GYM?"

"I'm taking a time off for a while," he answered, moving across the kitchen to grab a bowl for himself and picked the milk carton from my side. His bare arm brushed against mine and I bit my lip to stop any sound.

It wasn't something new.

"That's new," I forced out, too distracted by the view. Who said him to go to the gym while looking like that?

He nodded, assessed his eyes at me. "I think you forgot to wear your jacket." I arched my brows, ignoring the blush. "You're just wearing your bra."

"Sports," I rectified, taking a spoon of muesli from the bowl and crunched it in my mouth. Don't you own a shirt? "I was feeling hot."

And right now, too much.

"In the mid of November?" Who were you to question me? You were going on without any shirt. He poured the muesli and milk in his bowl, grabbed a spoon and sat opposite to me. His throat bobbled, his gaze pierced down at my face, lips twisted before he shook his head and lent his head down. "Does this meditation even work?"

"I'm habitual to it." It had become a routine to me. For three years, I had been doing it, and yet, I was nowhere to achieve the peace I was craving for. "Aren't you feeling cold?" I asked, pinning my gaze to his bulging arms that contracted and relaxed as he used the spoon.

"Feeling hot like you," He mumbled.

I passed my hand over my throat, suddenly feeling thirsty to drink anything to calm the thoughts of my mind, to calm the wilderness running through my veins as I stared at him. Stop eye fucking him, Alina. Since when you became him?

Taking a sharp intake of breath, I stood up, picked up my bowl and washed it in the sink.

"Fuck." Hearing his curse, I swirled to see his gaped mouth. "Nothing." He shook his head, placed it in the bowl and bit his lower lip.

Don't do that. Don't do anything when we both were instructed by our therapist to not have much physical contact, to not overstep any boundaries that were triggers for me. But I could kiss him.

Once would be enough.

"I will be in my room." He grabbed his bowl and stood up. "College?"

"I will get ready," I waved my hand in the air. "I will be going to Delhi tomorrow."

"Again?" He asked, placed his bowl back on the table and pinned me with a hard look. "Do you realize you've been to Delhi nine times in past two months?" He sat down again, his hands flat on the counter table.