I Hear You

Part 8: Past Hopes Don't Float

Friend

I thought after everything, I would have been more to Max than just a friend. I thought that he was slowly coming around, but he has a girlfriend and now everything is different. I'm just his friend. If I was just a friend, then what was that in the living room. The intense eye contact and him lingering closer to me. The same in my office. I can't even begin to fathom how incredibly stupid and gullible I am.

Yet didn't I push him there?

Doesn't Luna deserve a new friend...and don't you?

I'm such an idiot! I wanted him to be happy, but I had always hoped he would be that with me. That he would realize I'm the person who loves him the most. The person who does everything for him. The person who risks everything for him and more. However, I guess none of that matters. I guess I don't matter. Regardless of what he says. I feel like a fool. Honestly. How tragic that I open up to him and he just plays around like a school boy.

She's the reason he didn't do anything in my office. Not Georgia. She's the reason he didn't do anything now.

I'm beyond words. I'm beyond pain.

Cassian:

Want to have fun tonight?

I felt guilty before, because I slept with Cassian. Turns out I shouldn't feel guilty at all. Because at least I wasn't dragging someone around while I went off and chased someone else. Maybe Cassian was right about Max? What kind of a man he is. Having someone and then chasing after someone else while maintaining a relationship.

Why does my heart still beat for him though? Why do I want him to come back through my door and tell me it's all just a mistake? That he really loves me. Why do I still yearn for him?

Helen:

Sure.

Cassian:

Be there in 10.

Am I being terrible? Sleeping with someone I don't love? Just to ease the pain of losing someone I do? I'll be the first to admit, it's pretty whore-ish of me. Yet I don't care. Not any more. What's the point of caring when you don't feel anything? It's all a bit redundant. Don't you think?

I've had several relationships since I was 18. Most of them just meaningless little infatuations. A few of them were nice and I was sad to say goodbye to them. Then there were quite a few that weren't so nice. Men. Brutish, domineering, hostile- hateful- men. I've had my fair share of bruises dealt to me. I've given my fair share of bruises. Their cruel names play in my head still. Their hands grabbing and pulling and jabbing me without even being on my body now. I still feel it. I still hear it. The bad ones, the ones where I ended up calling the cops, they were the ones that started out so passionate. So thrilling. Unique. I never confessed to anyone about the abuse I've endured. Why would I? I've been told by my parents to always be strong and never show weakness. To stand with my back straight and my head held high. Because of this. Because of them. My parents. I have held in so much pain and fear that I stopped feeling pretty much everything.

Mohammad broke through that pain and fear quite a bit in the two years we were together. He was the first kind man to make me feel special and loved and wanted. He'd hold me at night and tell me 5 things- different things- that he loved about me. Every night. For two years. That's 3,650 different things he loved about me. Saying goodbye to his by far the hardest, most painful day of my life. What made it worse was he died during our love making. His aneurysm ruptured and killed him before I could even dial the phone. Before I could even react properly. He died. I felt so detached from everything after that. Four years of nothing. Four years of just surviving and putting on a facade. Becoming Dr. Helen- the famous doctor who could raise money just by smiling and batting my eyelashes. If only they could see how ugly I felt on the inside. If only they could hear my internal crying and screams. If only they could feel me shaking. They would know I was a fake. They would know that I was broken.