Always Is Not Forever (Breaking Myself - Part II)

7. K I A R A (Last)

[ K I A R A ' S P O V ]

"You okay?" The man asked.

I was okay.

I was breathing.

Nodding, I stared at the empty light blue wall. It needed to be decorated to fill the emptiness of his room, but Mayank was never fond of decoration. Then, I meandered my gaze to the ceiling and almost sighed at the plainness of it.

Why isn't it exciting for me?

"Do you need water?" Mayank offered, the blanket rolled over our naked bodies.

Blinking my eyes, I shifted my head to the side to look at the sweat covering his face and chest, to the messed hair caused by my fingers and I smiled. "No, I am okay."

Six months, Kiara.

Six months were enough to fall in love with him.

With Abeer, it took a week and a kiss.

"Do you want to cuddle?" No. I wanted to wash your hands off me. I didn't feel me. I didn't feel good.

"Can I shower?" I asked. "I don't like sleeping in sweat." He nodded towards the washroom. Standing, I covered my body with the blanket, shielding it from his eyes, and walked to the washroom.

Turning on the shower, I tried to rub his hands off me, scratched my skin until it turned deep blood red and I couldn't smell him on me anymore.

He was so sweet, Kiara. He loves you more than his world, but yet, here you are washing him off you.

Closing the shower, I stepped out and stared at the reflection in the mirror.

I felt dead.

I felt ruined by having someone's else hands on me. How was he able to do it? Cheat on me when I couldn't have it without feeling ruined and assaulted?

It had been two years, Kiara.

You need to move on.

But I slid down to my knees, burying my face in them to sob it out because everything felt confusing and wrong.

Mayank wasn't Abeer.

Nobody could be him.

Hate him, Kiara, for ruining you but yet, I wasn't able to.

A knock on the door heckled my actions. "Kiara, are you okay?" I don't know. "It's okay." I felt him sliding down the door. "I can wait."

For how long?

The tears didn't hurt as much imagining someone else on me who wasn't him.

Heaviness soared on the tip of my eyelids, but I didn't desire to open my eyes yet. It felt the same as the day when I was aware I was on the brink of losing everything but didn't dare to open my eyes and pretended to lay down in still motion. It was easier to imagine when I closed my eyes. There would be no tomorrow to look onto.

Sometimes even the mere possibility of tomorrow was nerve-wracking.

However, I was aware I wasn't dead or wouldn't be anytime soon because I could feel a warm hand rubbing against my palm.

It made everything a reality.

With hesitance, I fluttered my eyes open even if they protested to stay close. His figure remained a blurry imagination in front of me-a man on his knees, pleading for me to get up and trying to pass on the warmth of his body to me.