Love Me, Mikayla

XIII

BARAK

. . .

The feeling of emptiness is going to haunt me after tonight along with the blender of her melodious voice carrying fiery words.

Bitter reality.

I wish I could so easily shake it off my chest and never let it come back to where I dethroned it. But then, where's the fun of living if things could go so easily in one's life?

Maybe I was chosen for it; the pain and all.

"Ready?" I ask her after I am done arranging my stuff in their respective place.

"Are we going to do this holding-hands, holding-hands thing until we're departing?" She utters, sharply looking into my eyes as if she so badly wants to vent out all her frustration upon me.

Uh... so it was still not enough for today? My heart, how much anger does she generate every day?

"You don't like it?" I ask, walking towards the door and so she does, always keeping her daggers in my direction, while everything is blurred.

Even in anger, she's beautiful. So, so beautiful.

"No," she whispers, trying to walk past me but I don't let her.

I hold her hand, pulling her slightly closer as I mutter, "Liar."

A dramatic gape is thrown in my direction. "I don't lie," she grumbles like a child while I interlock our fingers, feeling the metal of the wedding ring around her finger.

Holding hands with her is comfort. I feel good when I hold her hand. My Dad holds my Mama's hand and so does my grandfather. I've seen them doing it and when they used to hold my hand in childhood, I felt safe. I felt like there was someone to watch over me.

I want Mikayla to feel the same.

"I can see." We begin walking ahead and how smooth it feels. Can't she give us a chance? She stubbornly wants to keep listening to her mind.

"Rubbish," she mutters under her breath but I hear. "This holding hand things," she deliberately adds, wanting me to hear.

Little liar.

I don't give her an answer. She isn't in the mood to understand.

We reach the dining hall and everybody welcomes us. The dinner was ready and Mikayla wasn't asked to help everyone. I wonder if she even knows how to cook. Time will show but I can expect something from her. Surely a frustrated reaction because I'm sure she doesn't know anything about cooking.

We grab our chairs, side by side, and say grace together. She complies. We start having dinner and I keep myself from having more because I don't want to.

Sure, I haven't eaten anything since morning but I'm still not hungry. I want someone to talk to.

Having a few bites so that others won't notice, I get up and leave. I close the door of the room and walk towards the terrace side where I grab my seat and sigh.

Silence surrounds me and I take deep breaths. Heaviness is on my chest, her words still swirling around my head like a halo. Their bitterness is something very hard to swallow but being her other half, I have no other way.

I was warned.

I look up at the spread darkness and the milky moon among countless twinkling stars catches my attention. It reminds me of her and I am unable to resist this urge to chuckle.