Chapter 7

#Chapter 7

Evelyn

Ten years ago, for days I waited for this moment. Hours filled with yearning for him to return to me, and talk to me. I wanted an explanation as to where we went wrong.

Only I know how many nights I cried myself to sleep, and woke up with hope only for it to get diminished each time. I wished for him earnestly for weeks, which gradually turned into months and years. Not for once, he reached out. And slowly the possibility of him ever coming to me and talking to me lessened till there was nothing left. Not even an atom. Only a hollow gap in my heart that grew bigger with time instead of shrinking.

"Can I ask you something?" I have millions of questions to throw his way and see how he bounces back to me with his answers. But I settle for just one in particular.

"You can ask me anything." The deepness in his voice has developed, and he sounds like a man now. He even looks like a man. The last time I saw him he was eighteen.

With a lean body and muscles in all the right places, he's wrapped up in a black suit that fits his physique perfectly. Just like a candy made of poison—exquisite on the outside, lethal on the inside.

"Don't you think you've done enough? All those years ago, you hurt me and broke everything I used to believe about love. Isn't that enough already? Why are you here to do more damage?" Tears cloud my vision like a foggy winter night, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction that I'm crying because of him. That he can affect me in any way.

Warren Archer isn't worthy of my tears anymore.

To hide my tears I look around us and find the street less crowded and hushed. It's just us and a few others on the other side of the road.

"I—I am not here to hurt you, Evelyn. That's not my intention at all." Warren strides in my direction and looks down at me from his tall height. I bet he is 6'3.

"For years I've been wanting to see you, talk to you, and explain everything."

Inching closer, he occupies my personal space. I want to move back but something doesn't let me. He lifts his hand in the air and attempts to touch my cheek, but I flinch before his warmth can caress me.

"I've missed you, Evelyn. I've missed you for every second I've been away from you. It was hell for me." None of the words he is saying matters. Instead of feeling anything blissful, I'm only getting riled up with rage.

"There wasn't a single day I didn't think of you," he whispers those words only for me to hear.

"Stop! Please stop." A few tears escape my eyes and I quickly brush them away. Gosh, I hate myself.

"Let me take you out for dinner so we can talk." The tension hanging between us evaporates and laughter squeezes in as I hug my stomach with one arm and let myself entertain his offer. He's got some nerve to ask me that.

Once I'm sober enough I'm buzzing with fury. "You wanna hear my answer?" I ask nicely, and he nods.

Throwing my now liquid ice cream into the trash can, I approach him.

Adrenaline is rushing in my veins due to the seething rage boiling in my chest and my every body part. My fingers curl in a tight fist and I clench them, loving the way force embraces my tendons. With a ferocious strength skiing through my arm, I don't ponder over my action for a single second.

Getting into stance and without a single doubt circling my mind, I swing my arm with all the anger and pain I've got screaming in me, and hit the left side of his jaw in one swift move, causing him to stumble back on his feet.

I was fast, so I know he didn't see it coming. But I don't regret what I just did.

Some sick and dark corner of my heart has always been whispering in my mind to hit this man the next time I saw him.

I never thought there would be a possibility of us ever crossing paths and exchanging stares let alone words. But fate has a funny way of bringing people together.

Before I can hit him in the stomach, a hand grabs my arm and fear stiffens my body. I try to jerk it off but it tightens around my skin and I wince.

"Let go of her Tristan," Warren's cold words cut through the air like a sharp knife.

Tristan, the guy, promptly lets go of my arm and sets me free.

I inhale air to calm down my panicking heart.

"Touch her again and you won't have a hand." The once calm green eyes of Warren are now blazing with venom. His vision trained on the man in an intimidating manner.

I turn and take a look at this Tristan guy who's standing a few feet away from me now. Wearing an ironed black suit and polished shoes, he stands with a grave expression on his face.

I assume he's his bodyguard. Why the hell does he have one? I quickly discard the query. It's not my business to know. Not now. Not ever.

"You can go back. I'll be fine. Tell Aiden to stay inside as well." Warren talks in such a dominating tone that I'm startled by the sudden switch. I've never seen or heard him asserting so much power.

The man obeys his command and disappears.

Thick silence extends between us. I'm too amazed to speak a word and Warren looks staggered—he should be. I've been planning for years about how if I saw his ugly face—calling it beautiful tastes bitter on my tongue–I'd punch him with every bit of my might. Thinking that it'll bring me closure.

Much to my dismay, I don't feel the knots of my past tying up and giving me the sense of closure I thought I'd get after hurting him.

Perhaps one punch doesn't heal an agonizing heartbreak. Nothing does. It's a pain of a different breed. The kind that only stems when someone you love hurts you to your very core. And sadly there's no cure to heal it.

People say time heals wounds, but in my case time has only taught me to live with the pain.

"Are you okay? Did he squeeze too hard?" Warren reaches out his hand but retrieves it back at the last moment.

"I'm fine," I say in a little voice.

"Are you sure?" I look at the spot I've punched him and surely the skin is turning a shade of red.

My heart constricts as I see the difference in color. The white canvas of his skin is now marked red because of me. Instead of feeling accomplished I only feel guilt.

"Yes," I utter feeling the guilt flowing through the chambers of my heart.

Warren runs his fingers over the injured area and winces with a curse tumbling out of his lips. "Fuck! You land a good punch."

The humor is dry, yet it seems to work as salt over my guilt wound.

"Someone taught me." I share out of impulse, and his eyes crinkle a little—in happiness I guess.

"I'm glad. At least you can protect yourself on the street." Warren's words seem so genuine. Like he's relieved that I know how to defend myself. The thought of that makes me warm inside.

"Look, I'm not interested in hearing anything about the past. You've done enough already. There's nothing else that you can do. It's taken me a long time to come this far. I'm doing better than ever. If you have one decent bone in your body, then leave me alone Warren."

With one last look at him, I turn my back and leave him before he can manipulate me with more lies and false promises. He's fooled me once, and that was on me, but he won't be able to do that ever again.