To My Future Cheating Husband

XXV. Happy Holidays

Ava's POV:

I blink several times, "What?"

He blew the edge of the cup before sipping it, "I'm asking you, what's the future like?"

I remember the first time I claimed that I'm from the future. It was half a year ago, and the sun was still shining brightly. Now, it's dimmed, and everything seems dead.

"You believe me?" I ask.

Trevon shrugs, "I just want to know what's the future like."

Unexpectedly, it arrives. My eyes drip with tears, and the walls that I firmly built...collapsed. Salty water drips from my trembling chin, and I buried my face into my hands.

"Hey." The high chair slid, "What did I do? Did I do something wrong?" Trevon walked around the counter and settled in front of me. I pressed my head against his shirt and felt the hotness from his body. My whole body trembles, and I couldn't stop.

Why can I not stop crying?

Of course, I know why.

There's a tiny burst of joy inside of me—a small indication of hope that steadily things are changing.

Half a year ago, Trevon would've remarked a blank statement before leaving the room.

Now, things are different.

I expect things to become different, but it's difficult to accept it.

It's easier to live in the pain of what's about to come. Why?

Because it's predictable.

Events like these aren't predictable.

And it makes me scared.

I'm scared that once I open up and thoroughly enjoy this happiness, everything will tumble back into its original space, and I'll fall back into the pothole. Then, the taste of happiness will always be at the edge of my fingertips. Enough to feel, but never to be consumed.

The worst kind of torture.

Steadily, Trevon pats my back, "Hey. Are you with your monthly friends or something?" Of course, he would say something like that to a crying girl. I can't imagine what Mina has to deal with whenever she burst out in tears, and Trevon would say something stupid to her.

I shook my head before I looked up, "I'm happy."

Trevon stared at me, momentarily before he snickers, "You're also weird." He wipes the tears from my cheeks. "Come on. You can tell me the whole story in the living room. I'll bring snacks and blankets."

Then, that night, the story began. Trevon didn't interrupt me, but there are some moments when he opens his mouth. However, he would close it.

No questions.

No comments.

The Christmas tree lights would repeatedly blink, flashing shadows against his pale skin. Trevon didn't move, not even to drink his tea that turns cold.

My fingers would consistently tap against the porcelain cup with each word coming out from my mouth.

I'm glad Trevon didn't interrupt me because I'm afraid I'll shut down again if he did.

The firewood cracks on the other side of the living room, and all the joy from the holiday seems to disappear.

Once I finished my story, there was a brief silence between us before our parents interrupted.

That night, I never received a single response from Trevon. With time, it only got more challenging to bring up the topic again. So, we both stay quiet.