Oh, Pineapples.

20: Romance is not dead-Part 2

🦋____________

"...can I bite your tongue like my bad habit?"
–steve lacy, 'bad habit'

_______________🦋

"It all happened so fast. The night he died, we'd had an argument." He said, and I could tell the anger on his face was directed to himself.

"I didn't want to be the successor of his business, in fact, I never supported any of it— I just wanted to have a normal high school experience, you know, go to parties, have fun like a normal teenager—instead I'd be going in and out of classes, handling his unfinished businesses, even though he could easily do it."

"Why did he used to do that?" It seemed reasonable to ask.

"Because to him, school was a waste of time. In fact, he wanted me drop out since my second year in highschool but I didn't want to...that argument had been long overdue anyway, and it just happened to be that night...the same night he died.

He wanted me to drop out, and for the first time, I'd raised my voice at him, Jasmine," his voice cracked, a tear fell from his left eye.

"I told him that he was the worst father ever...that I hated him. That he would've...That he would've been better off...dead. I couldn't—I never got the chance to apologize to him because that was the very night he died—and maybe if I hadn't stormed out... maybe the intruder wouldn't have gotten a chance to shoot at him..."His face was crimson, shining with tears and I felt my heart drop seeing him the way he was, he looked so broken, like a little boy.

"It was my fault he died Jasmine, I could have protected him—" I cut him off, as I couldn't resist the urge to stop him from all the self hate he gave himself.

I wanted to be there for him, to comfort him, to offer him enough comfort to stop blaming him.

"Hey. hey," I walked over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder for balance, and in an attempt of bravery, I pressed my knee into the cushion of his chair, swinging my other leg over his thighs.

I was straddling him, cupping his face with my hand, my thumb stroking his tears away. My other hand on his chest, I felt him sigh in response to my touch.

"Javadd, it's not your fault your father died, okay? You can't keep blaming yourself for something you had entirely nothing to do with," his gaze still set down, hands on the small of my back, as though he were to scared to make me uncomfortable, or he were too embarrassed to tell his story.

I didn't want him to feel that way, I wanted him to hold on to me, to cry on my shoulder.

"But maybe... maybe if I hadn't left, maybe he wouldn't have got shot in the head multiple times," he felt really warm under me.

I hoped he couldn't hear my heartbeat.

"You know that's ridiculous. Even if you were in the same room as him, you probably would have got shot too, and if anything—if anything I'm grateful that you didn't die that night—I'm grateful that you're alive right now because I would have never met you, Javadd."

"And frankly, that's the only good thing that's happened to me in a while. You're the only good thing that's happened to me in a while" I say the last part surprising myself more than Javadd.

I could see the realization settle on Javadd's face, but seeing his expression soften withdrew any trace of regret I might have felt after confessing.

He gave me a certain look that I couldn't quite describe, as his hands wrapped around my waist as he buried his face in my chest and pulled me closer to his body which radiated heat, even through the shirt I wore.