Holding On

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ-ᴛᴡᴏ

As soon as Emma took a taxi and got inside, the memories, the sadness, regret, the pain and relish - all the emotions she hadn't had an encounter with until today but which she'd tried to hide from her father at the last minute - came crashing back. And the tears she so badly wanted to restrict betrayed her.

The driver looked back at her, more with curiosity than with concern. "Is everything alright, ma'am?"

Emma didn't reply. Not that she could bring herself to summon any response in her state, but knowing how wrecked she must've come off to the man, she forced on a semblance of control and gave him her address.

She thought that the break down bouts had ended and that all that would be left was the sadness, but right after getting to her destination, paying the taxi driver, walking past the surprised security guard and into the house, bypassing her just as perplexed aunt, going upstairs and into her and George's bedroom, the emotions assailed her with a vengeance.

They racked through her body in uncontrolled ways, doing things to her she'd never imagined possible. This was a past she'd thought she would never have an encounter with again, and to have her delving so much into the same past, so much into the pain and heartache, was almost more than she could bear.

Throwing herself unto the bed, she gave in once again to the melancholy that'd been unleashed by today's revelations. When her aunt came to check up on her, she begged to be left alone and continued to cry.

It felt like forever, but she couldn't seem to finish venting her feelings through the tears. She didn't even hear the sound of the door opening, but George was by her side before she knew it. She immediately threw herself into his arms, thankful that her husband was here to comfort.

"Did Zain do something to you?" He asked.

Startled by his suspicion of Zain, Emma pulled back and shook her head without speaking.

"Then what happened? Why are you crying. Eva called and told me she was worried because you hadn't returned to work and I rushed home immediately. Come on speak to me. Why are you crying?"

His worry about her should've been reassuring enough for her to divulge, but for some reason, she felt that he wasn't the person she needed to share this pain with first. It was a startling realization.

"Emma, please talk to me. What the hell happened? Why are you crying so much? Sugar, please talk to me. Don't do this to me." His normal cheerful voice was now coloured with worry.

She looked into his eyes and saw the agitation swimming there, but instead of relieving that emotion, she found herself saying, "Please go, George. I need to be alone."

Incredulity flashed through his eyes, and he stared back at her, seemingly shocked and hurt by her withdrawal. "Emma I..."

"Please..." She found herself pleading.

George stood up slowly, looking at her with hurt confusion. "Fine." He said sadly, and it was obvious he expected her to apologize and share what was wrong with her.

"Could you. . . could you please call Eva and pick up our daughter from school later?" The hurt in his eyes wrapped around her and squeezed tightly, but she felt she felt she needed to spend more time alone to pull this on her own.

"I'm her father, Emma. And it's obvious you're in no state to pick her up yourself. You don't need to remind me of my responsibility." He retorted bitterly, obviously upset, an acerbic gleam in his eyes, before storming out of the room.

Lying back on the bed after his departure, she cried once more, though softly this time around until she lapsed into a weary and exhausted sleep. She woke up two hours later feeling rejuvenated, the wave of emotion receded, killing the pent up bitterness and kindling liberation.

She realized how much she had needed this; this clarity. The reasons why her father had changed for the worse, subsequently destroying their happy family and provoking her mother's death.

After years of somehow blaming herself, she felt set free from the shackles of guilt, no longer encumbered by the burden.

Getting out of bed, she went to the washroom to wash her face and rinse her mouth, knowing she owed much of this new found freedom to Zain, who's shoulders she strangely felt was the first she should be seeking comfort above all else. She told herself it was because he had helped her gain this freedom she was now enjoying.

After making her hair more presentable with a comb, she made her way downstairs. Thankfully, her aunt was in the kitchen, which saved her from giving explanations just yet.

The poor woman must've been driven out of her mind watching the state in which she'd come home and probably the one in which George had left. Emma realized she owed George a huge apology.

She took the last car in the garage since she'd not driven hers to Zain's house from work. She would retrieve it tomorrow. She set off to Zain's house, hoping her father had already left.

Her heart was still slightly heavy, but she knew there was no need to compromise the future with the past. That's the part of her life she preferred her father to remain.

**~**~**

Heart thumping against her chest for an inexplicable reason, she rang the bell of Zain's apartment. It was after a while and there was no response she realized the mistake she'd committed. She should've informed Zain and enquired whether he was at home or not before coming.

Before she could turn and leave, the door opened to reveal a shirtless Zain. Emma sucked in a subconscious breath.

"Hey." His eyes brightened immediately, and he smiled that his heart warming smile.

"Hi." She said awkwardly and averted her eyes from his naked torso.

They stared at each other for a while. "Oh, come in, please. My bad."

Entering after he stepped back, she eyed the room her father had emerged from earlier. Zain was quick to alleviate her fears. "He's gone, don't worry."

Exhaling a sigh of relief, she smiled at him. He looked at her, doubtful and concerned. "How are you doing, Em?"

Before she lost the nerve, she embraced him, sighing softly against his chest. His body was as hard and chiselled as she could remember from 5 years ago, a warm weight that offered comfort by mere contact.

He hissed softly before wrapping his arms around her, kissing her hair. Despite knowing how intimate their embrace and posture were, Emma couldn't pull back. "Thank you, Zain. Thank you for today."

"Hey, there's no need to thank me. I knew that you yearned to know your father's reasons and I felt I couldn't watch you live with that ignorance." He replied.

His heart thumped wildly against her ear. "I did need it, thank you. I feel like you've set me free from some kind of prison. Thank you for caring about me enough to want to establish this clarity for me."

She finally pulled back with the intention to look at his face, but she stopped and gasped when her eyes fell on the part of his chest her head had rested. Right on the spot where his heart would be residing underneath was a tattoo of her first name with a bold letter T scribbled in stylish fonts, probably to indicate her last name.

Looking at him, she found his expectant gaze, as if he wanted to gauge her reaction. She reached out and drawled her fingers on the lines, mesmerized. "When did you get this tattoo?"

"I got it two years ago when I and a couple of traveler friends in Argentina got wasted. Well, can't say I got wasted. I was pretty sober." He replied, smiling nervously.

She nodded, staring at the tattoo again and swallowing the lump in her throat. "Did it hurt?"

"Not really. It was maybe just uncomfortable." Then he chuckled softly as if in reminiscence. "Besides, it sometimes pretty much helped to ward off women who refused to take no for an answer when I. . . well, you know. How is it?"

"It's. . . beautiful." She replied honestly, but the significance if it wasn't lost on her. God, Zain had loved her so much even then when he knew he couldn't be with her because of his illness, while she... While she'd been married and barely thinking off him.

Looking up again, their eyes locked, his shimmering with restricted relish. It happened in a moment of trance, and out of a poignant, inexplicable impulse, Em kissed him.