Better Not Be Love

CHAPTER 36 - RED THREAD OF FATE

"Just call me if you need anything. And thanks, man, I owe you one."

I could hear Eugene's voice growing louder as he made his way towards me, the sound of his animated conversation mingling with the soft buzz of conversation coming from a group of elderly ladies nearby. From my spot on the bench, I couldn't help but watch them, imagining the juicy gossip they must be sharing about their wrinkled old men. While one might assume that these ladies, with their silver hair and weathered skin, would be discussing the usual mundane topics of old age, grandchildren, or deteriorating health, I knew better. They had enough reminders from their families and outsiders about the realities of life. No, their laughter and the telltale blush on a single woman's cheeks betrayed their true intentions. They were undoubtedly indulging in the delight of sharing something naughty, something titillating that kept them feeling young at heart.

Lost in my own musings, I absentmindedly clutched an ice cream cone in my hand, its creamy goodness resisting the summer heat. Yet, it occasionally reminded me of its existence by dropping a droplet or two of its thick, delectable liquid onto my skin. I watched the droplets fall, mesmerized by how the sun's rays caught the glistening, sticky residue.

"They look adorable, don't they?"

Eugene's question caught me off guard, but as I glanced at him, the corners of my lips curled into a genuine smile. We sat side by side, simply observing the group. They were indeed adorable. It was as if they had reached a state of blissful serenity, completely unfazed by the world's chaos. But being a woman in my late twenties, I knew better than to fall for such pretenses. Life was a minefield of problems at every turn and everyone had their own issues to face, but the key to surviving it all was choosing happiness, irrespective of the circumstances.

"You didn't have to take the day off."

I said, leaning my head onto his shoulder.

"I wanted to."

He said back, putting his head over mine. It was a simple gesture, but as his irregular skull pressed against mine, the weight of his presence sent ripples of comfort surging through my throbbing skull.

The silence that followed our previous conversation had been heavy. We hadn't spoken much after I had bared my soul to him. Time had slipped away as we sat there, lost in our thoughts, until my leg grew numb from the hours spent in contemplative stillness. We packed up our belongings, and Eugene took them back to the car. But before he went, he bought me an ice cream and insisted on spending the rest of the day with me. I protested, assuring him that I was fine, but he saw through my facade, refusing to let me face the storm alone. His unwavering presence became my lifeline, and with each passing moment, I realized how grateful I was that he had chosen to stay. In his presence, I found a sense of belonging, a respite from the struggles that had plagued my weary mind.

Every time I think I have gotten over that awful day, it just hits me whenever I mention it to someone. It's like going through that day all over again, and most of the time I end up curling up in bed with my mom or April beside me. None of them ask me anything, except for my dad. He encourages me to talk to him whenever I need to, and he's always willing to listen. I haven't really talked about it to anyone else, except for my therapists, and even then, I couldn't fully express it. For the past five or six years, I haven't discussed it with anyone, and my parents assumed that I had moved on. But now that I think about it, it's not as overwhelming as before. Of course, I can still feel the panic, the pain, and all the emotions I experienced during that day in every fiber of my being. But I can bear it. I don't know if I have overcome it or if I have simply adjusted to living with the pain. The former idea makes me feel remorseful when I consider it. It feels like moving on would mean being ungrateful to her. I feel guilty.