15 | T+R+L

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To be worthy of you is my only goal

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To be worthy of you is my only goal.

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆

LAYLA FRASER

After Kayden went back home, it was like I could feel that everything shifted. Something was different. 

The air felt colder, it got quieter, and for some reason, I couldn't breathe.

I was left sighing, trying to calm myself from thinking about everything that could trigger me into a spiral.

What if Gloria was telling Kayden to stop hanging around with me? What if she saw through my act?

Did she know just how lonely I was? 

Could she see the longing for someone to just be with me in my eyes? 

Did she see the way I looked at her son?

Suddenly, I was 12 again and running away from Tara, who was chasing me around with a spoonful of Nutella. We were running around my house, laughing and screaming. 

I remember begging her not to put it in my hair. And then I remember the knock on the front door and then begging her not to leave. 

I remember looking up at her mother with eyes full of tears, telling her I'd never even seen my mother and that they were all lying. She wasn't here, and my grandmother wasn't lying. How could we be protecting the people who had ruined us?

Left our hearts in shambles, our reputation, and the whole town.

Who wanted to protect an arsonist? 

For the longest time, Tara was the only person I had aside from my family. Nobody else even talked to me before then. It all changed when I met Kayden. Under a blanket of stars and moon that just seemed to shine brighter for us, I guess a greater power decided that I maybe deserved someone to lean on.

Or maybe he deserved someone to lean on.

All I know about Kayden is that he is a sad boy who I know puts on a happy front just for me.

Though, did he know I see through the confident, nonchalant facade he puts up and that past his smirks, I know he's trying to make it all easier for me? That he buries the crap of his past because he doesn't want to burden me? It sucks because, in that case, all I want is to be burdened.

I doubt that he knows he digs his hands into his pockets or his hair when he's flustered or tired. He hasn't spent countless hours trying to read between his words like I have, analyzing his body language to see if he secretly hated me. Maybe he didn't know his green eyes blaze gold with the sunset or that he has a mole on his neck, right below his ear. Maybe he didn't know that. How could he? It was so small and insignificant.

Past The MistakesDove le storie prendono vita. Scoprilo ora