Look through my eyes

Chapter 27

I turn off the car and plop down on the seat, sighing in surprise that I didn't crash on the way here.

I don't even know why I came if it's so late.

I look at my phone next to me. A notification went off about fifteen minutes ago, seconds after I texted Ian that I was already nearby. But even though I'm parked in front of a small house, I don't know if the message is telling me if I can come in or if dinner is over.

With the time it is, I wouldn't be surprised.

I look sideways at the big pile of papers behind me. Just getting them all into the car had taken a long time and a lot of effort.

Damn, I should exercise.

A knock on the window makes me curse.

I watch as Luna approaches the window, trying to see inside the tinted window.

I open the door, getting out of the car as best I can.

"Luna! You almost scared me to death!" I say, running my trembling hands through my hair, locking the car.

"I'm sorry, I saw you pull over like five minutes ago. Are you okay?" the redhead grabs one of my shaking hands, her gaze dropping to what I think are shaking knees. "Soph, what's wrong?"

My mind travels so fast that I am still trying to piece it all together. But the lies come out so fast, they don't give me time to slow them down.

"Someone almost crashed into me." I swallow thickly, Luna's eyes widen in panic. "A man..." I say pointing to the empty street. "I'm sure he was drunk; I swerved in time, but... I don't quite know how I got here after that." My lips begin to chatter.

I acknowledge to myself that the last is not a lie. I may well have had an accident because of the speed of my car, but I can't remember the last twenty minutes at all.

One second I was in that cabin, and the next I had Luna, worried and scared for me, hugging me.

Luna takes my hand when she finally manages to calm me down enough for my hands to stop shaking. The redhead guides me into her house, never letting go.

The house is as cozy as it looks; everything screams Luna, full of art and colors everywhere.

The clatter of silverware and dishes can be heard from the entrance, the dining room not being that far away.

The conversation stops as we enter; everyone looks at our clasped hands.

I don't know what face Luna makes, but it's her mother who approaches us.

"You must be Sophia." Luna's redheaded mother hugs me, her daughter, not letting go of my hand at any point, as if she needs to show me her presence.

"Nice to meet you. Thank you so much for inviting me. I'm so sorry about the time." I look at her apologetically.

My chest fills with light when I see her face. The face of a loving mother.

The lady in front of me turns to look at her daughter for only a second before nodding.

"Come with me, cutie; I'll pour you some food." I nod. Luna looks at me for a few seconds. I nod with a small toothless smile. The girl lets go of my hand and lets me lead her mother into the kitchen behind the door in front of us.

I listen as Luna begins to whisper, but her words are muffled as the door closes behind me.

"My name is Aurora." The lady takes my hand, squeezing it lovingly.

"Luna has told us a lot about you." Her smile appears.

"Bad things, I hope." She winks at me before letting go of my hand and walking towards a giant pot. I chuckle under my breath, following her and helping in any way I can. "Luna told me you were pretty, but she didn't do you justice." I blush, taking the plate she points at me.

"Luna has been a great friend." I say with a small lump in my throat. "I really appreciate that we met."

Aurora looks at me for a second, her eyes filled with sadness—I don't doubt, a reflection of my own.

The kitchen door opens. The smell of Ian's perfume fills my nose before I see him.

Aurora looks at him and then at me before exiting through the kitchen.

I sigh, setting the plate down on the tiny table inside the kitchen.

I work up the courage to look at the guy still at the door.

His eyes run up and down me, scanning for any sign of damage.

"I'm fine." I say, hugging myself, unable to move my body to get closer to him.

His jaw tenses, he turns to look at the painting beside him for a few seconds before looking at me in annoyance.

"You're not, you're not," he says, running a hand through his hair. "You weren't Young, I don't quite know what happened in the coffee shop, but something made you run away."

Not run away; run to someone.

I sigh, putting my icy hands on my cheeks.

"You let him fall in love with you! You fell in love with him!"

I close my eyes at the words. At the truth in them.

And when I open my eyes, Ian's face has paled noticeably, as if overcoming the words about to leave my lips.

"No," he says, shaking his head, a sob tearing at my throat. "I don't know what's going on, Young, but whatever it is, I can help you." I shake my head.

From side to side, tears streamed down my cheeks again.

My chest hurts; it hurts ever since mom died, ever since she told me who my father was, ever since I started hating him.

Because I hate him, I hate my father for leaving her for his damn political position; I hate my mother for not telling me who she was until her deathbed; I hate my mother's damn illness; and I hate the millions she collected from my father's allowance, money that was meant to cure her illness. I hate that she let me live in constant agony for lack of money with such an aggressive disease, having all the money in the world to have a chance. I hate the clock that has already been built into my mind from the day I begged my grandfather to let me help.

I hate the guy in front of me, watching me with pleading, fear and love.

With fucking love.

Because it's all I can't have.

Not after what I've done to destroy my father, much less after doing what I will do. Because even though I know well my feelings for the guy in front of me, my actions over the next few weeks will not change.

They won't change for him or anyone else.

But the pain is still there, and my tears continue to fall as Ian comes up to me and hugs me.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ian, I'm really sorry." His body tenses, but at no point does he let go of me.

He lets me cry, cry for my mother, for my father, for my grandfather and for us. He lets me mourn this breakup by holding him close to me.

Sophia's Outfit