His Hidden Wife (A Justin Bieber Story)

Chapter Fifteen

15 – You Hurt People When You Are Hurt

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'Was I too soft?
Or was the world too hard?'
-anon
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Moving on is a process. Nobody wakes up from a night full of tears and gets fixed the next day. It doesn't work that way.

Healing requires understanding... understand that it's never easy to forget but you can forgive (so you find peace with yourself). Accepting you don't have control over things that has already happened yet knowing you are in definite control of what you have now and for what's to come.

At least that's what I learned when my mom died.

It took years. And I'm not going to say that it still doesn't hurt. Just have to live through the pain. After all time won't wait for you. The world won't stop for no one. So you have to move on and let the current take you to your next destination.

And I know Justin isn't there yet. He's still hurting. Living through the process. It had only been days and he's not going to move on in snap of a finger. But I believe he's slowly getting there.

Though we went through different hurt, in the end, they all left a scar.

Justin and I stood somewhere along the grey area: we are okay but not entirely. Most often than not, silence ruled over us. Not a single banter was exchanged, just near formality and familiarity.

We'd coincidentally share breakfast and dinner. I'd ask him about his day and he would ask mine in return. Out of respect I guess. We're still borderline awkward but nevertheless, I was okay with it.

I'd catch Nana's discreet stares from time to time but never said anything.

But then, there are certain moments when he would find himself missing some pieces of her. He'd try not to show it. Then again, its never easy to forget someone who once showed you why the world was a nice place to live in, putting aside the bad things it often brings.

I understand that. I try to. But it hurts. Sometimes. And it is when I'd find myself wondering why was I still here.

"Justin?" I called when I saw him getting down the stairs in a hurry.

He looked upset. His hair disheveled, pointing in different directions as if his fingers had gone through the strands a thousand times.

"Justin." I said again. "Where are you going?"

It was nighttime already. We had finished eating dinner a few hours ago. And he was fine. I'd like to think he was fine. He was silent but he would speak when he had to.

As his eyes found mine, I knew then that underneath the surface of him being calm, a storm was brewing inside. And no matter how he tried to keep it at bay, the more it needed to free from the shackles he was chaining his demons inside.

"Justin." I whispered.

He glanced away, his car keys within the grasp of his palm. He held it as if it was the only thing that could ever give him the serenity he wanted at the moment.

I tried to stay calm.

"I," he started. "I can't stay here."

And it broke my heart. Again. For the hundredth time. I stood near the couch, unmoving. I watched him get out until he closed the door behind, as if he didn't step out of that wooden plank over and over again... as if he didn't ask me to stay... as if it was easy for him to always leave me alone in the cold.