Blasphemous (Torn #3)(38)

Bass was now looking at me, our noses almost touching. “Thank you for letting me love you. Even if it was only for a short time, I will never forget it.”

This was it. This was our last goodbye.

Forever, I knew I was going to bleed forever, but I was going to accept it. Learn to live with it as if it were my normal.

I sadly gazed at him, unashamed as my tears fell to the floor. I gave him one last hug. I held onto him, telling him everything that I couldn’t form into words; how sorry I was, that I was never going to forget him, that he was special, he was my heart. That my life was never going to be the same, but at the same time, I hugged him for giving me a piece of paradise—even if it was for a short time—it was going to be a cherished memory I was going to keep until I was old, unbeknownst to my husband, my grandkids, and my children. My memories of him were mine and I meant to keep them somewhere unreachable, burying it somewhere safe, along with my heart.

I lovingly cupped his cheek, gazing at him through my tears, before I tasted his lips for the last time. “I love you. Remember me once in awhile.”

With one last breath, I walked out of there.

It was time to move on… whatever that meant anymore.





Chapter 15


“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”



- Laurell K. Hamilton



Emma



On my way back home, I had to stop on the side of the freeway because I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I was probably there for over half an hour, silently weeping my wasted love away.

The next day, I pretended I had the worst hangover on record and hid out in my room, crying over pictures of Bass and me together.

Sleep was hard to come by and, if I did manage to get some shuteye, the maximum I got was for a few hours; then the crying resumed. It was difficult to stop, even though I was exhausted from crying.

Drained and plainly weakened with everything, but there wasn’t much I could do. No matter how I tried to amp myself up and pretend to be happy, I ended up feeling worse.

School was no different.

When Monday rolled in, I had a hard time concentrating on any of my classes. I was spacing in and out of it, reminiscing my time in Greece. After my second class, I decided that maybe it was time I took some time off. Maybe for just a semester, I could just hide for a little bit longer.

My advisor understood my situation. I supposed these things really did happen quite a lot around college students. So, after signing paperwork, stating that I was dropping my entire semester’s classes, an hour later, I was officially a dropout—somewhat.

Maybe other people might call it a dumb move, but what was the point in attending all these classes when I could barely wrap my head around anything? Concentrating while studying anatomy and chemistry really wasn’t working for me.

My parents made me promise that, no matter what I decide in the future, I will still get a degree, one way or the other and I planned to keep it that way. This was simply a mild hiatus, diverting ones attention to something much more filling—the soul enrichment kind. It wasn’t that I needed help, but more like guidance—a purpose in life again—because I seriously felt lifeless inside; waking up without direction or expectation.

I needed those, badly, too. I didn’t want to be one of those living and breathing bitter, cold-hearted bitches. Judging people wasn’t really my forte, but it happened once in a while. One of my main vices was observing people and, from what I had gathered thus far, people who got their hearts broken—insert Lindsey as an example—had a hard time letting go of that memory where they got hurt. No, I take that back since hurt was too mild to describe what these people went through. Eviscerated, pillaged, that would be along the lines that would suffice the experience. As much as I loved my friend, I didn’t want to be that way.

I couldn’t count how many men she had hurt because of what happened to her in the past. If it were possible to achieve a decent place where I hold a teeny grudge and still be somewhat friendly, then I would try to get to that point.

Each day, the deep, barbed pull to go further into my depression was tempting. Too tempting in fact, that I was getting scared because ninety percent of the time, I almost made it happen.

I had to find a way. A way to find a small light in the gnawing black hole that was crying my name every second, inviting me to enter its chambers and keep it company. It was devious since I felt comforted by its warmth and acceptance, but I knew once I stepped foot through its door, the way back out was not a guarantee. I didn’t want to get lost and be forever in the dark.

What made me want to stay sane was the thought of my loving parents. I couldn’t, for the life of me, give up and throw my life away. They had supported me through everything I had ever done. The only way I could repay their love was not to disappoint and embarrass them. They were amazing and, for that, I was forever thankful.

Entering the house, I was greeted by a sunny Trista. To this day, I still get surprised when she acted this way. I suppose that I got used to seeing the crying and the everlasting pained woman I once knew. Heck, if Trista could do it, I could do it as well.

“Hi, Tris,” I greeted her as I placed my things on the kitchen counter and poured myself lemonade.

“You’re home early. What’s the deal, yo?”