Chapter 32
One moment, life felt like a well-oiled machine, filled with love, respect, and trust. And then, everything shifted. The air was filled with shouts that bounced off the walls of our home, leaving no trace of the affection and understanding that once prevailed.
I found myself standing in the narrow space between the living room and the kitchen, numb to the surrounding chaos. I absorbed the torrent of anger, disappointment, and disdain my parents directed at me, feeling the weight of their hurt. The only crime I had committed was daring to fall in love.
I longed for it to be over; I couldn't endure the scene any longer. My mother was still storming around, spewing fury, while my father stood frozen, his silence heavy with the weight of his words.
I could sense he wished to comfort me, to shield me from the storm, but he held back. Instead, he said, “Julia, enough. Let her take off that dress and shower.” My mother, panting and visibly shaken, fell silent. She didn't protest; they let me leave.
I looked at my knees and elbows, marked with scratches, every part of me aching. I tried to scrub the grime from my feet and heels, and I washed my face again and again, yet that stubborn waterproof mascara clung on.
The water cascaded over me, and tears mingled with the soap, streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't help but wonder where Zane was at that moment. Was he okay? Did he feel regret? Then, a more chilling thought crept in: Would that guy press charges? What would that mean?
Sleep eluded me, and I spent the next day confined in my bed. My mother brought me soup, her gaze now laced with sorrow instead of fury. I couldn't bring myself to eat; the ache I felt wasn't physical but emotional, and I was at a loss for how to navigate it.
I attempted to reach out to Zane, but his phone remained off. Jessica and Emily texted, checking in on me. I was eager to go to school the next day; I needed to see him, needed to talk to him. My parents had laid down their rules, and Zane was distinctly not part of that plan anymore.
The following morning, I woke up early and left the house without encountering my parents. Once I was on my way to the bus stop, I heard someone call my name from behind—it was Marco.
“Hey, how's it going?” he asked when he caught up with me.
“I feel like I've been run over by a truck,” I attempted to joke, but my lips refused to curl into a smile.
“I'm sorry I didn't step in sooner; it was just—so overwhelming. I've never seen anyone so filled with rage,” Marco confessed. I didn't blame him; everything had happened so quickly.
“It's fine, really. Don't worry about it. Things will get better,” I replied softly.
“At least now you know how dangerous he can be,” Marco said, his tone serious. My eyes widened as I focused on him.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, raising my voice slightly.
“Well, you're not planning to see him again, right?” he asked, as if it were a given.
“Excuse me? Yes, I intend to see him, and we'll work through this,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over.
“But he pushed you! He hurt you! He assaulted someone, and it's not the first time!” he countered, his voice rising.
I scoffed, not wanting to escalate the conversation further as we approached the bus stop where Emily was watching us intently but remained silent.
She already understood what was going on between us.
We didn't sit together on the bus, nor did we speak.
At school, I searched for Zane before classes, but he was nowhere to be found. I hurried through the hallways and up the stairs to find V; I needed to make sure he was okay. The bell rang, and my search turned out to be fruitless.
I was oblivious to the curious glances from others—news of the incident had spread like wildfire. After the first period, I tried to locate V again, but to no avail. It was the same story after the second period.
Finally, during lunch, I spotted her in a corner with Clous and Jake, their expressions serious as they whispered to each other. I rushed over to them.
“Where's Zane?” I pressed, urgency lacing my voice.
Clous shot me a look as if my words had just started a war.
V refused to meet my gaze, acting as if I were invisible.
Her jaw was tight, fingers balled into fists.
“Where. Is. Zane?” I repeated, grabbing her forearm in desperation.
It was a mistake. In an instant, she yanked her arm away and shoved me hard in the chest, nearly sending me stumbling backward.
“It's your fault. You did this. You… you bitch.” She advanced on me, forcing me to retreat. The other students around us stood frozen in stunned silence, like spectators in a play. Her eyes were dark with fury and brimming with unshed tears.
“I just want to talk to him,” I pleaded, hoping to reason with her.
“Talk? There's nothing left to say. You lost him, and so did I. You took him from me.” V’s voice rose, her anger spilling over, not caring if anyone suspected that Zane and she were related or if they thought we were simply fighting over him, both of us in love.
Her expression revealed just how deeply she cared for him.
“Please, V, I genuinely care about him. I just want to talk,” I said, my voice heavy with sorrow. She halted.
“What part of this do you not understand?” she scoffed, her disdain palpable. “He's gone,” she added, and her words hit me like a punch to the gut, making my knees feel weak.
“What do you mean gone? Where did he go?” I pressed, desperate for answers.
“Dad doesn't want to deal with him anymore. He's shipping Zane off to London. And it's all because of you,” she spat, her contempt cutting deep.
How much pain could mere words inflict? More than I had ever imagined. I gasped for air, as if her words had stolen my breath. My heart raced wildly, trapped within my chest. Air. No more air.
“When?” I managed to ask through the haze of panic.
“He's probably already left,” she said, her voice tinged with defeat. Her body relaxed, and she stepped back.
Love. I had little understanding of love and its power.
It defied reason, operated without rules, and erased shame, hesitation, and embarrassment.
It created a world where only instinct mattered.
And my instinct screamed for me to run. I sprinted through hallways and down stairs, propelled by the singular desire to reach him.
Outside, I continued to run; my legs ached, my calves burned, and a sharp pain jabbed at my side as if a knife were twisting within me. But I pushed through the agony, running and running, until I finally reached his apartment.
Breathless and drenched in sweat, I rang the doorbell and pounded on the door with both fists, harder and harder until it finally swung open. Zane’s father stood by the door, watching me intently.
“Just leave!” he ordered, blocking my entry.
“Is it true?” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. “Are you really sending Zane to London?” I asked, desperately hoping he would deny it, but all I received was silence.
“I don't have time for this. We need to catch a flight,” he stated, beginning to shut the door. Instinctively, I pressed against it with my hand, forcing one foot inside.
“Please, don't do this. It's my fault. This happened because of me. I'm begging you,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face, blurring my vision.
“I'm sorry, but we had an agreement. If he breaks one more rule, his mother will take over his education. I'm out of options,” he said firmly.
“He's your son, and you're giving up on him. What kind of father does that?” I regretted saying it the moment the words left my mouth. I could see his anger boiling as he swung the door open wider and stepped out.
“The kind that protects him. I can't do that here. I've done everything I can. This time, he could face three years in jail,” he replied, striving to control his emotions. I gasped at the thought of it.
“But what about his schooling?” I pressed, searching for any argument that might sway him.
“London has schools too,” he shot back.
“But it's the end of the school year! You can't just—”
“I don't care! If he has to repeat the year, then so be it!” he yelled, cutting me off mid-sentence.
“I'm begging you,” I cried out in desperation.
“Please! Don't do this. It will ruin him.” His silence only added fuel to my anxiety, but then, the next words tumbled out of me, effortless and warm, filling me with a sense of relief.
“I love him! I love your son. His sister loves him, and I know you love him too.” For a brief moment, he hesitated, then placed his hand on my arm and responded.
“I believe you're a good person and that you could be good for him, but he's not good for you. Zane is troubled and needs help.”
“Help?” I recoiled in disbelief. “All he needs is love.” I emphasized each word, hoping it would resonate.
“I'm sorry, but I've made my decision. You can go upstairs to say your goodbyes,” Davide said, reluctantly letting me enter.
I stepped into the kitchen, and memories of meals he had prepared for me flooded my mind, vibrant and nostalgic. I ascended the stairs slowly, each step feeling heavy, until I reached his door. I knocked softly before walking in.
Zane stood by his open suitcase on the bed, packing away the final items. He didn't glance in my direction, but both of us froze, suspended in a silence that spoke volumes.
“Leave!” he ordered, his voice icy.
“Zane,” I pleaded, my heart heavy with sorrow.
“I said leave,” he reiterated, anger seeping through gritted teeth.
“I won't,” I replied with determination.
“Then I'll make you,” he said, advancing toward me without meeting my gaze. With a harsh shove, he pushed me out and shut the door, rendering any resistance futile.
The wall he had constructed between us felt solid, reinforced by his physical rejection. Yet, I refused to let that deter me. I grasped the doorknob, turning it with resolve, and little by little, breaking through his barrier.
Inside, I found Zane on his knees, his hands obscuring his face as he wept. He was no longer the harsh, bad guy I had first encountered or the violent individual from the other night; he was just a boy crushed by the weight of emotions that life had thrust upon him too soon.
Lacking the strength and understanding to cope, he was emotionally exposed before me, and for the first time, I truly saw him—completely and without pretense.
I knelt beside him, cradling his head as if it were fragile glass, and drew him close to my chest, enveloping him with warmth and empathy.
I longed to shield him, to offer him sanctuary.
At last, he surrendered, wrapping his arms around me as he openly wept, his fingers digging into my skin with a desperate grip.
Together, we cried like children, two vulnerable souls bound by a cruel fate yet to unfold.
If I had walked away when he had shut the door, would everything have changed? Would fate have carved out a different path for us? Did destiny even exist?
Those were the countless questions that lingered in the air, unanswered and perhaps forever beyond our reach.
The universe I created crumbled before my eyes. Zane didn't just walk away from me; he vanished from the entire country.
He was gone.