CHAPTER 10
DIFFERENTLY SIMILAR PAIN
The shiny screen on my laptop isn't bright enough to blind my sight away from Zygmunt. He's in the living room, and I'm in the kitchen, writing my report. Even my brain is functioning, my emotions are all over him, especially my eyes—I can't take my eyes off him. It was so embarrassing letting him touch me while I was on my period. And he was so fucking crazy to do that until I was satisfied or he was—satisfied.
Then, his eyes shift to me, shit. I quickly look at my screen and act like I have been busy with my report all this time.
Sigh,
I exhale a long way. When is this going to end? I don't really know what the hell is going on behind all this mayhem. Tytas and Vik's situation is that the stalker turns out to be my savior, then turns to be Zygmunt, and there's a new one who introduced himself to my life. There's gotta be something—a reason. Why was he targeting me? Was he really just a robber? He ran after me that night, he had a gun, he had a shot to shoot me or Zygmunt, and did he steal anything in my room? There's nothing valuable enough inside my bedroom, to be honest; if it was my father's room or his office, I would be convinced.
"Hey," the deep voice calls me to earth. I shift my sight to his face; his silver eyes strike me handsomely.
And not to mention that I physically cheat on Tytas. Damn me.
Even though I would like Zygmunt to stop touching me, I loved the feeling he gave to me; more than that, I love the feeling I had—with him.
"Brainblock?" He asks with a smirk.
I say nothing, and I'm about to type on the keypad, but my fingers don't move. It's not just a brain block; I also don't know how to keep writing my story since I don't know how my future will end.
Life is a mess.
"Are you hungry?" He asks,
I nod.
I immediately texted Della and Irin; I got the phone in my hands so Della wouldn't come to my room and check up on me during the weekend since I told her I was with Irin. Lie. I told Irin that I couldn't study with her this weekend. Not a complete lie; just telling half-truth. Tytas has been waiting for me to call him back after he explained his facts to me. He must be worried about what I think or what I am going to do with him next. Perhaps he is busy doing his things, not even thinking about me at all; perhaps my thoughts are exaggerated, as usual.
The curtains are closed with only thin fabric, which I can see outside even during the dark times. I rest my back on the same couch that I operated Zygmunt's stomach, watching the wind blow and the blurring orange faded light from the streetlight outside. I can see the empty porch, Zygmunt's mother's seat, perched all day and night, watching the leaves flowing on the branches and falling down, the green scenery turned to brown, and the chirping from the blue jays finally, there was nothing at all in front of her house even the noisy blue jays, only the silent snowy day that its flakes fell down on her wooden porch.
I feel his scent also rests near me. I shift my sight from Zygmunt's mother to the mug in front of me. I look at the hot cocoa; I guess he made it for me again to calm me down. I turn to look at him. Am I looking agitated?
I take it and sip the warmth.
"Aren't you afraid someone can see?" I ask as I look out the window.
"The blind." He says and pauses, "It can't see from outside."
I see.
I look at him and nod.
"So that means you can see me every time," I say, and I sip.
He says nothing with a short breath that breathes out; I can feel the guilt in his air. "I wish I was there for you—when things happened. I didn't want you to face it alone." He says as his big hand lays down next to me.
I quickly turn to him. "You know?" I ask with my eyes wide open. His mouth shuts, but his eyes say everything. "Ivan, of course," I say and turn my eyes to the darkness outside.
He keeps his position closer to me. "I wanted to be there with you like you were to me," he says, and his fingers touch my left arm slightly.
I didn't expect him to be there for me, but I admit that when I was in a terrible situation, especially when he mentioned it, I thought of him. If I have to be honest, it could be anyone who can hold me and let me go at the same time.
Zygmunt waits, waiting for me to open my heart to him.
"I left," He says, "my father—that bastard. Hmpt, he called. I had to join the military because of his death."
What? I'm confused and look at him.
"Nearly," He says, "And he didn't want anyone to have his legacy—or his debt."
"Debt?" I spurt out.
"His responsibilities," He corrects, "Instead of inheriting the million dollars or secret golds. No, he decided to give a bunch of death to me." He looks at me, "Death means death." He pauses and changes the angry looks to be softer. "War, blood, and bombs everywhere. I had to carry his command for the past few months, and after his real death, I requested to return home, but they didn't allow me since—" He pauses again and curls his mouth, "I was their leader—their commander."
I look at him silently. "But you were—the leader."
"Yeah…responsibility, and they were mine," He softens his eyes. "Then, I found out about my mother—I left everything. I couldn't care about who's dying them or us—but that motherfucker that wanted my position sent me to the dead zone. I barely was out alive; I thought I was dead. I almost surrender to hell…" he looks at me, "I wish I was dead and buried with other bodies so I could—be with my mum, but…" He pauses, moves his hands to touch my hands, and rubs my skin softly, "You were there, Zia. I saw you. You risked your life and tried so hard to save me…wanted me to live…wanted me to breathe." He holds both my hands up and uses his nose to touch them. "You are the only person I wanted to live with and wanted to come back…to see you." He says.
My gaze is on his lips, which stop moving, and I turn to see his eyes, which are full of anger, disappointment, yearning, sadness, and love. My chest is starting to have trouble expanding, and my red heart inside starts to rush the blood intensely, making my lungs misfunction.
"It suffocated me—so much—that," I pause, "I couldn't breathe—I'd have trouble to breathe—live all these years," I say softly.
He kisses my hands and holds me in,
"I didn't know," I say,
"Now you know that you are the only one," he says, holding my head and neck. You're my air…Letizia. Always been." He says, mixing with his breath. And…I can be yours."
My head surrenders to his chest, resting inside his hard chest, but it's the softest. It's strange when his body is blocking the space of air for me to breathe, but,
"Zia…I can be the oxygen when you need it. I'll make sure you'll be able to breathe comfortably without anything in your chest." He pats my head and runs through my long hair 'till the end of it. "I also didn't know…what you had been through…Meride, they're worried. They still worry about you, Zia. You kept everything to yourself—If Ivan hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known. You keep walking patiently, and everyone understands you in that way—even now."
I bite my lips and hold my breath.
"I wonder when are you going to explode…" He says, holding me tight, putting his hand under my thick hair, and grabbing my neck. "And I don't want to see you suffer alone."
"It's not true." I say, inhale, "What Ivan told you," I exhale, "Or everyone…" I pause, "Everyone gossips and assumes things…even if it's a tragic story that should have sympathy in it. People exaggerate to make it more fascinating—listenable." He keeps on holding my neck and my body. "Well, it was the first time that they exaggerated less."
He looks at me with wonder, confusion, and fear.
I turn to look at him. He gazes at me, and I open my mouth, "She was killed." I say. He gasps. "She didn't kill herself, and I didn't hallucinate or lie to myself so I could move on…I was there when that guy shot her." I say. He moves his hands to hold my face; I can see his pupils shrinking. I hold his t-shirt tighter and tighter. He starts to rub my cheeks. "I saw—his face," I say,
His eyes are wide open, and he stops his movement.
"That man shot my mum and made it like she was the one who shot herself…" I swallow my saliva a tiny bit, "I couldn't leave the closet…because she…locked the door…but—but," I struggle, and then he rubs my face again; I look into his eyes, which haven't blinked once while I am exposing myself. "my mouth also shut…Zygmunt, if I screamed or cried out, I might have helped—or saved her—"
"No—No—it wasn't your fault." He holds my face up, his eyebrows tuck tighter and tighter as I grip his t-shirt. "You might have died, Zia." His eyes strike straight at mine, "You might have died." He repeats, and the water covers his water lines.
But I am the one that water runs out.
"I did—tell my father, but no one believed him," I say while he keeps rubbing my cheek along with my running tears. "Then he was back to work, and it seemed his work made him feeling better…or he might accept the untruth I could do nothing only just—live."
"Zia," he calls my name. "From now on…consider me as part of you." I look at him; he holds me in his arms in one hand, brings me onto his lap, and another hand holds my face, still. "So you can tell me everything. Share your pain with me like we are one."
I loosen my grips, raise my hands to hold his jaw, and caress all over his cheeks to his ears while his right thumb touches my lips.
"Please," he begs softly. "I cannot live without you, Zia." He says.
Slowly, our lips against each other willingly without saying anything or me forcing my body to fight him or so as him not pushing his to me then,
I slightly nod.
And it's for the first time in two years that I can finally breathe.