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Whatthefuckwas I thinking? Oh, right, I wasn’t.
I was feeling.
Letting myself get seduced by the anger and grief Mark’s death caused me, and the fear of having someone else watching me.
I throw a hand over my mouth, a futile attempt at keeping the whimper building in my throat from escaping.
“Mia, stop.” Coen’s commanding voice behind me is wrapped in velvet and understanding. “You need some fresh air.” Taking my hand, he pulls me to the front door, and without thinking, I grab the closest jacket from the hanger.
Coen mirrors my movements before ushering us both outside.
“Breathe,” he coos, as though my body is incapable of doing the very thing it needs to stay alive.
I turn my back to him with a frown, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as I greedily breathe in the cold and frosty air. Even though Coen doesn’t move closer, I can feel him hovering behind me. Like a shadow that’s ready to come to my aid if I need it.
And I need it, alright. I need him.
The thing is, I can’t ask for what I now realize I need above anything else.
I thought I needed Neil to suffer. To feel an ounce of the pain, he’s forced upon me.
That’s not what I need.
Now, I know better.
He’s a constant reminder of the weakest and saddest moments in my short life. His very presence is mocking me. Making me feel the error of my ways, my fatal and vain mistakes.
I’m not cut out to be anyone’s judge, jury, and executioner. I’m just me.
I’m Mia. I’m Baby… I fight for what I want. I work hard, and now, now I love even harder.
The worst part about it is the feeling that I’m tainting Mark’s memory by being less than he always wanted me to be. I owe it to him and myself to move on with my life, to find happiness.
“I can’t do this,” I admit into the darkness stretching out around me. Still not ready to look at Coen, I keep my back on him. “I-I no longer want to play this game.” My voice is hoarse, and I feel my shoulders droop.
Why do I feel like a failure for admitting this?
“Look at me, Mia.” Coen implores, and I shake my head. “Why not?” I hate how distressed he sounds.
That’s my fault.
“I can’t—” Cutting off, I bite my lip to stop it from trembling as tears gather in my eyes.
Coen sighs loudly. “Because I’m a monster?”
I whirl around and look straight into his brown eyes at his words. Eyes that can barely meet mine.
“No. Never!” I practically spit, shocked at his assumption.
I turn my head heavenward and take another deep breath, then I close my eyes and run to Coen. I don’t open my eyes as I push off from the ground and leap at him, sighing with frustration as I feel his arms wrap securely around me.
Not wanting him to steady us, I wiggle around in his arms until we fall to the ice-cold and unforgiving ground. “Wh—” Coen’s words are cut off. He wraps himself even more around me, ensuring he’s taking the brunt of the fall.
For some reason, Coen’s attempt at avoiding the fall makes me angry. “I don’t want you to catch me. I need you to fall with me,” I growl.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I’m lashing out, and Coen doesn’t deserve that. Yet, I can’t make myself stop.
Sitting up, I curl my hands into fists and punch his chest.
