All The Truths - Rina Kent Page 0,1

me those words, the ones that shattered the remains of my heart into tiny, bloody pieces, impossible to collect or to touch.

There has been a constant ache in my chest since I finally realized the painful truth: we live in parallel lines. Our worlds are never meant to cross.

We were never meant to be.

Giving up on finding him in the crowd, I spin around and walk the long empty tunnel. The cheers and the music eventually fade, turning into nothingness.

With every step I take, my spirit loses balance. My limbs tremble as if begging me to go back in there, search for him, tell him what I couldn’t all these years.

No.

It’s over.

Everything is over.

Now, I have to save the only other person who matters more than I do.

I retrieve my phone and pull up Instagram. It doesn’t take me long to find the conversation from a year ago. I wish I could’ve gone one more time or told the jerk these words in person, but despite my tough act, I’m a coward in so many ways.

I just know how to hide my cowardice well.

For a long time, I learned how to turn weakness into a strong façade, something solid and hard no one would suspect.

With trembling fingers, I type.

Reina-Ellis: I won’t meet you again.

The reply is immediate. Sometimes, I get the feeling he’s never there, and others—like now—it’s almost as if he’s breathing down my neck.

Cloud003: Nice try, my slut.

Reina-Ellis: I mean it. I’m turning the page and you chose not to be part of it. I know you’re blocking any feelings you have for me and I understand. I probably should’ve done the same. I’m sorry and goodbye.

As I hit send, my eyes blur, and I close them to fight the onslaught.

It’s all over now.

All the bad blood and unsaid words.

All the secrets and lies.

It’s…over.

There’s no reply—not that I expected one. He’s a jerk that way, always making me wonder what he’s thinking.

I hope it’ll stop with this goodbye, but I doubt it will.

This thing is already flowing in my blood, and unlike common belief around Blackwood College, I do bleed, both physically and emotionally.

I’ve just mastered the art of deception and don’t show it.

With one last touch to my bracelet, I forge ahead.

Tonight, I’m leaving everything behind and reuniting with the one person who always loved me unconditionally.

The one who gave me their life.

Present

Asher’s silhouette becomes a blur as I struggle to catch my breath.

There’s something paralyzing about pain. It’s not the agony itself but the brain’s reaction to being metaphorically stabbed.

It shuts down at the onslaught and chooses numbness instead, because sometimes, being numb is the only way to survive.

I wish it were physical pain. I wish it were that assault and the agony at the back of my neck and shoulders each time I moved.

At least back then, I lived with the belief that it would soon go away.

This pain won’t.

It’s at its rawest, truest form.

My thighs still ache from how Asher took me last night. My insides are still sore from his touch, how he filled me, how he kissed me and stretched me whole.

A few moments ago, my heart was soaring, almost hitting the ceiling with all the butterflies. Stupid little butterflies.

They’re slaughtered now, leaving blood and goo in their wake.

As I pull my trembling legs to my chest, I can hear it loud and clear: the breaking of a heart. The smash, the fall. I can almost see the pieces surrounding me like broken glass.

And it’s all because of the man in the sharp suit standing in front of the pole.

The man who only approached me for revenge.

I trusted him. I was falling for him.

I ignored all the signs and my instinct and went to him. I considered him my savior when he’s been my Grim Reaper all along.

Logically, I should stand up and go there. I should pull him by the shoulder, slap him across the face, and ask him why he did that to me—to us.

Tears well in my eyes at the mere thought. I can’t possibly face him without breaking at his feet.

He’ll taunt me and call me a monster; he’ll tell me it’s all my fault. I can’t take that right now. My armor has chipped and is now heaped in a useless pile amongst the broken pieces.

So I do the one thing I can at this moment. My nails dig into the dirt as I use it to rise to my feet.

There’s something so utterly hard about standing

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