Once, my paranoid love

Tears welled up in my eyes as I gently touched his hair, my fingers tracing the contours of his head. I wanted to believe his words, to let myself be enveloped in the comfort of the past, but the painful reality still lingered.

The presence of the maid cast a shadow on the fragile moment we had created. With a quiet plea, I had asked her to leave, to give us a chance.

“Will you please go from here?”

“Ma’am!”

The girl hesitated but finally acquiesced, understanding that this was a moment that needed to be embraced or perhaps shattered.

“Please,” I said.

That girl did not wait there and walked out of there, leaving us alone.

Paul clung to me as though he could never let go, as though he were afraid that I would slip through his fingers like a fleeting dream. I caressed his disheveled hair, my fingers trembling as I tried to take in the magnitude of the moment.

“Paul, you need to sleep.”

He whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “I know if I fall asleep, you’ll run away again. This time, I won’t let you go. I’m not going to leave you.”

My heart ached at his words. The pain in his eyes was undeniable, as though he had suffered greatly during our separation. Yet I couldn’t ignore the turmoil that had led us to this point. We were both broken, scarred by the choices I had made.

With a deep breath, I gently pushed him away, trying to convey the weight of my decision.

“I… I am not going anywhere,” I assured him, my voice trembling. But I knew that words alone could not mend the chasm that had grown between us.

As I turned to the wall, leaning against it for support, I felt the complexity of our past closing in on me.

My mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a turbulent sea of love, regret, and longing. I couldn’t deny that a part of me still loved Paul, that the memories of our time together had left an indelible mark on my soul.

As Paul knelt before me, his trembling hands extended to touch my knees, a torrent of emotions surged within me. His touch was delicate, as though he were handling something impossibly fragile, fearful that it might shatter at any moment. His eyes, brimming with vulnerability and uncertainty, searched mine for reassurance.

“Will you really not leave me?” he asked, his voice quivering with a mixture of longing and doubt.

In response, I blinked slowly and shook my head in a gentle, negative motion. I patted my thigh, offering an invitation for him to draw nearer.

“Come, lay down here.”

Paul, without hesitation, inched closer, his head gently finding its place on my lap. His eyes, as he lay there, never wavered from mine, as if he needed to maintain that unbroken connection to ensure I wouldn’t slip away once more.

I took a deep, steady breath, trying to calm the tremors that coursed through my body. My hand reached for his hair, my fingers delicately caressing the unruly locks. His hair was as disheveled as the path our relationship had taken-a tangled web of emotion, pain, and longing.

Our silence felt weighted with the unspoken truths, the words we had left unsaid, and the choices that had led us to this moment. As I continued to touch his hair, I struggled to avoid meeting his eyes, fearful of what they might reveal.

But Paul, in his weary tone, interrupted the stillness of the room, a room that held the memories of our shared history, both beautiful and painful. “Look at me, Elena,” he implored.

I looked at Paul slowly, his gaze beseeching me to acknowledge him. I remained silent, aware that refusing him at this moment might trigger his anger and paranoia, unleashing a storm I wasn’t prepared to weather. So, I met his imploring gaze, feeling the weight of history between us in every exchanged look.

With deliberate care, Paul took my right hand and guided it to his chest, positioning my palm over his heart. My own heart quickened in response, as though it recognized the significance of this tender gesture. I swallowed hard, and my throat suddenly dried.

“Try to sleep. I am here,” I whispered, my voice a soothing balm to his restless soul. The empathy I felt for him ran deep, a river of emotions that threatened to overflow, but I held back the tears that welled in my eyes.

My eyes locked on his, I watched as he slowly closed his own. The furrows on his forehead, etched with the weight of his suffering, began to soften as he drifted into a restless sleep. His breathing became more measured, a sign that his tortured mind was finding a moment’s respite.

I sighed, a mixture of relief and regret weighing heavily on my chest. I looked at his slumbering face, etched with both innocence and anguish.

Unable to hold back the anguish any longer, I pressed my lips together and murmured to myself, “Why did you become like this? Why didn’t you listen to me?”

The answer, however, remained elusive. I had once believed that love could conquer all, that we could overcome any obstacle, but we had been brought low by our own mistakes and circumstances beyond our control.

With a heavy heart, I confessed my regrets to the silent walls around me, my voice a fragile echo of the emotions I had long kept locked inside. “I can’t go back, Paul. I am sorry.”

As I closed my eyes and leaned against the cool, unforgiving wall, I felt his fingers tighten around my right hand, holding it close to his chest, as if my presence there could keep the darkness at bay.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

I remained seated by his side, not knowing how much time had passed as we both drifted in and out of our own states of consciousness. When I finally dared to open my eyes, I saw that Paul had succumbed to a deep and dreamless sleep, and the lines of worry on his face momentarily smoothed.