Page 27 of Bound by Destiny
This is true, but it’s not like he sent me a shitload of them—three I believe. My problem was I didn’t know what to say to him. Hell, I still don’t. How does one go from giving up on a dream to having it thrust back into your life? I’m sure some would be ecstatic about this and call me a moron, but it’s my life—not theirs.
I have to admit, though, it makes me wonder if Micah decided that he ‘loved me’ because I left with Jacks at the clubhouse. If he was seeing me moving on from him and wanted to grab me before I fully fell from his grasp.
Not trying to be conceited or any of that bullshit. It’s just the only thing I can think of to get him to change his mind so swiftly. Before he didn’t want to pursue anything—now he does. I need to figure out his game. Although, he never really played games before except with the pushing me away bullshit.
“What are you doing, Micah?” I set my plate down. “Is all this because I left with Jacks?”
He sets his plate down and turns his body to me, just like he used to. A wave of nostalgia hits me square in the chest, and I breathe through it.
“Emery, I want a shot. A real shot where we’re both in it and seeing where it can lead.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Which sends up red flags everywhere.
“No. Not because of Jacks. This was before I even came to the party. I’ve missed you.”
While him missing me gives me the warm feeling I’ve always craved from him, the confliction of this situation weighs on me heavier.
“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you, Micah. I’m confused and conflicted about everything that has become my life lately. There’s been so much time between us that’s passed. There’s been heartbreak and hurt. There’s been humor and laughter. We already have all of that.”
“Why am I sensing a but in there?” he jumps in.
“Because there is. But Jacks is in my life now too. He’s been there for me as a friend and just let me know that he wants more. I can’t turn my back on that. He’s a great guy who I care about deeply. We have a strong friendship together.”
“We have a strong friendship.”
I weigh my next words carefully because they could be taken either way at this point. “There are lots of things that muddy our friendship, that's the difference. There are choices that were made that affected both of us and me to my core. Yes, we can work on rebuilding that, but it will take time.”
“So you’re going to give me that time.”
My breath comes out in a huff. “I’m telling you that I don’t know what I’m doing, Micah. I have a lot to think about.”
“I get it. I do.”
Confusion laces around me like a noose as I jump up from the couch and make my way to the kitchen. “Good. Thanks for the pizza, but I think it’s time for you to go.” Damn, have I ever asked him to leave my place before? No. But everything is twisted inside of me, and having him so close isn’t helping.
He rises and comes to me as I hold the door open. “I’m not giving up on us, Emery.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. With a wink, he takes off.
Fuck my life. When the hell did shit get so damn twisted?
11
Micah
The house hasn’t changed muchsince I moved out. My room is still the same with video game posters on the walls. It even still has the Pac-man comforter I used to love. The shelves with knick-knack shit that I still don’t care about sits under the dust that has settled.
That is surprising considering my mother doesn’t care for mess, but my guess would be she keeps the door closed and doesn’t visit it often.
Inside the closet, shirts that are too small and shoes that have seen better days litter the entire place. Some things scattered on the floor while others hang haphazardly from hangers. I was not and am still not the most organized person when it comes to stuff.
Kneeling down, I rummage through the back of the closet feeling around under the clothes and shoes. My hands hit it, and I pull out the old Nike shoe box. It’s tattered and dented like crazy from the years of abuse.
The years have kept it together though, but what’s in it is way more important. Pulling it out and flipping open the cover—my childhood flashes before me. Pictures, letters, small gifts… everything.
Right on top is one of my prized possessions. A photo of Emery and I at about eight-years-old. Her arm is flung around my shoulders, and the widest smile is on her face. Her light blonde hair is up in a high ponytail, and her eyes are beaming at the camera.
Me, I have a small smirk on my lips that no one knew why was it there. But I did. Emery was squeezing me so tightly to her that it felt like she’d never let me go. That we were bound and our destiny was right there in that photo.
Yes, I was a punk ass kid, but really who wasn’t? Trying to find your way in the world was never easy. My father tried to get me involved with stuff he liked, but I had no interest. Part of me wishes he would’ve forced me to go to the garage with him. Or forced me to work outside with him. But who knows, if he would have, maybe I’d have turned out worse than I already have been to the club.
