Isabela Part 2
I take off my ballet flats in the hallway, surrounded by white walls and golden baseboards. I chew on the candy as I leave grandma behind and throw my tired, anxiety-ridden body onto her soft, white couch.
"What happened at your college, dear? You were so happy," she asks, her voice now taking on a careful and concerned tone. She sits elegantly in a sky-blue armchair on the other side of the gray rug. I try not to look at the cream and gold Buddha on the solid wood coffee table, diverting my gaze instead to Hellen's lightly made-up green eyes.
Marina, a woman probably in her forties, chubby with bulging eyes, places a wooden tray with a glass of Coca-Cola on the coffee table, giving me a simple greeting but disapprovingly eyeing my mini-skirt. She's one of grandma’s maids.
"He’s back."
I ignore the damn burning in my stomach from the weight of the words. I grab the drink I love so much from the tray, grateful it's as cold as the air conditioner in the room.
At first, her eyes show confusion, but then they widen. Why does she seem to have fear in her expression?
"Nate?"
I nod, placing the glass back on the tray after two thirsty, deep gulps. I pull my legs onto the couch, hugging a soft pillow in the deepest shades of darkness. I don’t care about manners while wearing a pleated red skirt that barely covers my butt. I feel at home and completely comfortable here. No place in the world has as much of an aura of safety as this one.
Hellen loved Nate and was always even more excited to see me in love with him. She was always eager to create situations for me to come over, allowing more moments with the boy I loved so much. Grandma would always get angry because she knew my mom couldn’t find out I had a "little boyfriend," as I’d tell her that Diana was strict and would only allow me to date after turning 18.
I juggled all these lies to protect my grandma from my stepfather, who loved to threaten her. That’s why Hellen could never know about his abuse or my mother’s violence. And the chains those bastards put on my mind were so powerful that, even today, I’m afraid to tell her the truth.
"He owns Revolta now..."
I don’t want to tell her how we’ve been hurting each other. I skip the tragic part about the war Nate and I are waging. I only share the parts that won’t make her worry too much: my feelings, our hottest moments, and the resentment we hold towards each other from the string of dramas that led to him leaving town.
"So much going on, my child. Why didn’t you confide in me before? That’s why you look so sad. You never forgot him. Time and again, you’d show up with those weird boyfriends, and because of your fear of touch, it never worked out. I even thought you’d have something long-lasting with that grumpy tattoo artist, but your eyes only ever shone genuinely for little Nate."
I hate the way she likes him. Or how she always defends him, saying she doesn’t believe he did those things seven years ago, even though I told her how he broke my heart. Hellen claims the only one to blame is his sister, who set everything up for us to fall apart and break up before we even made the relationship official.
She doesn’t get it! You can’t put all the blame on his twin sister, no matter how tempting it is to see it from Hellen’s perspective. I could simply absolve Nate in my heart, believe that he did nothing to hurt me, that he didn’t betray my trust or play with me. That way, there would be no foundation for the bitterness clinging to my soul. But I’m not naïve, I know it was Nate. No one else is responsible for the chaos my life turned into after he dumped me.
If Bianca had orchestrated the whole thing, I would have understood what he did and why he chose to leave. Deep down, I’m sure his sister played a part in the first blow that destroyed me, but she only had that weapon because he gave it to her!
I hate thinking about it, rehashing the theories and the suffering I endured when they left town, when Nate left, and I became the punching bag for the whole school.
"I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I came here to kill some of the longing. We’ve been seeing each other less than usual."
And thank God she hasn’t started complaining about me not eating properly at college or asking if I’m treating my Haphephobia. Grandma usually buys the story that I developed the phobia because I lost my father. But it’s still embarrassing to have to lie so much to someone I love just to cover up the sins of people I’ve learned to hate.
Haphephobia is an exaggerated fear of being touched by other people, and from what I studied when I started researching what was happening to me, the symptoms can vary from person to person. Some don’t like to be touched by anyone. Luckily, I can break that barrier when I trust someone enough.
"I miss you too. You’re the biggest blessing I’ve ever had in life, the only gift left from my beloved son, Lucas."
Before I realize it, she’s sitting next to me on the couch. I’m lying in her lap, receiving a comforting head rub. I close my eyes, inhaling Hellen’s perfect scent, as her wrinkled yet gentle fingers massage my scalp.
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