Through Your Eyes

by Ali Merci

  Asa should drop the topic. He should be walking away. He knew better. He was smarter than this.

  But his feet stayed rooted to the spot.

  “Then what about Isla?” he asked, asking the question that he’d wanted to for a while now. “I know you were the one who dropped her off at my place that night after the party. Why’d you do that if you really don’t give a shit about anyone?”

  A disbelieving laugh left Hunter’s mouth, and he shook his head at Asa as if he couldn’t digest the fact that this conversation was even taking place.

  “Are you for real?” Hunter pronounced each word deliberately slow, dragging out each syllable as if he was talking to someone who was partially deaf. “I did that to get at you. I knew it’d piss you off. So I came to your doorstep with your best friend just to rub it in your face.”

  Listen to him, Asa. Listen to what he’s saying.

  What the hell was he thinking? That the person who’d tormented him for years was capable of redemption? Was Asa really that plain stupid and gullible?

  He knew Hunter Donoghue. Known him for years. There was not a single compassionate bone in the guy’s body. That didn’t mean Asa didn’t feel the faintest flicker of disappointment that Hunter was just cold to the bone.

  “You done?” Hunter asked, his voice and expression going back to being free of any emotion. Asa didn’t understand how Hunter did that. He himself found it hard to keep his emotions in check; Asa was passionate like that. But he needed to understand that not everyone was going to have the same heart or mind-set as his.

  So he took a few steps back and tightened the grip on his bag’s straps. “Yeah,” Asa muttered, looking away from Hunter’s blank stare. “I’m done.”

  •••

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Carmen commented as they drove back from school. “What’s on your mind?”

  Despite being distracted with all the thoughts swimming in his head, Asa’s mouth curved upwards into an affectionate smile. He didn’t know what it was about the question, but the way she’d asked it made his heart flutter the tiniest bit.

  “Nothing,” he murmured. “Just thinking.”

  “Of?” She turned her face to him, offering him a lazy smile.

  “People, I guess.” He twitched his left shoulder in an attempt of a subtle shrug. “They’re never really what you expect. I mean, you have this idea of them, and they either prove you wrong by rising above your expectations, or by sinking even lower.”

  Carmen’s smile slowly faded, and a frown replaced it. “Are we talking about Lottie here? Because I put her in her place after you left the cafeteria halfway through lunch.”

  Asa shot her a quick sideways glance before turning his attention back to the road. “Damn.” He grinned. “I missed out on that. But, no, I wasn’t speaking of Lottie. I actually ran into Hunter today.”

  “You ran into him?” Carmen furrowed her brows.

  “Well. Okay. Didn’t run into him. I walked up to him and initiated the conversation.”

  Amusement lit up her dull grey eyes, and she looked like she wanted to laugh. “Oh, Asa. Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Learnt my lesson, don’t worry.”

  “And? Did whatever you learn about him surprise you?”

  “Definitely did,” Asa said, making a U-turn. “I mean, I always thought he was just an asshole, but I found out he’s actually a soulless bastard. So there’s that.”

  “You seem disappointed.”

  “I’m not.”

  There was a short stretch of silence between them before Carmen interrupted it.

  “He wasn’t always like that, you know.”“Hunter?” Asa frowned. “It’s hard to picture him without his permanent scowl and murderous glare.”

  A light giggle tumbled past Carmen’s lips. “Seriously. Since my mum was always pampering him after his passed away, we’d spend a lot of time together. Mostly it was me going over to his place. We must have been around three at the time, but I still remember snippets of our childhood. And both of us had no siblings, so I guess I always looked up to him and regarded him as an older brother, and I the little sister he never had.”

  Asa was finding it really hard to wrap his head around the fact that Hunter Donoghue used to have a heart in his robotic body once. Then again, nobody was born with hate and cruelty in their hearts, were they? Those traits were taught, or inherited, or even picked up from one’s surroundings.

  “It’s…really weird to think of him that way,” Asa admitted, scratching the bridge of his nose.

  “Sometimes I think it was all from a past life or something,” Carmen spoke quietly, her voice blending with the tranquil atmosphere inside the truck. “He’d be saying something vicious enough to rip my heart out in school, but all I would see is the boy who used to give me piggy back rides up and down the stairs of his house when I was too tired to climb it by myself. Sometimes I want to hate him so much, but I’d recall the numerous times I’d fallen asleep on the couch only for him to carry me to my room and tuck me in bed.”

  Her eyes were unfocused like she wasn’t in the truck with Asa anymore, but in a place during her childhood when she’d known happiness and love.

  “But then we turned six. Mum died. And that was that.” She let out a deep sigh, as if it had been sitting on her soul for far too long. “Everything just went up in flames.”

  Asa hesitated but asked cautiously, “Why?”

  Carmen was quiet for a long time; she continued to remain silent ’till they reached her place. Asa figured she wasn’t going to respond, but she eventually did. “They didn’t want me around anymore.”

  “They?”

  “Mum’s side of the family is the side where Hunter comes from,” she mumbled, exhaustion seeping into her voice. “They flat out told my dad they didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

  Asa’s stomach coiled into a tight knot, feeling both anger and grief on Carmen’s behalf.

  “And your dad’s side?”

  “They love Dad a lot,” she said. “They just don’t understand why he took it upon himself to raise me, someone who’s not even his biological daughter.” Asa recalled wondering before if Carmen was adopted because she shared no resemblance whatsoever with her father. He didn’t ask her any more than she was willing to offer him though, so he just allowed her to do the talking. “And they’d keep hinting at Dad to give me up to the system. I guess he got fed up with them because he no longer keeps in touch with his folks.”

  “No offence, but you really didn’t hit the jackpot when it comes to family.” Asa mused.

  And to his delight, Carmen started to laugh.She was full-on laughing: her head tipped back, hand covering her mouth, and eyes crinkled at the edges as the passenger seat vibrated with her shaking shoulders.

  Carmen kept laughing, and Asa kept falling.

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  Asa didn’t hold back this time.“I do love you, you know,” he said, gulping slightly as his voice drifted into the air and filled the space between them with an emotion so raw, so tangible, that Asa thought his heart could burst any minute.

  Carmen stared at him for a while, not saying anything, before her lips slowly turned up at the corners into a smile that could only be described as ethereal.

  “I know,” she told him quietly, her eyes uncharacteristically bright.

  “Good,” he murmured, tracing a finger along the hairline on her forehead and down her temple before moving along the curve of her ear. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying it.”

  She opened her mouth then—no, wait—not opened. But her lips did part, and he heard the soft breath that spilled out of her mouth right then, and for a second—for a mere heartbeat—Asa thought she was going to say the words back.

  She didn’t, though. And oddly enough, Asa was okay with that.

  Because he wasn’t stupid; he knew she had feelings for him. He didn’t know if she was in love with him yet, but
he knew her feelings ran pretty deep. And if she needed time to navigate through those sea of emotions, then he’d offer her time.

  And maybe one day she’d find her way to him the way he’d found his way to her.

  For now though, everything was as close to perfect as they could be. And he wasn’t going to complain about wanting more.

  43.

  How to Love With a Fractured Soul

  Carmen realised she couldn’t bring herself to paint anymore.

  Well, technically speaking, she could. But it just wasn’t the same for the past few days. She’d be halfway through sketching something, or in the middle of painting on a fresh canvas, then the words would float through her head and send her world spinning.

  Because I love you.

  Those words. Words Asa had said to her without a second thought.

  Words she knew in her bones that he meant from the depths of his heart.

  Whenever she recalled that moment, everything else would cease to function. And the artwork she’d been working on would seem irrelevant, almost miniscule in the face of the fact that Asa San Román—the boy with the heart of gold—was in love with her.

  Her fingers still ached each time his words resonated through her being. There was still that yearning to put her emotions into paper in the form of a drawing or a painting.Carmen just wasn’t yet able to figure out what it was that she wanted to create. Didn’t know how to channel the sea of emotions she was hopelessly swimming through into art.

  She was sitting on the chair by her bedroom’s window, her drawing pad opened to a fresh page on the small mahogany desk in front of her, when there was a knock on her door.

  “Honey?” her dad’s voice floated to her ears, pulling her out of her reverie.

  She stopped chewing on the drawing pencil in her hand and called back, “Yeah, Dad. Come on in.” The word dad left a trail of bitterness on her tongue but she chose to not dwell on that for now.

  The door swung open slowly and her father stepped in. His sandy hair was dishevelled and sea green eyes nervous. Then he walked forwards and seated himself on the edge of her bed.

  “Drawing something new?” He motioned with his head towards the drawing book on her desk.

  “Trying to,” she shrugged.

  “But?”

  “Inspiration is down or too high. Can’t really tell.”

  He nodded, taking in her response as his eyes swept across the room, a fond smile lighting up his face when his eyes caught the framed photograph of the two of them at the restaurant they used to visit every Friday for dinner.

  They’d tried to keep the tradition alive even after her mother’s death, but had only succeeded in doing it for three months. The pain had been unbearable, and everything that reminded them of her had to be erased from their lives. And so that tradition had died along with Sophia West.

  “Dad?” Carmen asked gently, ignoring the pressure at the centre of her chest at calling him that. “What is it?”

  Her father released a deep sigh, dropping his head as he lifted his hand to massage the length of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

  Something must have happened, Carmen realised, and it caused an uneasy sensation to erupt in the pit of her stomach.

  “Your aunt called,” he eventually said.

  “My aunt?”

  “Your mum’s other sister,” he muttered. “Beatrix.”

  This wasn’t making sense. After all these years? Why was she making contact with them now?

  “Why?” Carmen asked cautiously, dreading what the answer might be.

  There was another sigh from her father. He seemed to wish that he was anywhere else but here, doing anything else but having this conversation.

  “To invite us over for Thanksgiving dinner,” he finally said.

  Carmen’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and her jaw dropped open in pure shock. This was definitely not making sense.

  “Why?” This was the one question she was capable of asking—the only one she wanted to ask. Because her mind still couldn’t find any logical reasoning whatsoever that her presence was actually asked for.

  “I asked her the same thing.” Dad pulled his brows together. “She said your grandma was the one who demanded it.”

  “But why?” Carmen pulled in her bottom lip, anxiety rippling through her in gigantic waves.

  “I’m guessing the old age must be getting to her. Time does that to people, sometimes. They grow oddly sentimental.”

  “Do you want to go?” Carmen asked after a few minutes of complete silence, observing her father. Carmen didn’t think it was such a great idea, but she also couldn’t help but consider the fact that those people had once been her dad’s family. His in-laws.

  But he shouldn’t have to pay for Carmen’s sins.

  It was honestly twisted, the way he didn’t just lose his wife, but both the family he was born into and the family he married. And all because he chose Carmen over them. Years later, and he was still choosing Carmen.

  That fact alone melted Carmen’s heart.

  “The question is, do you want to go?” her father turned to face her, eyes serious but kind.

  “I want you to be happy, Dad,” she mumbled.

  He smiled at her then. The corners of his eyes wrinkled and affection lit up his face. “I am happy,” he told her. “I have you.”

  But Carmen knew that’d never be enough—it couldn’t. She was still a reminder of all that he’d lost.

  “We’ll go then,” she said, her tone not hiding her uncertainty and reluctance.

  Her dad pressed his lips into a thin line, and in that fleeting moment, Carmen realised she’d picked up that trait from him. And somehow that tiny realisation embedded a larger impact on her than she expected.

  Because it meant that even if she wasn’t his by blood, it didn’t make him any less of a father to her. And neither did it mean she wasn’t a daughter in his eyes.

  Maybe family wasn’t always about whose blood ran in your veins. Maybe it was about whose heart beat alongside yours through thick and thin.

  “You sure, kiddo?” he frowned. “If you don’t want to, we can stay back.”

  “It’s Thanksgiving, dad,” she said with a sad smile. “It’ll be a change from spending the night just by ourselves, yeah? Plus, they’re the ones reaching out this time. How long have we wished for this?”

  “I don’t think the others would be so thrilled.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “It’s Sophia’s mum who wants us there.”

  “Yeah, well, grandma was always the one who called the shots in that family, yeah?” There was a touch of nostalgia in Carmen’s voice, her eyes proving that she was reliving old times in her head.

  Her dad just offered her an exhausted smile in response, his eyes also adorning the same faraway look as Carmen. He stood up from the bed, cracking his knuckles as he did so. “I’ll let your aunt Beatrix know that we’re coming then.” He nodded, shooting her one last smile before leaving the room.

  “Hey, Dad?” Carmen called out just as he was about to close the door.

  He popped his head in through the gap of the half-open door. “Yeah?”

  “I love you,” she said, the left corner of her mouth lifting up in something akin to a ghost of a smile.

  “I do too,” he told her, eyes softening and smoothing the crease on his forehead.

  But Carmen noticed that he didn’t say “I love you” back. Just like he never did ever since they’d buried her mother six feet under when she was six years old.

  The door to her room closed with a soft click, and Carmen stared at it as the tear running down her cheek slipped off her chin and fell on the fresh drawing sheet on the desk.

  And then more silent tears followed.

  •••

  It was during the third week of November, and also the last week of school before Thanksgiving holidays started, that Carmen met Isla again.

  “Hey,” Carmen greeted as she approached the familiar blonde in
the girls’ locker room, where Isla was getting ready for cheer practice.

  Electric blue eyes met Carmen’s and surprise flickered through them. “Carmen.” Isla blinked, obviously not expecting her. “What’s up?”

  Carmen slid her bag off her shoulder and fished around through it before pulling out a book with deep red velvet binding that Isla had given her for this purpose. She extended her arm towards Isla, offering her the book. “Those drawings you asked for.” She nodded towards the journal. “The one for your parents once you leave for college. They’re all done.”

  The other girl’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the art journal from Carmen’s hands, flipping through the pages with shock and awe. “Wow, you did them all within just two months and a half?”

  Carmen shrugged. “Had a lot of spare time on my hands these days.” And there was also the issue of not being able to create her own works because of Asa’s words building a home inside her head and refusing to leave until she acknowledged them.

  It was as if they had a mind of their own, as if they purposely constructed a barrier in her mind to stop any creativity flowing through until she’d digested the words I love you and allowed it into her system.

  But it was one thing to hear Asa say those words to her and a wholly other thing to accept it, to allow it into her heart.

  “Wow…I—these are beyond amazing, Carmen,” Isla said softly, her fingers tracing one of the sketches as if she was afraid she was going to hurt the paper. “Just—thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome,” Carmen mumbled, warmth washing through her at the fact that her drawings were being appreciated. Ever since she started sketching those photographs for Isla though, there’d been a question clawing relentlessly at her mind, and it was bothering her now too.