I don’t want to wake her but, I need to tell her. “Amara?” I repeat her name, keeping my tone soft, yet firm.
She stirs slightly, shaking her head and her eyelids flutter until I see her dark almond eyes focus in on me. “Is everything alright?” She asks, drawing her brows together.
“Yes, everything is fine.” I reply, taking a seat beside her on the lounge chair. “I just came to let you know the family I told you about is more than willing to take the baby. They wanted me to express their gratitude for the gift you’re giving them, and for me to personally assure you she’ll be well taken care of.”
“Oh,” Her tone drops, almost like her voice is cracking. Before I realize what’s happening her eyes film over with a glassiness. Small tears rush from the corners of her eyes and I’m not sure how to react. I know she’s set in her decision, but I can’t imagine the turmoil running through her mind. She’s literally giving a piece of herself to complete strangers.
Amara wipes her hand under her eyes. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m never like this. Pregnancy has made me a soft bitch.” She laugh-cries, trying to come up with some sort of excuse for feeling this way.
I grab her hand and hold it in mine, using my free hand to wipe away the tears that still flow down her rounded cheeks. “Amara. You don’t need to apologize for the way this is hurting you. I’m a man and I’ll never be able to comprehend the way your heart hurts right now. However, I do empathize. But, I’m not the one giving up my child, something that’s been growing inside me for the last nine months.”
“I didn’t think it would be this hard. For fuck’s sake, this child is half of him.”
“She’s half of you, too. I know we’ve just met, but I don’t think you’re that bad.”
Amara breaks like an aged tree. Tears fall down her cheeks like a broken dam. I could simply sit here and not do anything, let her cry it out, but I can’t. I might joke about being sexually attracted to her for her natural beauty . . . but I’m the man my mother raised. A man who knows to show his compassion when it’s needed.
I pull Amara into my arms and hold her, rubbing my hand against her back in a soothing manner. I can tell she tenses up, not sure of what to do, how to react. But after a few minutes she relaxes. I only hope the woman can see a friend in me. Not always, but for now. I’m not the type of bastard who wants to be friend zoned.
“I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t want to feel like this.” She cries out. It’s agonizing. Amara is reminding me of someone who’s losing a loved one. I’ve never been able to be someone who understands pain but seeing it in my embrace . . . it wrecks me.
Pain is loss.
Pain is losing something you thought you’d never love.
Pain is losing a part of yourself, whether it be a lover, or a child.
Pain is when your soul is ripped in two, never to be the same again.
But most of all, pain is the one thing I never want to see come from this woman ever again. She’s made her decision, and I’ll support her in it . . . but I’ll do my best to ensure she never feels this type of hurt ever again.
For the first time in my life, I see more than a simple sexual conquest with a woman. I don’t know what the difference is right now, or why she’s the unique one. But Eduardo was right when he called me a manwhore. It’s what I was. I was a fool, a man who’d go around to the clubs and swing his dick around for the hell of it.
I’m just not that man anymore. I’m at the point in my life where life has to mean something.
Chapter Twelve
As the legend goes, when the Phoenix resurrects from the flames, she is more beautiful than before
~ Danielle Laporte
Amara
What am I even doing? Leaning against a man I barely know, crying my heart out against his shirt. I barely recognize myself. Time is turning me into a woman I don’t know anymore. I was strong before, a relentless vixen who should never be fucked with. If anyone dared to try, I’d put a bullet between their eyes without even giving it a second thought.
Now . . . I can hardly hold my emotions inside. I’ve never been the type to spill my thoughts and feelings out to whomever would listen. I knew those type of girls, but I certainly wasn’t one of them. I know the last year has affected me, but I never thought it would in this way. If I’m being honest, the thought of being rescued became a dream. Something I never thought would happen. It was a mere figment of my imagination. I had accepted the fact it wouldn’t happen. I’d prepared myself for dying in that fucking cage. What I didn’t prepare myself for was getting out.
There was so much time spent thinking about when I died, I never once thought what if I lived. Now here I am, on the other side of those iron bars . . . breathing fresh air, feeling the sun on my skin for the last few hours until it had set. The painful reality of my freedom is at times too much to bear. I struggle with it, maybe even more than I should be. I break down into bouts of tears, allowing every
