My Guardian's Kiss, A Bitter Sweet Goodbye
For ten years, I lived with my guardian, Cole, secretly loving him. He was my late brother's best friend, the man I had worshipped since I was eight.
On my eighteenth birthday, I confessed my love with a painting. He ripped it to shreds, roaring, "I am your guardian, for God's sake!" He called my love a pathetic fantasy.
Two months later, he was engaged. He forgot I had a deadly allergy to the mango dessert his fiancée offered me.
Then, one night, he stumbled home drunk, pinned me to my bed, and kissed me while murmuring his fiancée's name. The next morning, he looked at me with disgust.
"What are you doing in my bed, Cora?"
My world shattered. The man who had spoiled me rotten, who promised to protect me forever, now saw me as disgusting and delusional. My decade of devotion had only burned me.
But his cruelty was the final push I needed. I accepted a full scholarship to Juilliard, a one-way ticket out. On his birthday, I packed my bags, deleted his number, and walked out of his life forever. I would never look back.
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Chapter 3
Cora POV:
Isabela stayed that night. I could hear their muffled laughter, the creak of the floorboards from Cole's bedroom, and later, the low, intimate murmurs that drifted through the shared wall. Sleep was a distant, mocking concept. I got up, restless, and stumbled onto the balcony. The cool night air offered no comfort. I lit a cigarette, a habit I' d picked up in secret. The harsh, bitter taste mirrored the hollowness in my chest.
The next morning, I dragged myself downstairs, dark circles under my eyes. Isabela, radiant and annoyingly cheerful, was already at the breakfast table. She patted the seat next to her.
"Cora, darling, come sit! I was just asking Cole about his birthday party. What kind of cake do you think he'd like? Chocolate? Or something more exotic?"
My gaze drifted to her neck. A faint red mark, a hickey, marred her smooth skin. It was a small detail, but it felt like a branding iron pressed against my own flesh.
I remembered a day, years ago, when Cole and I walked along the beach, the salty air whipping our hair. "I love the sea, Cole," I'd told him, my voice full of childish wonder. He' d ruffled my hair. "Then we'll celebrate every one of your birthdays by the sea." His eyes, then, had held only me. Now, he avoided my gaze. He'd forgotten my allergic reactions, my preferences, my very essence.
He didn't just retract his love; he erased me.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Cole's stern voice cut me off from the kitchen. "Isabela, if you want to know about my preferences, you should ask me directly."
Isabela pouted prettily. "I thought Cora would know best, darling. She's been with you for so long."
"I wouldn' t know," I said, forcing a brittle smile. "I don't really know Cole at all." I pushed back my chair, a bitter taste filling my mouth. I needed to get out.
"Cora," Cole's voice, sharp and cold, stopped me. "Where are you going?"
I flinched, my heart skipping a beat. "I have to go to the embassy. To get my visa processed."
Isabela blinked, surprised. "A visa? Are you traveling somewhere exciting? With a boyfriend, perhaps?"
Cole' s brow furrowed. His voice was laced with disapproval. "Cora, I've told you. No serious boyfriends before college. You need to focus on your studies."
His words were a cold, hard condemnation. I swallowed the protest forming on my tongue. What was the point of explaining? He wouldn't listen. He never did.
Isabela, ever the peacemaker, chuckled. "Oh, Cole, she's eighteen now. It's perfectly normal for her to be interested in boys. Don't be such an old fuddy-duddy." She looped her arm through Cole's, and they walked out of the kitchen together, their heads close.
I stood in the now-empty living room, my hands slowly clenching into fists. Eighteen. My entire eighteenth year, my only eighteenth year, had been sacrificed at the altar of his indifference.
I wouldn' t let my youth rot away in this hopeless, unrequited love.
I walked out of the house. A fine drizzle had begun, painting the world in shades of gray. The air was bone-chilling. I remembered rainy days when Cole would pick me up from school, shielding me under his umbrella. "You're my safe harbor, Cora," he'd once said. "I'll always keep you safe from the storm."
Safe from the storm, but not from you.
I gripped my small umbrella, forcing myself to step into the rain. I had to get used to walking alone.
After the embassy, instead of hailing a cab, my finger instinctively hovered over Cole' s social media icon. He had just posted. The caption read: "Perfect weather for an announcement."
My breath hitched. The image was a professional pre-wedding photo. Cole and Isabela, in full bridal attire, stood on a windswept cliff, their hands clasped. His smile, directed at her, was soft, genuine, full of a deep affection I had never received.
The comments section exploded with congratulations. "Congratulations, Cole!" "Finally!" "So happy for you two!"
A familiar pang of pain should have pierced my chest. But there was nothing. Just a hollow numbness. I typed a single comment: "Match made in heaven."