“You can look now. Though I’ll never get why you have to wait for me at the door,” I say, patting his soft hair.
He follows after me as I stride into the office and sit down at my desk. “I waited hours for you to come back so we could talk but you were out having fun with that demon.”
I roll my eyes and open my computer. “Jason’s not a demon.”
“Yeah, right and I’m Madonna,” he retorts, jumping on the velvet white couch. “Besides, he’s rude and hates me.”
I peek over the screen. “He doesn’t hate you he’s just a complicated man. He doesn’t like many things or people. That doesn’t make him a demon.”
Visha lifts himself and comes up to me, staring down at me with burning resolve. “It does when he makes you sad!”
“It’s not that simple.”
He’s such a sweet kid but that’s the issue here. Visha is a kid; he can’t understand my situation as he’s never been in my shoes. He speaks of what he doesn’t know. He thinks he’s almighty and the voice of reason. Every teenager has developed a mini God complex at least once in their life, which convinces them they know it all and can’t do anything wrong.
“You’re too young to understand. Our relationship is difficult but it’s not entirely bad. He cares about me, and I care about him. That’s all that matters right now,” I explain as I start typing away at the keyboard.
“Love isn’t enough,” he counters. “Does he respect you? Does he treat you kindly? Does he support your dreams and decisions?”
I stare up at him and the way his golden eyes shine with emotion. “When did you become so wise?”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, well so am I.” I rise from the chair, starting to get annoyed at his petty attitude. “I don’t want to hear you badmouth him. I can accept that you both dislike each other but I don’t want to hear you criticize him.”
Visha raises his voice, “But he can talk shit about me?!”
“I didn’t say that! Of course he can’t! I love you Visha and no matter what happens I will always be on your side.”
The room goes quiet for a minute. He walks away, reaching the door handle yet lingers at the frame, then he slowly turns around in his black pajama pants and grey sweater. “Would you pick me over him?”
I gawk at him in outrage and confusion. Why the hell are we having this conversation? There’s no point in arguing over a man he barely knows.
“What kind of question is that?
“Answer me,” he demands, yet I can sense a certain fragility in his tone and stance. “Would you pick me over him if push comes to shove? You might love us both, but I know that love is conditional and that eventually you’ll have to make a choice.”
I frown. “Why would I ever have to choose?”
“Things happen and decisions must be made.”
“I don’t want to argue with you. Don’t make me choose between him and you.”
“Because you’ll choose him?” his voice breaks.
It’s not a question I can answer because I don’t trust myself enough to tell him I won’t. I know I’d never discard him but after all these years of struggling, I’m damn certain I can’t throw Jason out of my life. It’s really not as simple as he tries to make it look.
I spread my arms. “Come here.”
He hesitates but barely a second later he comes running into my arms and nuzzles into my shoulder.
I embrace him tightly and caress the top of his head, comforting him as he starts sobbing. “I’ll never throw you away. You’re my little dove and I love you more than anything.”
I kiss the top of his head. He tightens his grip around my waist, and I let him. He needs reassurance and I’m stupid and selfish for denying him that much. How could I ever let go of this precious angel?
“I love you too,” he mumbles still buried in my chest.
It’s when his breath tickles my skin that I remember I’m not wearing a shirt. I slowly push him away, detangling his arms from my waist. He frowns, his eyes red and puffy from shedding tears.
