The Door She Opened

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The regret is instant like a bullet to the heart. It’s one thing to lash out at my brother because I’m pissed, but it’s another to talk to Amara this way.

Say something.

I wish I could go back in time and make better choices because the look on her face guts me. Absolutely makes a wreck of my insides to the point of physical pain. “Amara, I shouldn’t—”

She laughs. It elicits the same reaction as nails running down a chalkboard. I reach for her again, and I think she must be in shock because she lets me hold her.

“I never thought I would be on the receiving end of your temper, but I should have known that being your wife wouldn’t save me from that kind of treatment. If anything, it makes it ten times worse.”

“I didn’t mean it. I was angry about the situation with my father and took it out on you.”

She stays silent, so I kiss her. Her arms hang by her sides which only increases my desperation. I want her to do something—anything really, so long as it takes away this feeling growing in my gut.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble against her lips. Something wet and salty hits my lips, and I break away from our kiss to find a few tears streaming down her face. I brush them away, trying to erase the evidence of my words, only to find more in their wake. It’s like trying to fix a leak with duct tape. Nothing works to stop the tears from breaking free, and they only make me more frustrated.

“Please don’t cry.”

Her brows tug together as she looks up at me with glistening eyes. “You’re not laughing.”

“What?”

“You told me you laugh when you make people cry.” Her voice cracks.

I’m a mess inside. She doesn’t even seem to be looking at me but rather through me. Her glistening eyes serve as a window to her soul, and what I find is devastating. A beautifully broken soul who happens to be a mirror of mine.

You hurt her.

I feel no better than my father, wielding words like knives out of anger. While it might not leave the same kind of wounds as fists, words can do more damage than anything.

To think you’ve tried so hard to prevent yourself from becoming like him, only to realize you’re an exact copy.

She doesn’t meet my eyes as she sniffles.

Maybe even worse.

Based on the way I feel, it sure seems that way.

I pull her against me, this time kissing the top of her head. Except her usual sigh is absent. She doesn’t melt into me the way she always does, and my worry only intensifies.

“Let go of me,” she rasps as she pushes against my chest.

I release her like she might catch on fire if I hold on to her for a second longer. The way she looks at me…it feels like she took her nails and sunk them straight into my chest.

“We can talk this out.”

She takes a large step back as she wraps her arms around her like a hug. I want to be the one to console her, but how do I make her feel better when I’m the one that hurt her in the first place?

“I’ve been called a failure by many people in my life, including my own father, yet none of them seemed to have made it hurt quite like you just did. I trusted you.”

My stomach rolls as I am unable to escape the sick feeling plaguing me.

“I’m sorr—”

She cuts me off. “The last thing I want to hear right now is how sorry you are. I can’t believe I came here thinking you needed my help, only to end up being blamed for all of this. What a joke. The only two people to blame here are you and your father. Him for being an absolute dick and you for following in his footsteps, lashing out at me instead of taking personal responsibility.”

I take a step forward, only for her to take a big step backward.

My hand drops back to my side. “Don’t go.”

She shakes her head as she takes another step away from me.

“We’re supposed to be a team.”

“I don’t want to be on your team. Not anymore.”

A punch to the face might have hurt less than the way she looks at me like I’m below her.

“I’ll be better.”

“Funny. That’s what my father always told my mom too, right before he hurt her all over again.”

Her final blow lands exactly like it was meant to. I try to take a few deep breaths as I think of something to say, but I struggle to come up with anything worthy.

She takes advantage of my stunned state and retreats to a hidden exit out of the park without sparing me another glance. I’m torn between chasing after her and going back to the group. Leaving Amara alone after knowing how upset she is seems unconscionable, yet I can’t exactly leave the Nakamuras in my father’s hands. Not after how hard Amara and I have worked to make this happen.

You can deal with Amara later once all of this is done.

It seems like the best idea, yet I struggle to make my way back to everyone. Each step away from Amara feels like I’m trudging through quicksand.

You did not spend two years of your life working on this deal to lose it now. Pull yourself together.

I return to the group, ignoring the weight pressing against my chest with each step away from Amara. For the sake of my future, I need to shelve my emotions and push through. It seems simple in theory until Mrs. Nakamura asks where Amara is.

“She wasn’t feeling very well.”

My father’s eyes gleam, and I can’t stomach looking at him without feeling an urge to shove him away from me.

“Oh no. Does she need help getting back to your hotel?” Mr. Nakamura offers.

I shake my head. “She didn’t want us to stop our tour for her.”

“Are you sure? We could—”

I cut him off. “I’m sure.”

“Hopefully she feels better.” Mrs. Nakamura smiles.

If the look on Amara’s face is a small inkling of the pain she feels, I doubt she will for a long time.

I made sure of that.