Page 29 of Tattooed Love

“Why would I lie?” I pointed out.

His shoulders relaxed a little.“Stay away from him.” Blake was warning me like Jackson was trouble. He was nothing more than a friend to my brothers, and I couldn’t wait for the day when he moved on.

I nodded my head. I had every intention of staying away from Jackson.

“I’m going to miss you,” I said, feeling all confused.

His eyes softened and he took a step towards me, but didn’t wrap his arms around me like he would normally have done.

He lowered his head to mine, resting it on my forehead.

“I know,” he whispered.

It took all my self-control to not wrap my arms around his neck.

“Love you,” he murmured.

I nodded my head against his.

“You better go,” I spoke softly.

He pulled away.

‘If you need me...” he began to speak, but I cut in.

“Your commitment is to the gang, Blake. Your commitment to me is over,” I informed him softly.

He didn’t move.He looked at me like I was breaking his heart. The look in his eyes was the same look he always gave me - unconditional love. Even though we were breaking up, if he needed me, I would always be there.

“My commitment to you will never be over.”He reached out, tucking my hair behind my ear, as if to get a better last look at me. “You need me, call. No matter what Amber, I am always here.”

“Ok” I finally muttered. I knew he meant it. He would always be there for me. That love he felt for me would always be there. That need to be together, well, we were always going to fight it. Him and I – well, we had that twisted romance. Undying, and yet a complete wreck.

“Bye Blake. Look after yourself.” Because I wouldn’t be looking after him anymore. I just couldn’t. Our love had always been unhealthy, at times too intense, other times barely there.

That was the thing about Blake and I - we never got the balance right.

Taking a step backwards, I placed my hand on the door knob.

He let out a deep breath.

Turning his back to me, he looked over his shoulder, not making eye contact with me.

“Love you Amber. You will be ok. I’m sorry.”

I twisted the door knob and stepped back into the foyer.

In a romance novel, in a teenage love story or in any fairy-tale, this would’ve been my cue to run after him, kiss him and tell him that I loved him.

That I couldn’t be apart from him.

Tell him I would be nothing without him.

Instead, I closed the door.

Because this is real life, and in real life, you don’t run after the gangsta.

You walk away while you still have enough pieces of your heart to thread back together.

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