Read Online Pieces of a Mending Heart by Kristina M. Rovison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristina M. Rovison
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us is truly magical, as if we stepped inside a painting of heaven. For a split second, I wonder if I actually died the day I killed myself, and this i s heaven. The sun sits lower in the sky, and the mountains, closer than ever before, glimmer with the rays of light being cast upon them. A lake rests at the foot of the cliff-like structure, shining in the sunlight.
“Oh, Tristan,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist even tighter. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper in his ear, the tickle raising goose bumps on his skin.
He pulls on the rope, stopping Dino in his tracks. Turing his face towards mine, his nose brushes my cheek and my heart stutters. Tristan smiles and pats my hand, which is clenching his shirt.
“This is our stop,” he says, shifting. With grace and expertise, he dismounts Dino and stands below me, reaching his hand out, waiting for me.
I take his hand and swing my left leg around and dismount, not nearly as graceful as Tristan, but good enough for a beginner. I smile as I wobble on my numb legs, bending my knees in an attempt to regain feeling.
The pins and needles don’t subside as Tristan leads Dino over to a patch of grass, where he promptly decides to lay on his side, basking in the sunlight. I laugh at the sight, never having seen a horse plo p down with such finality. It’ s comical.
Tristan sits down with Dino, stroking his legs and stomach. I’m shocked by his gesture, which is so loving you just know he’s done it a million times.
“Tell me how you know my aunt,” I say, walking over to the two beautiful creatures. “What’s your story?” I ask, unable to help myself. I want to know Tristan, really know him; his past, his dreams, his heartaches. If he’s my angel, the least I can do is try my best to be deserving of such a human being.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he says darkly, eyes taking on an intense look that frightens me slightly. “You’ll hear it anyways,” he mumbles.
My heart picks up, unwilling to be unaffected by his words. Telling him my story would mean risking this feeling of perfection . I don’t want his curiosity to intrude on my fantasy; my fantasy that everything is normal, that I am not a wounded soul on a mission to rebuild. Revealing my past would mean giving Tristan a free-pass into my future, and part of me is still hesitant to subject him to the horror that was my life.
Picking up on my hesitation, Tristan smiles, but it isn’t a kind smile. It’s more of a sneer, filled with bitterness and animosity. I’m afraid it’s for me, the nervousness and hurt dripping its way into my blood like morphine, but I keep my face schooled. Tristan’s expression immediately changes, shifting into a horrified look of disbelief.
He grabs my hands in both of his, instantly freeing me of the worries inside me. His eyes narrow slightly and I see his jaw smart, his teeth clenched. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, and when he opens them, all signs of anger, fear, or bitterness are replaced with a glowing kindness.
“Katherine ,” he hesitates, looking at our hands. “Do you believe in angels?”
Stunned, my mouth pops open and a cold sweat breaks out across my back, making me shiver. What would sound like a bizarre question to others sounds like a lifeline to me; the final lifeline I need before throwing myself into the ocean. I trust him, and something inside of my heart clicks into place.
“Absolutely,” I say, biting my lip as it trembles. His head swivels up, making his eyes level with mine.
“Do you believe in God?” he asks, sounding
“Oh, Tristan,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist even tighter. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper in his ear, the tickle raising goose bumps on his skin.
He pulls on the rope, stopping Dino in his tracks. Turing his face towards mine, his nose brushes my cheek and my heart stutters. Tristan smiles and pats my hand, which is clenching his shirt.
“This is our stop,” he says, shifting. With grace and expertise, he dismounts Dino and stands below me, reaching his hand out, waiting for me.
I take his hand and swing my left leg around and dismount, not nearly as graceful as Tristan, but good enough for a beginner. I smile as I wobble on my numb legs, bending my knees in an attempt to regain feeling.
The pins and needles don’t subside as Tristan leads Dino over to a patch of grass, where he promptly decides to lay on his side, basking in the sunlight. I laugh at the sight, never having seen a horse plo p down with such finality. It’ s comical.
Tristan sits down with Dino, stroking his legs and stomach. I’m shocked by his gesture, which is so loving you just know he’s done it a million times.
“Tell me how you know my aunt,” I say, walking over to the two beautiful creatures. “What’s your story?” I ask, unable to help myself. I want to know Tristan, really know him; his past, his dreams, his heartaches. If he’s my angel, the least I can do is try my best to be deserving of such a human being.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he says darkly, eyes taking on an intense look that frightens me slightly. “You’ll hear it anyways,” he mumbles.
My heart picks up, unwilling to be unaffected by his words. Telling him my story would mean risking this feeling of perfection . I don’t want his curiosity to intrude on my fantasy; my fantasy that everything is normal, that I am not a wounded soul on a mission to rebuild. Revealing my past would mean giving Tristan a free-pass into my future, and part of me is still hesitant to subject him to the horror that was my life.
Picking up on my hesitation, Tristan smiles, but it isn’t a kind smile. It’s more of a sneer, filled with bitterness and animosity. I’m afraid it’s for me, the nervousness and hurt dripping its way into my blood like morphine, but I keep my face schooled. Tristan’s expression immediately changes, shifting into a horrified look of disbelief.
He grabs my hands in both of his, instantly freeing me of the worries inside me. His eyes narrow slightly and I see his jaw smart, his teeth clenched. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, and when he opens them, all signs of anger, fear, or bitterness are replaced with a glowing kindness.
“Katherine ,” he hesitates, looking at our hands. “Do you believe in angels?”
Stunned, my mouth pops open and a cold sweat breaks out across my back, making me shiver. What would sound like a bizarre question to others sounds like a lifeline to me; the final lifeline I need before throwing myself into the ocean. I trust him, and something inside of my heart clicks into place.
“Absolutely,” I say, biting my lip as it trembles. His head swivels up, making his eyes level with mine.
“Do you believe in God?” he asks, sounding
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