My Lea: A Broken Love Story, #1

By E. Mellyberry

When Lea Amelia landed her feet in San Francisco for her overseas study, her idea of freedom was simple, like eating junk food ten times a day, sitting in front of the TV in her PJs, or going out late with her friends without the need to check in with her mother constantly.

Then she met Andrew Jaya, her brothers' best friend. A twenty-two-year-old guy whose physical appearance looked like he was crafted straight from God's heavenly hands, but possessed a past as bleak as if it was drawn by Evil himself. A conflicted guy who wore sadness like nobody's business beneath his mask, a perfect-looking mask she slowly peeled away.

He was also the guy who hurt her.

Suddenly, everything about her was no longer simple.

Andrew Jaya had convinced himself that not feeling was good for him. He'd been doing it splendidly for almost his entire life. But that was before his best friend's sister stepped into his life and ruined it. After weeks of knowing Lea, all of those warm and wonderful feelings he'd long ago denied to himself started to reappear. Problem was, the brighter the light, the bigger the shadows that came with it.

His traumatic past refused to let him go.

When the unthinkable happened, the easiest thing to do was to run. But life often proves that the easiest way is usually the hardest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. Mellyberry
• Release date: Nov 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501443572

E. Mellyberry

Melly has been writing stories for as long as she can remember, but not until 2011 did she publish her works. She has written eight children’s books under the name mellyberry, and full-length novels under e.mellyberry. She used to work in a school and is very passionate about education. She loves reading all kinds of books in her spare time, as long as they’re not horror or sci-fi. Melly was born in Indonesia and grew up in a multi-language environment. When she talks to people, she could accidentally string words from different languages into one sentence. When she does that, simply reminds her to speak properly. Her ideal vacation always involves a beach; usually it’s Nusa Dua, Bali. She spent a few years in USA to complete her Master degree. It was during that time that she’d fallen madly in love with San Francisco and the Bay Area. She loves hearing from her readers and book-lovers everywhere. She can be contacted through: Twitter     : www.twitter.com/themellyberry Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/emellyberry Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/emellyberry Instagram            : www.instagram.com/e_mellyberry Website   : http://mellyberry.blogspot.com Email       : [e-mail]

Book preview

For my fifth grade Bahasa teacher Ibu Lena, who enrolled me in my first writing competition when I was eleven.

A simple girl.

A broken guy.

One horrible incident.

When shit happens, how you choose to react will define you.

Which one would you rather be—the lemon, or the sugar?

Be bitter, or better?

Jakarta, twelve years ago

Life has hands? the little girl asked her dad in her chop-off English.

Hmm? Her father was reading a newspaper. He didn’t look up, but he had that special kind of smile on his face that made it look like he was listening with his mouth.

What it mean, life throws lemon, we make lemonade? She smiled, imagining this mysterious life. I bet Life is a girl and she’s pretty.

Her father stared at her for a few seconds with his head cocked to the side, and a full minute after that was spent in laughter.No, sweetie, he said, It means, when you have a bad day and you feel angry or powerless—

"What puh-wer-lesh?"

"Pou-er-les, he corrected. His hand reached out to sweep her bangs from her eyes. It means you have no power to do anything."

Her eyes narrowed. Lemon is bad day?

Well, some people think that because lemon tastes sour, it’s bad.

Big people always spoke with weird words.

Her father seemed to notice her puzzlement. He folded his newspaper, leaned down with his elbows resting on the table, and explained it to her slowly. See, Lea. Sweet is nice. Sour is, well—he made an animated shrug with one of his shoulders—not that nice.

Oh. She understood sweet. And yes, sweet was definitely nice. Cupcakes were sweet. Chocolate, soda, cotton candy were all sweet. Her saliva was pooled at her mouth.

Her father pinched her plump cheek tenderly. So, when you have a bad day and your day tastes sour, go make lemonade. Go make it better. Be a fighter and fight back.

Her six-year-old brain had lost her father at sweet and was still stuck trying to decipher lemonade. But lemon is pretty, Dad. It’s yellow. Like sun.

Her father nodded, his lips curved up at the corners.

Sun is pretty and it has a smiley face. Sun is not bad.

No, I guess it’s not. Her father chuckled.

I love sun.

Of course you do, sweetie-pie.

So lemon is nice, too.

I believe so, but some people don’t like the taste. It’s too sour, they say.

She looked back at her father and said with a tone that suggested what other people thought about lemon was crazy. Then add sugar. No need to blame the lemon.

San Francisco

First Year

End of May

First week, Monday

LEA TIPTOED OUT of her bedroom and closed the door behind her as soundlessly as possible. Her mother had finally succumbed to the ruthless pull of the jetlag and been sleeping like a dead log for the past five hours. Lea refused to nap. She believed that the most efficient way to battle jetlag was to fight it head-on and without mercy. The only thing that threatened her resolve was this little migraine that numbed the right side of her head. She’d been having it since forever, but in extreme cases triggered by monthly hormones, stress, or fatigue—now included jetlag and hunger—her migraine made a fierce appearance and refused to be soothed by persuasion only. 

Her eyes darted to the digital microwave’s clock.

3:16 p.m. Monday, West Coast.

5:16 a.m. Tuesday, Jakarta.

Jo was nowhere to be found. Her brother had been running errands since she and her mother arrived last night—buying groceries, kitchen utensils, cleaning supplies, extra pillows and bed sheets, and a rice cooker.

You don’t have a rice cooker? Her mother had closed her eyes as she’d asked that. Rice was a main source of food where they came from. People back home ate rice at least three times a day: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything else in between. Not owning a rice cooker was like committing a major assault to their culture, and their tummy.

Jo’s intelligent answer had been, Theo took it. Along with the pots and the pan, apparently.

And you don’t think to buy a new one?

Their mother’s calmness had been unnatural. Lea would’ve most likely clamped her mouth shut had it been her who’d received her mother’s disappointed glare, but Jo wasn’t her, and he hadn’t shrunk back into a wall. He never did. Lea loved her older brother for a lot of things, but one thing that sat on top of her favorite list was his ability to annoy their overbearing mother effortlessly, most times without even realizing it. 

Jo had flashed their mother a mix of sheepish and mischievous grin. Living alone overseas for the past four years clearly had made Jo forget the speaking rule in their family. The quieter they were, the faster the judgmental stare and the weighted sigh would pass. Lea would do anything to avoid those, but Jo must have missed them because he’d cheerfully answered their mother’s tricky question. I don’t see the need, Mom. I always eat at Theo’s place. Cooking for one is a hassle-full.

A short laugh had escaped Lea’s mouth. Jo had turned his head and smiled warmly at her. His face had looked more boyish than Lea had remembered. Breathing American air must have done that to a person, Lea assumed. It wasn’t because the air over here was less polluted, though it was, but because the air in the Land of the Free carried a lot more freedom. It would cleanse away any pent-up negativity like a natural detoxification.

Their mother had cleared her throat pointedly. She was the only person Lea knew who could add an edge to a sigh, an acid to a huff, and a razor sharp cut to a throat clearing. Her mother wasn’t a bad person. She was aware that some other misfortunate kids received even graver treatment at home. What she had experienced was nothing compared to that, but she had been the recipient of those sighs and condescending tones for the past eighteen years and, like it or not, they started eating at her from the inside. 

Jo had wiped off his silly facial expression once his eyes collided back with their mother’s don’t-try-to-be-funny one. Immediately as if to prove a point, he’d opened up his kitchen’s cabinet’s doors and drawer and made a grand gesture toward the contents inside: four ceramic plates, two tall wine glasses, and a few stainless steel spoons, forks, and knives. Her mother’s expression had been so comical with her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets that Lea had burst into another set of laughter. Not until then had Lea realized how much she had missed Jo. Seeing and hearing him in person and not through Skype was like a fantasy come true. Watching him annoy their mother had been priceless. She’d missed all of this, the sense of belonging. She was Jo’s sister and that title felt true when she was around him. The other reason was that every time Jo was around, her mom’s attention would split and not focus solely, unhealthily, on her alone.

Their mother had frowned and soon, as expected, had let out a loaded sigh. Theo’s moving out six months ago had put Jo’s kitchen in a coma, but Lea had never thought it would be this bad. Jo’s kitchen was bare. Literally. He’d proudly claimed he had some food. A sharp glance inside the fridge and their mother had firmly concluded that four soda cans, two bottles of energy drink, and an open packet of M&Ms were definitely not some food. Lea, after shooting her brother an apologetic look, had agreed with their mother. 

She stifled a yawn, massaged her throbbing temple, and sat herself on the futon in the living room. This was where she slept while her mother took her room. Their two-bedroom apartment was located in downtown San Francisco, just a few blocks from the ever busy Union Square. It was one of a few modern apartments. At 705 square feet, the two-bedroom unit they occupied was the second most spacious unit in this block, yet she found the space relatively small, especially for someone who had lived in Indonesia, where most middle-to-high income families stayed in houses that came with gardens, terraces, carports; and in some cases, private swimming pools, basketball courts, and fish ponds. In short, this whole apartment was roughly the same size of her parents’ bedroom back home.

She was happy enough to have her own room, even if it was half the size of her brother’s. Let’s not get started on the size of her bathroom. Lea had called it a pocket-edition-bathroom because it was truly the size of her jeans pocket. She had to be careful where she put her elbows whenever she was inside. 

She looked around at the chaos by her feet. The inside of her suitcases spilled out onto the carpeted floor. She leaned her head back, thinking about all the magic spells she would need to summon when it was time to squeeze her things into her tiny—it was really super-duper tiny, no hyperbole here—two-door cabinet in her room. Staring at the mess made her feel more worn out, so she avoided thinking about it.

She forced herself to get off the couch and walk to the window. Their unit was facing the small garden between two buildings. Seventh floor wasn’t that high. She could make out the profiles of the people crossing the patio.

Alone for the first time since she landed her feet in this windy city without her mother or Jo hovering around, she couldn’t stop thinking about her life and the what ifs.

What if I had gone to New York instead?

From the eyes of most foreigners, hers included, America consisted of mainly five major cities. The first one was New York. Let’s face it, Frank Sinatra didn’t sing his hit song based on just any city. It didn’t hurt that The Statue of Liberty, which appeared in almost every blockbuster movie ever made, had been dubbed one of the sexiest statue-women in the planet.

Second was Los Angeles, the city of the Rich, Famous, and Fake, though she was sure their Hollywood sign was real and wasn’t Photoshopped. It’s human nature to admire something that they don’t have. And her country didn’t have Hollywood.

Then there was Hawaii, which was actually a state and not a city, but most foreigners ignored this important fact. The only fact they bothered to register was that Hawaii owned some awesome beaches. Thinking of beaches made Lea think about those well-known beaches in Indonesia such as Bali and Lombok, and thousands more of pure, undeveloped beaches across the region that professional travelers called heaven. Now she felt a tiny weenie bit homesick. 

Next was Vegas, a very self-explanatory city.

Lastly, it was San Francisco with its iconic Golden Gate Bridge.

She reckoned that ending up in one of these five places wasn’t bad at all. 

What if.

A familiar taste of regret started to creep out, flooring her mouth with a bittersweet tang. Despite her acceptance in a respectable university in New York City, her parents had turned it down and pushed her toward the path of San Francisco. One reason only. Jo was here. Because the thought of her staying on her own freaked her parents out. She was eighteen. They couldn’t lock her in a golden cage forever, could they? No, they couldn’t. What they did was carry her cage here and hand over the daily management to Jo while keeping the key safely at home.

Life was unfair when she unconsciously compared it to Jo’s, where the word over-protection had never been the case. In Jo’s perfect sunny world, it had always been about opportunities (translation: freedom), independence (translation: more freedom), and unconditional trust (translation: unconditional freedom). Sometimes she wondered if her parents and Jo’s were the same people since they seemed to be able to switch their personalities back and forth depending on whom they were speaking to.

When she was younger, she thought she’d received these added layers of protection and paranoia because she was the youngest. Or maybe because she was a girl. Call it an old-fashion stereotype or sexist whatever, but believe it or not, many of these stereotypes are still active and fully functioning in some parts of the world.

As she grew older, she learned that those two reasons weren’t the only ones that had made her parents act the way they’d acted. Two years before she was born, her mother had given birth to Lea’s older sister. A sister she never had the chance to know since she’d left the world as quickly as she’d come. The baby had died of a heart complication within a week, and the scar it had left on her mother was permanent. Nobody needed a trained psychologist to see that when Lea was born two years later, healthy and crying at top of her lungs, she’d immediately become her mother’s refugee from her earlier loss.

This train of thought always brought down her mood and intensified her headache.

Her stomach growled.

3: 37 p.m.

No wonder she was hungry. It was breakfast time back home and her tummy refused to be manipulated into believing that breakfast had been over long ago. How was she supposed to stay alive from now till dinner? Now she hated that Jo’s kitchen was bare.

Lea bit her fingernails and stared at the digital clock, willing it with her eyes to tick faster.

First week, Monday

6:19 p.m.

BLOOD.

What the hell? No way. It couldn’t be. His taste buds must have mistaken the wine for it.

Sweet Jesus. My head!

Did someone punch his brain from the inside? Because it felt like a grenade just exploded in there. Somebody—or something—shook his body violently. He spat out whatever it was in his mouth. A thunder-crack snap rang in his ears, and then his cheek burnt like fire. Was it a slap? He didn’t remember signing up for any kinky activities when he went to bed with... damn it, he couldn’t remember who or what she looked like. He saw only black-and-silver blur behind his eyelids.

ANDREW! ANDREW!

DO IT!

More screaming. More shaking. More yelling. Definitely too much yelling. 

LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU FUCKERS! His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Only a rush of choked air.

The banging continued, and it sounded unbelievably close, like in-this-realm-kind of close... and less violent. Weird. Everything in his head was damagingly brutal, except this knocking sound.

Andrew forced his eyes open. It took all of his effort to do that since his eyelids suddenly weighed tons and he needed cranes to lift them up. For a moment, he couldn’t tell where he was. His muscle tensed in reflex, bracing for the worst. Worst what, he had no idea. He just knew that something bad was about to happen and he’d better be fucking ready to face it. Panic gripped his flesh hard, crushing his windpipe, making breathing an act of hell. He was about to throw up. The tangy copper he tasted from his nightmare had been carried forward into his reality. He didn’t just taste it; he smelled the blood, too. He ran a hand down his face in an effort to push back whatever it was that fought to pass his throat and found out he was drenched with cold sweat.

Staring blankly at his ceiling, he slowly came to a realization that he was in his own room, laying in his own bed. Alone. In San Francisco.

Not in L.A.

Oh, thank God. Thank God. Not L.A.

It was just a dream.

Dream was all but a fraction of a memory. He’d convinced himself years ago that memory was harmless. It would never hurt him or the people he cared about. The worst a memory could do was making him bite his own tongue during a nightmare. It was nothing compared to the real thing. Memory was his best friend and his worst enemy. He chose not to notice that he kept having the same nightmare for the past four years. Some nights were more intense than others. His shrink wouldn’t be happy with this; neither would Matt, but fuck them. His parents wouldn’t be happy either if they knew this. The key word was if.

If they knew.

As sick as it sounded, Andrew didn’t want to part with his nightmare. He nurtured it, groomed it. From colossal horror to tamable pet. Still scary, but livable. This was a part of him; the only part that felt the most truthful. The rest of him was unreal like those synthetic arms and legs doctors made for war veterans. Living side-by-side with his nightmare was what he called normal. Matt would’ve had an aneurysm if he knew this. Again, the key word was if.

Drew.

More knockings. Gentle, but loud enough to tell him how desperate Theo must be. That was the thing about Theo. He would never barge into his room, even when Andrew gave him permission to do so. It wasn’t like he slept naked or with a girl. He had never brought girls home. Not in the past six months since Theo had moved in with him. Not ever since... that.

Theo’s muffled voice brought a wave of calmness into him. The sharp taste in his mouth disappeared. This apartment was real. Theo being outside his door was real. The one in his head wasn’t.

Drew. Wake up, man.

I’m up. Andrew answered, kicking down the comforter and sliding his feet off the bed. Once his brain had registered the whereabouts of his body, it immediately released an endorphin or some shit like that, that relaxed his muscles, which made getting up from the bed possible.

His door opened and Theo peeked inside, a head and half a shoulder.

Hey, Theo said, staring at him a tad too long. Probably to get his eyes adjusted to the dark in Andrew’s room. It’s almost 6:30, Drew. We have to leave soon.

Andrew ran his hands through his short hair and stood at the foot of his bed. He scratched his bare chest. His heart still beat faster than normal. His memory caused it. His brain might have calmed down, but his heart needed a lot more convincing before it believed what his brain said.

Theo gave a light shake of his head. Please shower before we go. Trust me. You don’t want to look like shit in front of Jo’s mom.

Crap. That’s tonight?

Andrew groaned, not because he dreaded the moment, but because he’d like to skip the shower if he could. 

Who’ll be there again?

Just us. And Lea.

Andrew opened his mouth in a huge-ass yawn. Whooleahahhm?

Who’s Lea? Theo’s voice rose in disbelief. Dude. Seriously." Theo pushed the door wider and let the bright light from the living room attacked Andrew’s sleepy eyes. Andrew had to squint against the sudden brightness. He was definitely up now. Andrew stretched his arms over his head and stood on his toes. His loose sweatpants hung low, straining to have a good grip on his lean waist.

Theo gave him a thorough look, his eyes strangely stared at... he’s got to be kidding me.

What?

Theo raised his eyebrows in total amusement. What kind of dreams were you having?

Andrew looked down at the front of his pants and couldn’t help laughing. Good to know that he could always count on his dick in a moment of horrific nightmare.

A threesome.

Theo grinned, turned, and closed the door behind him, but not before he held up his seven fingers, indicating the time he needed Andrew to be clean, ready, and preferably decent from the waist down.

Andrew was excited to meet Jo’s baby sister, pieces of a sister he only heard from Jo’s and Theo’s abstract stories so far. He liked what he’d heard. He admired the sibling bond his friends shared, and he considered himself very lucky to be included in their tight circle.

He sat himself down on the edge of his bed and for a moment, just stared at nothing and thought about how peaceful he was with darkness around him. He was right. Everything was about practice. Once you were good at it, your fears couldn’t scare you anymore. They numbed you.

Yes. Numb was good.

His eyes lifted and they stopped at the direction of his bathroom. 

Okay.

He jumped to his feet, did a little shoulder roll and arms shake.

Shower. Smile. Be charming.

This was piece of cake.

7:05 p.m.

YOU’RE GOING OUT like that? Her mother’s signature remark knew no boundaries. Anywhere, anytime.

Lea studied herself: a pair of beat-up blue jeans, an oversized and equally worn out blue Gap hoodie over her white, long-sleeve T-shirt. She tried not to care at how much her outfit annoyed her proper-and-elegant Chinese mother, but it was hard to ignore an old habit. She couldn’t help but care. She sighed inwardly, counting the days when she didn’t have to do this old dance with her mother again. The day when she would be free to decide whatever she wanted to wear, do, or eat without fearing her mother’s interference. She loved her mother dearly, but she also couldn’t wait for her mother to fly home and leave her alone.

It’s not fine dining, is it? She looked at Jo when she asked this.

Her mother’s frown went an inch deeper.

Shoes? Jo tentatively lifted his eyebrows at her white Crocs flip-flops. He had gotten back around four and, to Lea’s gratitude, had brought home some bagels and two steaming lattes. They weren’t that tasty, but at that stage of jetlag-hunger, her tummy happily took anything. He also gave her Tylenol for her head. She plopped it inside her mouth right after she’d finished the bagels. The Tylenol still had yet to make an ass-kicking-ninja move at her migraine. 

Still packed inside. Lea looked down at her feet and took time admiring her blood-red painted toenails. Her life at the moment was not here or there; it was more like in-between twilight zones. Chaotic and unsettled. This floating feeling had made her lazy to do just about anything normal, and that included unpacking.

Lea bit her lower lip to swallow her annoyance as her mother clucked her tongue at her. But miraculously enough, her mother decided to let the subject drop. Under normal circumstances, her mother would go down with a fight and insist on her dressing up appropriately—or at least she would throw a fit over her beach flip-flops. Maybe her mother was still affected by the jetlag. Or maybe she was too hungry and couldn’t wait to have dinner. They had left some bagels for her, but when she declined to eat them, Lea was more than happy to stuff the rest into her mouth. Her mother had always advised her to watch her calorie intake, but Lea never worried about it. Though her father’s Dutch genes contributed in her looming height, she was glad her metabolism followed her mother’s. She could eat at much as she liked and her tummy would stay pretty much flat. Her thighs, on the other hand, were another story.

The diner Jo took them to was located on Powell Street. A cable car line passed Powell, making it a part of the tourist attractions. Lea spotted a few coffee shops, a crowded pizza place, and a burrito counter. The pizza looked yummy, and huge. So huge that one slice could cover her entire face. Her stomach reacted to the smell of all of this food smashed together in the air, and her throat went sour as she swallowed.  No matter how many bagels she’d eaten, she craved for real food.

Lea stopped a few steps before the diner and glanced up to read the sign. It looked like one of those bars in the old cowboy movies. She spotted two police officers sitting at the table near the door. As she passed their table, she stared at their dark blue uniforms with interest. One of the officers, an African-American man with a shaved head, caught her stare. She smiled a little and hoped he didn’t stereotype her as a troubled Asian teen.

As she hurried along, her eyes took in the meals on their table. This American diner served huge steaks, roast chicken, corn on the cob, coleslaw, and bread. She had been to the States before, but the portion of their dishes still struck her. Everything was big in here. One rice dish could feed three to four people back home, seriously.

Jo walked straight toward a long table in the back. Lea caught a glimpse of a chubby boy with short black hair—applied with too much gel in Lea’s opinion—and a pair of frameless glasses. He had this enviable baby face that made him look much, much younger than his actual age. On paper, he was twenty-one; she was eighteen. In person, he was thirteen; she was thirty.

She pressed down her own smile as she watched the boy hug her mother with a wide smile that showcased his dimples. Then came the familiar, high-pitched squeak. "Mom. How are you? You look am-mazzzing."

Lea couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the exaggerated flattery. Theo’s mother and their mother had been best friends since forever. She, Jo, and Theo had grown up together through countless playdates and sleepovers, and before long they had sworn themselves siblinghood. That was why they had four parents instead of two.

Good, Theo, good. Her mother beamed. Let me take a proper look at you.

Her mother leaned back a little, kept Theo at arm’s length, and scanned his face. Theo had always been her mother’s favorite. And it wasn’t much of a surprise, really. That bastard knew how to bribe older women with flattery and homemade meals—Theo had been known for having a rare talent for cooking since he was still in diapers. What more could one possibly ask after sugar-coated ears and a warm-fed tummy? Lea felt Jo’s loss. Theo’s talent was the only thing that kept Jo alive and well-nourished in the past four years.

Her mother patted Theo’s arm fondly. You lose weight? Theo rewarded Lea’s mom with another air-tight embrace as a way to say thanks.

Lea’s eyes landed on Theo’s expanding waistline. Lose weight? Her mother surely needed a new pair of specs, or How to Say White Lies handbook.

Her mother moved aside and Lea found herself face-to-face with her other brother. She smiled as he squealed again and they hugged each other. He clasped her on the upper arms while grinning from ear to ear. You’re taller than I remembered. Then his eyes dropped to her feet, went up, and then down again like a freaking elevator. "You look like shit, Lea." Theo spoke to her Crocs.

She shot Theo with a look so chilling it could freeze the barbecue grill inside that diner. Since when did he become her mother? Jo’s amuse chuckle broke her glare. Seconds later, her mother’s infamous I told her sigh followed. "I told her to change. At least, not going out in her sandals."

Lea sighed for a totally different reason. What a world record; in less than a minute Theo had earned himself a place on her punching list. Theo seemed to realize his blunder as he corrected his earlier observation. I said taller.

Lea was about to