I Won't Break: A Broken Love Story, #2

By E. Mellyberry

Lea and Andrew’s story continues in this sequel to My Lea. From the city of San Francisco, the tale journeys on to the other part of the world: Jakarta, Bali, and Tokyo.

It’s been five years since Andrew walked out of his apartment and left Lea in America. Five long years without any single contact.

Andrew is now a twenty-eight-year-old man who just inherited his father’s business empire and is about to marry the granddaughter of the wealthiest man in Singapore. At twenty-four, Lea is in the early process of sorting out her life and career back in her home country. 

When Andrew’s father passed away, they are reunited again for the first time since America.

Like it or not, they are forced to revisit their past and deal with their unfinished business. For most people, love is the answer to everything. But Lea and Andrew’s love is far from ordinary. Theirs is tainted by sin and guilt. And anger. Lots of anger.

What happened five years ago that made Andrew leave?

What happened after Twin Peaks?

What happened to their baby?

Told in both past and present events, I Won’t Break tests the limit of love when faced with grief and heartbreak, discovers the true power of forgiveness, and explores the meaning of second chances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. Mellyberry
• Release date: Feb 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524238230

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

My Lea (A Broken Love Story, 1)

Children’s Books:

Rainbow

Days and Nights

Why Animals Can’t Talk

My Best Friend

The Last Dinosaur

Annabelle of the Forest

Coming Soon:

Love, the Second Time (standalone, New Adult Contemporary)

Fly (standalone, Young Adult Contemporary)

Lea and Andrew’s story continues in this sequel to My Lea. From the city of San Francisco, the tale journeys on to the other part of the world: Jakarta, Bali, and Tokyo.

It’s been five years since Andrew walked out of his apartment and left Lea in America. Five long years without any single contact.

Andrew is now a twenty-eight-year-old man who just inherited his father’s business empire and is about to marry the granddaughter of the wealthiest man in Singapore.

At twenty-four, Lea is in the early process of sorting out her life and career back in her home country.

When Andrew’s father passed away, they are reunited again for the first time since America.

Like it or not, they are forced to revisit their past and deal with their unfinished business. For most people, love is the answer to everything. But Lea and Andrew’s love is far from ordinary. Theirs is tainted by sin and guilt. And anger. Lots of anger.

What happened five years ago that made Andrew leave?

What happened after Twin Peaks?

What happened to their baby?

Told in both past and present events, I Won’t Break tests the limit of love when faced with grief and heartbreak, discovers the true power of forgiveness, and explores the meaning of second chances.

For you.

Because you are stronger

than whatever it is that’s trying to break you.

It’s not the load that breaks you down. It’s the way you carry it.

~ C. S. Lewis

Mid-August morning

Today has so many descriptions.

Today is one month before I meet Emily Ho, two months before I propose, and two months before our high-profile engagement is made public. I know what you’re thinking. So soon? Save it. That line belongs to my parents and God knows they’ll say it many times to my face when the time comes.

Today is one year before I’m reunited with the only girl who’s ever had the honor to break my heart.

Today is a year before my dad passes away.

In summary, today is one year before God decides to turn my life upside down again. The Big Guy always manages to find me no matter how hard I’m trying to stay invisible. Apparently, I’m His favorite play-toy.

Drew. Let’s play hide-and-seek.

Drew. Let’s play throw-and-catch.

The end game is always the same: He catches me and throws me off the cliff. So many freaking times, I’m no longer amused. I’m still trying to figure out if this whole catch-and-throw thing is an act of love, or a lifelong punishment.

Gah! Who the hell am I kidding? Of course it’s punishment.

But today, I don’t know… It strangely feels like more of a gift than a judgment day. The gift starts with my dad.

You know, Andrew, he says with a passionate voice reserved only for me, you’re what? Twenty-eight?

We’re sitting inside a plane that is bound for Jakarta from Hong Kong.

I nod. I’ll be twenty-eight in two months, on October twenty-second to be exact. I should know any conversation starting with a reference to my age will not lead to a happy place.

You’re doing great, Andrew. So great, he says. We’re so proud of you.

My chest thumps with an uninhibited pride. Making my parents proud is my ultimate goal. It’s the way to atone for my previous sins.

Your mother and I are thinking of retiring early and letting you be the boss. My dad laughs like a boss. He does everything in a big-boss way because he is one.

I roll my eyes and decide to humor him. You can’t even sit for two seconds without yelling at everybody.

It’s called managing.

It’s called bossy.

Bossy bullies people. Managing provides direction.

My dad argues with everyone about everything. In his defense, he said that this is his way of motivating people while simultaneously pushing them to go beyond their boundaries and to see things from different angles. His way must have worked wonderfully because he’s now one of the richest men in Asia; in the world even, who knows? Don’t get me wrong. I’m very proud of my father, but it doesn’t mean I follow The World’s Richest journal obsessively every year. My father is a rich man in many, many ways, more than just money. His life is one holistic circle I admire and envy with equal measure.

See? Can’t shut up, can you? Retiring, my ass. I say this with wholehearted respect. My folks are the kind of people who let other people—regardless of age or rank—talk to them as though they’re old drinking buddies sitting together in a bar. For them, context and action are more important than formality. They say formality leads to bullshit. Their words, not mine. I still believe in some form of protocol though. When it suits my purpose, I weld it like a weapon and a shield. It’s how I dealt with Lea’s mother in the past. If I had talked to her the way I talked to my parents, my head would’ve been removed from my neck a long time ago.

My father chuckles and firmly pats my forearm on the armrest between our seats. He’s silent then, his eyes thoughtful. The next words that come out of his mouth punch me in all the places that hurt. We want to see you happy, son.

"I am happy."

Big. Fat. Lie.

I have to squash the urge to unbuckle my seatbelt and run to the nearest lavatory. Damn airplane. There’s no decent place to hide.

"We’ve seen you at your happiest, Andrew, and this," he wiggles his index finger over the armrest like he’s pointing at my face, is not it.

The intensity of pain attacking my chest at the mere memory of what it’s like to be happy is brutal. I was happy once. With someone.

You’ve been home for, what, he asks, four years now? I was about to nod when he continues, We were so surprised when you decided to come home, we didn’t ask questions. His tone is careful as if he doesn’t know how to best handle a subject as delicate as my past. Well. I’m asking now. Was Lea the reason you left America in such a rush?

Yes.

No. Not because of her. After all these years, her name still chokes me. I left America with only the clothes on my back, a backpack Matt had packed, my phone, and my passport. I left everything I owned from my six years of living in America, in America.

I left her in America.

I decided it was time for us to part ways. Wow. I sound smooth. And stupid.

You did? My dad doesn’t filter sarcasm well.

It’s what she wanted anyway. And whatever she wants, I’ll give to her without a fight. I’m in no position to bargain. It’s what she wanted is the shittiest defense I’ve kept telling myself over the years.

She’s still in the US?

If my dad were someone else, I would’ve shut him up with my middle finger. But my parents can’t be dismissed. Just as much as I can’t dismiss Lea’s shadow that haunts me everywhere I go.

I answer with a shake of my head. I really don’t know where she is, how she is, or what she’s doing. I one-sidedly severed all connection to her four years ago. I didn’t even tell her I left the country. My bruised pride convinced me I did the right thing. My poor dear heart on the other hand, has been punishing me for that decision ever since.

Andrew. My dad has switched his tone to lecture-coming-your-way. His eyes search mine. I fail to hold his gaze with my own. Everything worthwhile in life isn’t free, son. Success, love, happiness… He smiles ruefully as if he’s remembering some of the sacrifices he’s made to get to where he is now. "The question you need to ask yourself is, he taps my arm once, are you willing to pay for it? Another tap. Yes, at what price?" Tap, tap. No, at what cost?

Oh hell, I’ve paid, I want to scream at my dad, at the world, at Lea. Especially at Lea. I’ve paid with the only heart I own and now I can’t even get a fucking refund.

My dad takes my silence as a permission to pry further. What stops you?

Stops me what?

From calling her.

I can tell he’s a breath away from ending this conversation. Fighting my past is exhausting. I wouldn’t blame him for giving up trying to rescue me. He looks away, then back at me and says wistfully, Every problem has solutions, Drew. Why don’t you give it another try?

That’s my dad, always an optimist. I flash him a cocky smile. The effort costs me my mental health. I’ve moved on. To where? Hell?

Having one more friend is always better than having one more enemy.

My dad has a point. He always does. It’s just that when it comes to Lea, I choose not to act according to my age, or my IQ for that matter.

I wish I’d met her, my dad muses. Your mom thinks she’s extraordinary. He smiles, his eyes seeking my agreement. Your mom loves her.

I know. I love her, too.

Loved, I mentally kick myself. Or, is it love? Damn you, Lea. I can’t even label what I feel toward you anymore.

I close my eyes and let my memories take me away to a different time and place. Her lips on mine. Her skin pressed against my skin. I won’t break, she’d said. What a load of crap. It’s the grandmotherfucking lie of all lies. She broke, and in the process, broke me too. She broke me into thousands of unrecognizable pieces.

Fuck you, Lea, for giving me everything and then destroying me.

Yeah, it’s definitely loved, past tense. I’m sure of it now. True love would never make me want to scream at her like this.

Wouldn’t she be worth any price? My dad’s voice floats around and envelops me from every direction.

I know it’s my dad who speaks, but in my head, I hear my own little voice asking me the same question. Hope and guilt fight against one another to gain dominance. My expression must match the chaos I’m feeling because my dad’s face changes after watching me closely. He looks away after giving me a small nod.

I use the moment to collect myself. I let my mask slide back into place, clinging to me like a second skin. I’m familiar with the sensations it brings me: hurt, regret, sadness.

I don’t need Lea to be happy. I am happy.

Today, I will prove my dad wrong.

I’ve never once regretted today. Every moment spent with my folks is very precious, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But, if I were granted an opportunity to rewrite today, I would answer my dad differently. I would act differently. I would listen to his advice. But we all know that’s not what I do. Instead of admitting how wrong I am, I spend my next hour, days, weeks, and months trying to prove how wrong he is.

SIX YEARS AGO

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.

Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

Lea’s apartment, San Francisco

August 1st, Thursday, 9:16 a.m.

I’m pregnant, and I’m not afraid.

I’m not afraid because he promised everything would be okay. His words are enough to hold me. He loves me. He won’t leave me.

We’ll be okay.

August 1st, Thursday, 6:10 p.m.

How could something end before it began?

Last night her world had started under the Twin Peaks’ sky with I love you, kisses, and the promise of a new beginning. The new chapter ended prematurely when Jo found a used pregnancy kit on top of her trash.

Jo then grabbed Andrew and slammed him against the wall. He had been as mad as a bull and frankly he’d had every right to be. His best friend had knocked up his just-arrived-in-the-US sister, before school even started. Lea didn’t want to imagine what Jo would do had he known the whole truth.

Her brother’s voice had rung louder than church bells. "What the FUCK were you thinking?"

She should have done something. Andrew should have done something, like fight back or block, or explain, or, or…God, she didn’t know, anything, anything than just hang limply, chanting, "It’s my fault, it’s my fault. Don’t shout at her, leave Lea alone." She hated him this way, his helplessness and martyrdom. She’d witnessed his guilt, the crying boy from the night before. Not the one who had told her they would be okay. He had promised me we’d be okay.

Andrew’s flat voice and Jo’s angry howls battled to take hold in her head. Jo won. His voice bounced against the walls, broke the doors and windows in her building, and flew away into the streets. Every single living person within a five-mile radius probably heard him.

"You ruined her life, you fuck! You ruined her! You ruined my sister!"

Ruined.

Lea had looked at Andrew instantly, for…what? Rage? Denial? Protection?

No. He’d become a broken mannequin with his head hung low. She’d muttered no, no, no to herself in panic. They’d patched themselves up the night before so that they would never be back at this place, this broken place. She hated this broken place because it offered them nothing but more brokenness.

She’d finally found her voice and had screamed at both of them. That had stopped Jo’s fist. Sadly, it hadn’t been enough to stop his disgust. He’d left the apartment—and the two ruined people behind—slamming the door so hard, Lea’s teeth had rattled.

The Andrew Jo left bruised was not the Andrew she’d spent her entire day with, the guy who’d taken her on their Thursday dates, and the guy who’d vowed to love her forever. Slumped against the wall with his lips split and cheek swollen was a total stranger, a guy with eyes full of hatred. The little boy was lost once again. This time Lea wasn’t sure he wanted to be found.

Jo’s right. Throwing the offered ice pack across the room, it hit the wall and scattered all over the floor. The dull sound of ice hitting the carpet somewhat felt more heartbreaking than Jo’s slammed door.

Get rid of it.

The ice?

He pushed himself up, wiped his bloody nose, and turned away. He limped toward the door and muttered, "A bastard doesn’t deserve to live."

Her veins were ice cold, as cold as the discarded ice cubes on the floor.

It.

Everything started slipping away that very minute. She was losing things, someone, everyone.

Jo found her sitting on the floor in the exact same spot Andrew had left her hours ago. Instead of ignoring her, Jo stood in the middle of the living room with arms crossed in front of his chest. If their eyes were mouths, their ten minutes of silence would’ve been filled with Jo’s bitter, "Haven’t you heard of condoms?" and his furious, I told you, Lea. I told you.

Yes, he’d told her. About responsibility, freedom, virginity, and pre-marital sex. About Andrew.

Why didn’t you listen to me? Jo’s revolted expression threatened to burn her.

I did listen to you.

How do you explain this to Mom, huh? You’re gonna go to school like this, pregnant? With a baby in a stroller? You realize how disgraceful this is?

She had no words to combat that. Jo broke more than just Andrew’s skin tonight. He broke a precious bond, siblinghood she’d always thought invincible. How could her brother, who had known her for her whole life, dismiss her like she was nothing but a slut, based on some plus sign on a plastic stick? How could Jo stop knowing her?

It didn’t stop him from talking to their parents about her though.

Three days later

Sunday, 4:15 p.m.

She hadn’t seen Andrew since he’d walked out of her door three days ago, until this afternoon. Her parents and Andrew’s mother had come straight to her apartment from the airport, and now along with Jo, Theo, and Matt, he was confined within the walls of her small living room.

Andrew confessed everything without being asked. He recited the act of that horrible night matter-of-factly, his voice flat, his eyes blazing with the wrong kind of fire—a fire intended for self-harm. So desperate for the universe to hate him, his words exited his mouth like a bad parody.

Every pair of eyes besides Andrew’s swung in her direction—the weight of their stares surprisingly grounding. They waited to hear her side of the story, which was not much. We were drunk. I’m sorry.

You don’t drink, Jo snapped.

At the same time, Andrew muttered in pure shock, What are you doing? and kept on mumbling from across the room with fists clenched at his side. What are you doing? What are you doing? Then, he exploded. WHAT ARE YOU DOING, LEA?

For a brief second, he and Jo were on the same side, a side that was about to slap the truth out of her. Or just slap her. Hard to tell. She watched Andrew trembling with barely contained anger. He was about to lose it. His mother saved the day by calmly requesting everyone to take deep breaths.

In a weird psychological twist—maybe because Andrew had pushed the truth too hard—the audience believed her and her filtered version of the truth more. Well, most of the audience. Jo had made his opinion clear by leaving the apartment shortly after her lame we-were-drunk confession. Her foster brother, Theo, had been watching her like a hawk; Andrew’s best friend Matt did the same to Andrew. Lea avoided looking directly at them as much as she could. The expressions of shock, disbelief, and disappointment were too much for her to handle. Whom did they believe, her or Andrew?

Seventy-two hours ago, she’d believed in magic and chances, in sugar and light. Right now as she sat facing everyone, all she could possibly believe in was destruction. How naïve she was to think that all problems could be solved simply by making promises, by kissing, or by falling in love.

Her own mother hadn’t spoken a single word to her. She was glad her dad had come along. He’d smiled and wrapped her in his big, steady arms the moment they’d met at the airport. You okay? His voice had reached out to the deepest part of her, taming her fear a little. She was far from okay, but within that five-second embrace, she was her daddy’s little girl once again. When her mother had gone to the restroom, Lea had allowed herself to unfold. I’m sorry—

It’s not the end of the world, is it? her dad had replied before she could finish. He’d sounded tired from the long trip, but not unkind.

Being so alone, without Jo, her mom, and now Andrew, it kind of was the end of the world.

Mom—

You know your mother. Give her time. She’ll calm down.

Are you angry at me?

His expression had hardened, but when he’d looked down at her, all she saw was her father’s pure love and nothing else. A lot worried, he’d admitted with a weary sigh.

You should be angry. Self-pity was addictive. It craved assuring words like an addict craves drugs.

He’d looked at her, long and searching. What kind of a father am I if I shut the door in your face when you need me the most?

Light soared through her. Her dad had smelled like home, talked like home, felt like home. Crying had been inevitable.

There, there, baby girl. He’d rubbed a hand down her arm. We’ll always have your back. We’ll fix this, okay? We’ll fix this.

We, he had said. Her mother, too?

Andrew paced in front of her.

"What the hell is wrong with your parents? Didn’t they hear me say rape?"

Lea was bone-tired; her nervous system didn’t even flinch at Andrew’s offensive volume. Yes, she wanted to scream back. Directly into his ears. Preferably with a megaphone. After everything they’d been through, Andrew’s mood swings and fractured personality still overwhelmed her. How could one person change into someone else so fast? She couldn’t force herself to hate him. It would feel like hating a stranger who didn’t exist. But damn, he’d surely made the simple act of forgiving him as challenging as hell.

Does it matter? she asked. A decision had been made before everyone went for dinner. A decision Andrew had supported without hesitation.

There was a rigid pause as she braced herself for more yelling. To her surprise, she got a softly spoken Andrew. It’s for the best, Lea. Do you really want to be reminded of, of… Now that she was his only audience, the ugly truth he’d thrown so easily at everyone got stuck in his throat. He raised his hands in a pleading gesture. "Every time you look at it, you’ll remember. Do you really want that?"

It. It. It.

"Do you want that?"

I want justice. It shot out from his mouth like a flying meteor, hot and blazing.

She stood from the futon; the weight of the world’s sadness overwhelmed her. Lea longed for him to pull her into his arms and shield her from the world like he had done a few days ago.

Fine, she said. If you want it so much, I’ll give it to you once this whole abortion thing is over. Happy?

Andrew’s face crumbled. Lea, I don’t—

Drew. For some reason, hearing her saying his name made him cringe. "Can you not join us for dinner? I could skip but then everyone would make a big fuss about it. But you…" Can act like a jerk and do whatever you want and nobody will question you. She opted to leave it hanging. "I can’t battle everyone. I can’t battle you. I just can’t."

Without waiting for his response, she grabbed her jacket and hurried to the door. Their friends and family had headed to J. W. Marriott three blocks down the street to freshen up and get ready for dinner. Andrew’s mother had insisted her parents stay at the same hotel instead of cramping in this apartment, reasoning it was crucial for everyone to have a good night’s rest so they could resume the discussion in the morning with much clearer and calmer heads. Lea didn’t see how rest and clear heads could help. Everything that mattered to her was either left unclear, or been decided like it didn’t matter. Andrew had suggested the abortion, making it sound like the idea was from both of them. Nobody had asked her what she wanted during their first meeting because, seriously, what for? She was just a ruined little girl incapable of taking care of herself.

A bastard doesn’t deserve to live.

God, he’d been cruel.

She put a hand on her stomach as she walked. I’m sorry. She apologized fiercely to the one truly innocent being in all of this. She was sorry for a life that would be ended before it began. Her hand absently cradled her lower stomach.

I wish you and I had a say…

J.W. Marriot

Sunday, 6:30 p.m.

Who the fuck was he kidding? The Twin Peaks episode where he and Lea had hugged and kissed was just that, an episode, a fucked-up fairy tale that only happened in the movies. His head must have been inside his ass that night. Jo was right. He’d ruined her. She was ruined.

His mother had asked him to stay in the hotel for the whole duration of her visit. He’d agreed without any argument. His parents always booked the best suite wherever they went, though he didn’t give a fucking rat’s ass where he slept.

While waiting for his mother to get ready, he and Matt played the who-would-break-the-silence game in his room. Matt was leaning against the desk, Andrew lying on his bed. His best friend had been studying him mutely for seventeen minutes. He didn’t like the look on Matt’s face. His and Theo’s were always the hardest to read.

You made her cry, Matt said, thus breaking their silent game. You told Jen and me that night when you came back.

Andrew shut his eyes. Opened them. Shut them. He couldn’t make the shadows leave. Did his best friend believe him? Part of him wished Matt didn’t, because believing his story meant letting Matt down. Way, way-to-the-bottom-of-the-abyss down.

To Andrew’s surprise, Matt didn’t dwell on the event of that horrifying night, but jumped a few light years ahead. Sitting his ass down at the desk, Matt’s tone took a slight turn toward hopeful when he asked, Can you make it right?

There was an imaginary explosion Andrew heard inside his head. Next, all hell broke loose.

He jump-kicked the bed and stood in front of Matt in a flash. I’ve been doing exactly that, don’t you see? It took magnanimous effort to speak calmly and controlled through his clenched teeth. "I’ve been making things right. I told everybody the truth. It’s her turn to make things right, Matt. Her. Fucking.Turn. All she needs to do is to press charges. How fucking hard is that, huh? You know what? He pointed a shaking finger at Matt’s general direction. You tell her. Yes, yes. Tell her, Matt. When you see her at dinner, tell her it’s HER FUCKING TURN TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT."

Matt’s legs swung up and down, up and down. The movement drove Andrew crazy.

You know not everyone works that way.

Andrew turned around and kicked the bed with his bare foot. Fuck! He cursed at both the pain that attacked his right toes and at Matt. Why did he have to sit there, swinging his legs like a monkey, and tell him they didn’t work that way?