Pieces of a Mending Heart by Kristina M. Rovison Read Free Book Online Page B

meet. But I wonder if He overestimated my supposed goodness.
    A boy like Tristan is much too wonderful to be tempted by a nobody like me, but maybe this proves he is my angel. God said I would n’t expect him to be meant for me. He was right; i f it weren’t for the prickles and visions, I would never have thought such a beautiful boy could be mine. The fact that I get to see him tomorrow sends a smile to my face, and Aunt Rachel laughs, this time sounding her age.
    “Well, when you’re ready to talk to me about him, you talk, you understand?” she says, only half-joking. “Gosh, look at you ; first day at school and already blushin’ over some boy.”
    I wonder if she’s happy I’m not acting like a crazy person. I can only imagine the stories my mother told her about how unstable I am or how disobedient and entitled I act. Props to my aunt for being so unbiased towards me.
    What she doesn’t know is that Tristan is not just some boy . He is my angel. The insane urge to correct her is almost unstoppable, but I miraculously succeed.
    Chapter 5
                  Three weeks later, I find myself sitting in the garden with Tristan during our free period. He laughs as I tell a story of me and David from happier days. His laughter is light, natural and comforting. The smile on his face makes me feel at ease, and somewhat proud. I, the unlovable nobody, made this beautiful boy laugh. Pride and cockiness swells in my heart, feelings I am a stranger to.
                  “Who knew you were a rebel?” he jokes, nudging my shoulder with his own, sending prickles up my entire side.
                  I laugh a sound so unfamiliar it almost scares me. I’m not used to being so open with thos e around me, but Tristan is undoubtedly my angel. Every night since I met him, I’ve had flashes of him in my dreams. Some mor e detailed than others, some mak e me blush just thinking about, and others were m ore cryptic. Nevertheless, I am now enraptured with the young man sitting beside me. After three week s of knowing him, I already feel myself unraveling, but in a good way.
                  It’s been so many years since I’ve allowed myself to trust. Untying the knots of suspicion does not come easy, but it’s much better to face your fears head on. Tristan brings out the old me; the girl that was not afraid of letting others see who she wants to be. The feeling of being completely vulnerable is new to me; I’ve let myself be impervious for far too long, never knowing what I was missing out on.
                  In three week s , I have discovered my ability to forgive. Tristan’s unfathomable kindness disarms me frequently, but he is helping me forgive my parents. The best part about this is that he doesn’ t even realize that he’s helping me .
    Not complete forgiveness , no; the scars are too deep to forgive anyone complete ly, especially myself. The wounds run deeper than I have ever thought they would. Not the physical scars of course, although I have plenty of those, too.  No, these scars are the ones left carved into my bones, forcing me to cover them with ignorance and avoidance. No more; there will be no more hiding from my demons. It is time I met my fears head-on, and I know just where to start.
                  The next day, Sunday , I write a letter to my father. In less than a page of my cursive script, I tell him everything I have bottled up since the day he sent David away. Every last hateful thought, every loathsome word mumbled under my breath as h e welcomed guests into our home. E verything i s written in this letter. I neve r intended to send it, but I do. It’ s easy, plopping the lette r into the cold metal box. It’ s like discarding a handful of regrets into a fire, never havin g to feel their sting again. It feels nice, the brief weightlessness I’m given.
                  Sitting at the tiny round kitchen table, I’m