Chapter thirty-nine – Repaired

~~

As my fingers carefully pick up the pottery from the floor, tears can't help but spill from my eyes uncontrollably. What I've done is such a huge mistake, but I didn't deserve the last thing my mother ever gave me to be broken, did I? Michael will probably never forgive me for telling Marco that Clover's in America; I don't really see myself forgiving him for breaking something of such sentimental value, either.

"Mother, I've made such a mistake," I sob, stopping what I'm doing completely, instead just kneeling down on the floor looking up at the photo of mother on my bedside table. "And I think my relationship with Michael is irreparable." My voice breaks more with every word I speak, almost seeming indecipherable by the time my sentence has reached its end.

What I would give to have my mother here right now ... honestly, I believe I would do anything. She's just the person I need right now; to hug me, and tell me everything will be okay. But ... will it be okay? Judging by what's just happened, there'll never be the same atmosphere between Michael and I ever again.

Drying my tears away once more, I collect up the final few pieces of pot, not even caring about the fact it could cut me. In the back of my mind, I'm curious about what Michael's doing right now ... but then, at the same time, I couldn't care less. I'm so angry at him at this moment; before he broke the vase, I was on my knees begging for forgiveness.

There seems to be no chance of mending this vase, either. There are so many pieces, that I've probably not even found them all, even now. Over the next few days, I'll probably receive a lot of cuts on the undersides of my feet from walking on tiny specks of the pot.

Having collected all the large, obvious parts, I group them together, picking them up in my hands. The nearest place I can dispose of them is downstairs – where Michael most-likely is. With some luck, I'll avoid him on my way there. Slowly getting up on my feet, I head towards the door, using my elbow to push down the handle, before exiting the room. I can hear footsteps downstairs, meaning that Michael is pacing around in the kitchen. And just my luck – that's where the trash can is.

Before I enter the kitchen, I take a deep breath; telling myself to just ignore Michael as I walk by. Chances are, he'll be doing the same thing to me. I've really annoyed him tonight, just as he has annoyed me. Turning the handle, I walk into the kitchen; as soon as Michael spots me, he walks to the door, slipping by me. It was fairly obvious he'd avoid me.

Disposing of all the broken pot, I sigh sadly. If we ever forgive one another, he'd better make this up to me. Of course, I'd make it up to him too, but ... replacing something that someone now-deceased gave to me is going to take a lot.

Well, if neither of us are going to speak again tonight, then perhaps I should just go to sleep. Michael can take the bed; I couldn't care less. I'll just take the sofa. Slowly, I make my way to the living room, cautious in case Michael's in there. When I find him sitting on the sofa, I internally groan. Maybe if I enter the room, he'll leave; therefore, I'll get the sofa to myself.

And it seems my prediction is proven correct; as soon as I walk into the room, Michael lifts himself up off the sofa, and walks right by me, upstairs. The pain in my heart seems to grow; filling my whole chest as I collapse onto the seat, and my stomach tightens at the emotional agony I've just experienced, and am still experiencing right now. But what can I do to change what happened? Nothing ...

So with that thought haunting my mind, I close my eyes, to force myself to sleep. But with the argument partnering with my sadness, it's difficult to even keep my eyes closed. The thought of Marco being around scares me, too; every sound causes my eyes to snap open quickly, and for me to sit up with a start.

After what seems a very long time, however, I finally fall asleep for the night.

-Michael's Point of View-

My mind is racing with so many thoughts; so many feelings; so many emotions. Breaking Citria's vase was a huge mistake, but in my defence, I was extremely angry at the time – and I'm still angry now. What Citria has done has put everyone's lives in danger – even her own father's. She should have had absolutely nothing to do with Marco that day he called us. But her problem is ... she's too nice for her own good. She helps even the worst people out.

Since the argument, I've avoided her. Deep down I know she's upset by that, but it's something I have to do. It's time that we both need; there's no way I'm going to try and make amends tonight ... and I doubt she would want to, anyway. After all, I broke one of the most important possessions she owns.

I'm just terrified for Clover, Reiss and Citria's father's safety; Marco knows where I live, so it doesn't take a genius to work out that everyone else lives around here. In all honesty, I never thought Marco would find us. The first time Citria and I argued over it, she raised a good point: that America is a huge place, and finding the state – never mind the town or house – someone lives in would take a hell of a lot of work.

Obviously Citria was wrong ...

*  *  *

It's already past 3:00am, but I can't get to sleep. My thoughts are keeping me wide awake, meaning tomorrow I'll be dead to the world with fatigue. I'm in the bedroom; I've not seen Citria since I walked past her a few hours back. I wonder if she's asleep, or if she's still awake like me. Despite being angry at her, I'm still going to check on her.

Silently standing up from the bed, I head towards the bedroom door, trying my hardest not to make the floorboards squeak. After making it downstairs, I enter the living room, noticing Citria lying sprawled across the sofa. As I venture nearer, I come to the conclusion that she's asleep. With the aid of the light, I soon realise that her face is red from crying, too; there are even some tears clinging to her cheeks that obviously never fully fell before she went to sleep. Even if what she did was wrong, seeing this sight hurts my heart so much.

Heaving an almost-silent sigh, I kneel down by the sofa, carefully dabbing those tears away. Luckily, I don't wake her, but even if I did, I wouldn't start another argument. Seeing her this way has caused me to feel guilty for my outburst; guilty for hurting her; guilty for breaking her special vase. I need to fix it ...

"I'm sorry, Angel. Sleep well. I love you all the world." Gently kissing her sweating forehead, I lightly pull her hair back away from her face, before standing myself back up.

A single tear sliding down my cheek, I walk towards the kitchen. It's been about six hours since everyone was forced to go home, and yet all the food is still at the table. Lifting a plate up, I head over to the trash can, lifting the lid to empty the plate of the wasted food. Before I can do that, I spot a bag, with a couple tears in the side. Curious, I lift it up, soon realising it's Citria's vase. A pang of guilt fills my stomach; she's had to throw it away. I feel so terrible, now. So, so terrible.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Valentina-Espinosa," I apologise, no louder than a whisper. It isn't just Citria I've upset – it's probably her mother, too. I've let her down, as well as her daughter.

Setting the vase bag on the counter, I dispose of all the leftover dinner from earlier, before washing all the dishes. My eyes can't help but keep looking over at the bag every ten seconds. By the time I've finished up in the kitchen, it's 4:07am. If I don't go to sleep at some point, I'll be sleeping all the way through tomorrow.

Taking the vase bag, I walk back into the living room, hiding it under the coffee table, before carefully lifting Citria in my arms. She deserves the bed tonight; I'll take the sofa. I'm just hoping she doesn't wake up whilst I'm taking her there.

And she doesn't; somehow, I manage to get her all the way upstairs with no disruptions. After planting one final kiss upon her forehead, I go back downstairs, to the sofa.

And that's where I finally fall asleep ...

* * *

In the morning, my eyes groggily open, and the first thing I do is check the time. It's already 11:37am. Stretching my aching muscles for a few prolonged seconds, I sit up, before rubbing my eyes. The first thing I see is a piece of paper on the coffee table, so I pick it up, reading what's written on it.

Michael,

I went to father's house, to make sure everyone is okay after last night ... so don't come get me. Also, you were supposed to take the bed, not me. I think spending today apart will be the best thing to do. See you tonight, I guess.

Citria

"Oh," I murmur to myself, setting the note down.

Before doing anything else, I crouch down by the table, to check and see if the vase bag is still underneath it. And to my luck, it is, so I take a hold of it, pulling it back out. The pot clinks together as I open the bag, and whilst I pour the contents out onto the table. Maybe I can try to glue it all back together ...

Dashing into the kitchen, I check all the cupboards and drawers for glue, eventually finding it in the last place I check. After returning to the living room, my handy work begins; I try to piece each part of the vase back together like a puzzle, which proves more difficult than I first thought.

I'm so determined to get it finished before Citria gets home tonight; I won't even eat, if that's what it takes. I won't do anything apart from try to fix the vase. I'm still tired from last night though – even seven hours of sleep is proving to be insufficient today. It's probably the stress, the guilt, and the sadness that's tiring me out.

Eventually, I manage to successfully piece a few shards of pot together, so I glue them to stop them from separating again. The problem is, there are so many tiny pieces, that it'll take me hours to repair all this.

But whatever – it's for my girl.

* * *

"I'm back."

Citria's monotonous voice somehow awakes me; I must have fallen asleep whilst fixing the vase! And now, she's home! I can't believe I didn't get to finish it on time. Now I've ruined everything.

For some stupid reason, I don't lift my head from the table after waking up; I just keep it leant against it. Not even hearing Citria walk into the living room brings me to lift my head.

"Michael, are you sleeping?"

Her tone of voice isn't angry, but it isn't inviting, either. Stern, if you will. She's clearly not happy with me for last night.

Finally lifting my head, I look at her, making eye contact for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. "I was until you came home," I answer dejectedly, not wanting to emphasise my point too much.

She looks at the coffee table, spotting all the pieces of pot and the glue I've been using. "You tried to fix the vase?"

Before answering, I sigh in defeat. "Yeah. I did. But I fell asleep before I could finish."

"You didn't have to," she assures me, walking towards the sofa I'm currently sat on. She sits by my side, avoiding making eye contact with me again. Instead, she looks down at the table. "So, I guess you're still mad at me."

"So, I guess you're still mad with me," I retort softly.

"You killed the last thing my mom got for me. I'm not exactly happy," she admits, closing her mouth as soon as she's spoken.

"You put my only living family members in danger. Can't say I'm happy either," I answer honestly.

"What am I meant to do to change it?" she pleads quietly, still not shifting her gaze from the destroyed ornament before us.

"There isn't anything. That's it." My arms reach out, and my hands grab a hold of the glue. "Now if you'll excuse me; I'm trying to repair this for your sake."

"You're trying to make me feel bad, aren't you?" she quizzes, her gentle, saddened voice suddenly growing angrier. "You're trying to prove that what I've done is worse; just because you can make it up to me, whilst I can't do the same for you."

"So I should stop trying to do this for you?" I demand sarcastically, trying to keep my patience.

"I didn't tell you to fix it," she frowns, her mood softening in defeat. "I just ... " Her brows furrow deeply as she stands back up and explodes, unprovoked. "I can't do anything, can I? There's nothing I can do! Why is there nothing I can do!" Tears quickly form in her eyes, as she collapses to her knees on the carpet, covering her face with her hands. "I can't do anything right! ... "

Seeing her this way is making my heart hurt again. How does she change my feelings for her so quickly? This feud and grudge I'm holding on her is pointless, isn't it? She made a mistake; the point of mistakes is to learn from them. She can never learn from them if I don't forgive her ...

Giving in, I head towards her, kneeling down by her, and embracing her from behind. She turns around, sobbing in my arms as I hold her close.

"I'm sorry!" she cries, her voice muffled because of my tight grip on her. "A thousand times, I'm sorry!"

"We can't change it now," I remind her hopelessly, closing my eyes from the feeling of grief inside of me. "And anyway ... I'll forgive you, if you forgive me ... "

"Okay ... " she breathes. "Okay ... " She sniffles quietly, letting out a small sob. "But the vase ... mom's vase ... "

"Shh ... it'll be fixed ... " I comfort her, my hand reaching up to support the back of her head. Unconsciously, I begin rocking her side-to-side, as if she's a baby. Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling us even closer to one another.

"Things'll never be the same again ... " she asserts, still rather unclearly due to her mouth being so close to the material covering my chest.

"In what way?" I quiz calmly, wanting to hear her opinion.

"You and I ... you said it yourself ... we're drifting apart ... "

"Well now, we have to drift together again. We need one another now more than ever. As long as Marco is around, nobody can break their bonds. We need each other's support to get through all this together ... you, me, Clover, Reiss and your father."

"I know," she replies simply.

"I need to fix the vase," I remind her, loosening my grip on her, and allowing us to separate. She looks at me forlornly, causing my heart to melt. "Because I will do that for you, you know."

"I'll help. You can't do it all by yourself."

"I broke it; I fix it," I argue playfully, rushing over to the coffee table so I can grab the glue before she does. "You can't stop me."

"I can," she retorts, catching up to me and snatching the glue from my hands. "Because I'm the one with the glue."

"Not for long." It takes no time to snatch it back from her, which causes her to chuckle for the first time in well over a day.

"Give it back," she commands, her voice not in the slightest bit threatening.

"Make me," I taunt, holding it high above my head – where she can't reach.

"You're playing that game?" She gives a closed-mouth smile, climbing over me to try and reach the glue.

As she reaches for it, she looks down on me, probably making the same realisation as me: we're on top of one another, and looking into one another's eyes. For a moment, she stops trying to capture the glue, and focuses solely on me, as I do to her.

"Kiss me," I suddenly instruct.

It takes her no time to do that; her mouth touches upon mine with more force than I've ever previously experienced. In reaction, my arm lowers itself, and I drop the glue to the floor as my arm coils around her waist. Her hands cup both my cheeks, as she lowers herself towards the sofa, coming out of her kneeling position.

In no time, I'm lying across the sofa, with her lying against me, her body close to mine. Our kiss continues on, and on, and on ... seemingly never coming to an end. And despite all that's happened in the past twenty-four hours ... I'm loving every second of this. Perhaps the arguments have brought us closer together. I certainly feel more love for her than I've ever felt before.

Finally parting my lips from hers, I feel the need to confess something I've just figured out.

"I love you, Michael," she speaks, expecting me to simply return the compliment.

But do I? No. I say something that I've never said before. Up until now, I knew I loved her ... but I didn't realise it would be this much.

With a smirk touching upon my lips, I answer. "I'm in love with you, Citria."

~~

Yaaaaayyy happy chapter ending!
Michael dropped the "in love" phrase! *Squeals*
But this isn't the end to their problems; oh, no. We'll just see what happens next. ;)
On another note: thank you for the nominations for the MJFAs so far! Much appreciated! ❤️
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)