Note: This is the second part to this post. You might want to read it first.

Have you ever secretly liked someone, but never dared to believe, even in your dreams, he’d like you too? Have you ever felt drawn to someone you’ve just met, because he understands you better than you do yourself, and the only logical reason must be, he was a lover from your previous life, and the life before that life, and the life before that life.

From the first time we met, I felt a connection. I felt naked, like he could read my mind, understand my most childish fears, and dispel the knots of anguish I bottled inside. When I looked into his tender eyes, I saw someone who wanted to heal my wounded soul. Someone who felt so much pain looking at what I’ve done to myself, he had to close his eyes to calm his thoughts.

Meeting Jack the first time was an ineffable feeling. It was a short meeting, but when he hugged me before we parted, I knew we would be together.

I was a ship with a torn stern, in the eye of the storm, struggling not to sink, not to crash against the sharp rocks. Every direction I turned, darkness encompassed me. Jack was my lighthouse, my safe harbor, my new drug.

His life story inspired me to change, to stop drugs, to realize that life is a blank canvas and only I held the brush. He was from a poor family. His Dad was in the police force, and his mum worked as a maid for rich Singaporean families. He didn't owned a bicycle, until one of the families his mum worked for threw one out. At a very tender age, he started smoking, got involved in gangs which escalated to drug abuse. His body is covered with tattoos; one on each arm, one on his right calf and 4 Chinese characters on his back.

He bounced back, armed with only his A-levels, and started a very successful sales career in a multinational company. By 23, he had his own car and gold car. His company trusted his so much, he was sent to Europe to run the operations. He decided to stop work in his late-twenties, and with his savings, self financed his diploma, degree and masters in Australia. We he spoke, I listened and respected him, for he too carried battle scars.

I decide to bite the bullet, stop drugs, and endured the backlash of 4 years of abuse. There were days, when I felt so bad, I wished I died in my sleep. Drugs regulated my mood. Now my emotions were all over the place, with extreme highs and lows. Becoming sane again, drove me crazy. But he held me together, he sooth me, he made me feel there was more to life than this.

One weekend, a month after we first meet, Jack came over to my place as usual. And we had a wonderful weekend playing pool, watching old movies and indulging in a legal sin, wine. Sunday night, he stayed with me until I was ready to sleep and made his way across the causeway way pass midnight.

The next morning, while I was still in bed, my phone rang. I smiled, when the caller id showed “unknown”. It must be him.

“Hello”

“Hello”, said an anxious voice. “Is that Slinky? Was Jack with you last night?”

My heart skipped a beat. My mind raced; he must have had an accident. This lady is must his sister, calling me, because he didn’t make it back home. The thought of Jack hurt was too much to bear. I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t speak.

“Hello, are u still there? Were you with Jack last night?

“Yes, yes, I was. Is he safe?” I blurted out.

Silence followed.

My heart sank.

“Do you know who you are speaking too?

“No”, I replied.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask if he was safe. From her voice I could tell she’s been crying. My mind was a blur.

“Do you want to know who you are speaking to?” she finally asked.

“Yes”.

Silence
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“ I am his wife”.