This is the anticipated sequel to True love Never Dies; where we follow the lives of the motherless Makayla Cullen and her Romeo.
Written collaboratively between Shantelle Holmes and Jessica Mifsud-Bonnici.
To read 'Want...' by Jessica Mifsud-Bonnici, please click here
To read the first installment, True Love Never Dies by Shantelle Holmes, please click here
There is only one person in the world who you need to get through life. There is only one person who really helps you everyday, one person who you can trust without knowing the slightest thing about them. That one person is a mother.
When you’re five years old, she’s a goddess. You sneak into her bedroom and smear your face with her pink lipstick and model her ‘big girl’ earrings and high heels, not wanting to wait to grow up. That’s the way it is until you abruptly hit those teenage years. When it’s that time you can’t stand the sight of her, she is the most arrogant person you have met, and clearly out of touch, you just can’t get far enough away from her, but deep down you still love her. The phase changes when you hit your twenties and start living your life on your own, she suddenly becomes your best friend once again.
No relationship is quite as strong, pure, or even as simple as what a mother and daughter relationship should be. It’s the original relationship, the relationship that will last a lifetime, something that everyone wants, something everyone should have.
But what do I know? I mean I don’t even have a mother. That’s a bit of an exaggeration really. Of course I have a mother, but the last time I saw her was when I was a matter of weeks old and my memory isn‘t so clear so I just have to rely on old pictures that are lying around the house. The one person who I will need most in my life was taken away from me for no reason.
Let’s not linger on that, I’m not all unlucky, I still have the one other person who is just as important in any child’s life, the daddy. But, yes here comes the but, my dad is different.
My dad is a doctor; sounds really different doesn’t he? Well here’s the thing, he isn’t the dad who stays at home all day and waits for me to come running through the door and asks me how my day was, he isn’t the dad who works all day and comes home showing how much he loves me. He is the opposite. Yes, he does work, he works hard, saves people daily, stops them from dying I guess, but he works all day, from early in the morning until really late at night. I don’t see him when I get up for school, and when he gets home I’m just going to bed. He wallows in self-pity, he grieves from what happened 17 years ago. The way he looks at me sometimes is expressionless, he isn’t an open book like me, he looks at me in disgust like he blames me for my mother’s death. Though I am to blame, he confirmed it himself. Sometimes the look in his eyes just gets too much for me I have to do something that I know won’t give me the answer. My house key, cutting along my rather pale underarm, right along the vein, travelling over the steady pulse that sits there all perfect and snug. Sometimes I wonder when everything went wrong… oh right, the day I was born, even further than that, 9 months before I was born, the day I was conceived. Everything just seemed to go downhill from there, again it’s my fault, like everything seems to be…..