Chapter Nineteen

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A/N - this chapter is dedicated to @ColourfulDreams385 - thank you for your wonderful support.

Above pic is Emma.

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Entering school, I knew something was wrong. I was sure of it. I could feel it in my bones.

Elise hadn't spoken to me since she had run out of the ball two weeks ago, leaving me stranded there, having to get a taxi home, a taxi I could I barely afford. I was upset. I felt rejected, but at the same time... relieved. I had spoken nothing but the truth.

There was trauma in the air now, a hint of vulnerability in the castle. I didn't know if it was something anyone else could feel, but to me it was as clear as the wind on my skin. My boots clicked on the stone floor. A light January breeze filtered in through the open windows and I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around my torso, a gesture that my friends would easily recognise as sadness. I didn't want anyone's pity.

I just needed to see her face.

The lift was broken; of course it was. I took the steps two at a time, all of a sudden needing the desperate reassurance of Elise's face despite her ignoring me. I reached the classroom and swung the door open. It was cold and miserable, the cloudy skies leaving the room cold and grey. Mrs Banks was stood at the front of the class, and I noticed I was the last one in.

"Ah, Emma, you're here." she smiled warmly as I took my seat at the table.

Rachel grabbed my hand as I sat down. "Emma-"

"As I was just saying, over the Christmas holidays, Mrs Elderflower decided to leave Hallway House. She had taken another job elsewhere, but that is all I'm able to disclose." Mrs Banks looked overjoyed. Cocking my head to the side, I frowned, standing up.

"Hey, Emma, wanna ditch class? Look, we can sneak out right now, c'mon, let's get something to eat." James said, as Finn and Rachel nodded in agreement.

No words left my mouth as I calmly walked out. James stood up to follow, but I saw in the reflection of a glass windowpane Rachel shaking her head and telling him to sit down. Barely blinking, I strode through the castle, my chest feeling horridly tight, as if someone was reaching down my throat, one hand ripping out my vocals, the other slowly tightening around my heart, squeezing with a vice like grip.

I reached my car, the engine roaring to life but falling on deaf ears. Now it was a dry hum and it didn't sound at all. My heart breaking was the only sound that rang. It was loud, like the roar of a fire. The inferno burned through my whole being, leaving nothing but ash and ruin behind. A black heart that hardly beat- it surely didn't dance. Everything felt hectic, like I was stuck between crashing waves. I marvelled at how I managed to get home without crashing.

The stairs seemed to never end as I trailed upwards, not even reaching my bed as I fell to the floor with a thud, the sharp pain shooting up my knees no comparison to the sharp pain of my heart. I pressed my palms to the cold ground, beginning to cry with the force of someone vomiting on all fours. Heaving, choking. I couldn't breathe. It felt as if there was a toxic darkness enveloping my brain, stopping all thoughts. Slowly killing my mind.

So many emotions crashed about in my head, so many I felt nauseous and overwhelmed and completely out of my depth. So much I couldn't even cry. I just felt a sharp stinging in my eyes and a slight burning in my nose until I physically ached, a dull ringing in my ear as I collapsed on the bed.

I awoke the next morning and called into school saying I wouldn't make it in. My voice was raw and hoarse yet I felt the sudden urge to scream. A yellow envelope sat on the doorstep - it had not been there last night. I opened it, my eyes immediately drawn to the bottom of the page. There was a small watercolour painting of a daffodil, no bigger than a two pence coin.

Dearest Emma,

I have spent many hours pouring over this, and I have found there is no way for me to truly articulate how I feel, but I know you deserve an explanation so I must try.

I understand why you say the things that you do. You're young, and you think you're in love. But, my dear, you do not know what love is. You are a stranger to it and you have mistaken what we had for more than it was.

I hope you're well. I hope you're happy, really happy, and I hope that some day, one day, you find yourself thinking about me in the same tone. I hope we find each other again and I hope we're good friends, and we're laughing - sharing memories together.

Humans are not black or white, but shades of grey, a mixture of our best and worst selves, the cruel and kind, generous and self-preserving. We are devastating storms and beautiful disasters. I must preserve myself, and I must set you free, Emma.

There are people who you won't forget until the very end. Certain feelings are too powerful to perish and quietly survive on in the heart for life. No matter what happens, know that in some small way, you will always be mine, and I will always be yours.

Go. Discover yourself. Travel the world. Now, there is nothing holding you back. You have so much to give to the world. The person you will marry is currently walking the earth, living their own life, creating memories that you'll hear about years from now. Wait for them, Emma. Don't wait for me.

Always,

Therese

I thought back to that first day in Starbucks when they had read out her name as Therese. That felt like a lifetime ago now. An involuntary smile graced my lips before I shook my head softly and it disappeared. I was angry, angry for trusting her and terrified because now I was truly alone.

She was such a hypocrite. A contradiction. A liar. How could she claim to know how I felt? Claim to know the maddening rush of emotions I experienced from the mere mention of her name? How could she put it all down to a silly teenage infatuation?

How dare she say that? And then go on to claim that our feelings for each other were powerful, enough to stand the test of time? But, no, I didn't love her, apparently. I was just young and foolish.

This letter was a confirmation that Elise had never loved me. If she had loved me, she would have never wanted to part from me. I knew that for certain because knowing there was a possibility of never seeing her again, never looking into those eyes again, made me feel physically ill. The fact that the word lovesick exists, that the simple absence of a person can make you feel sick to the point of passing out, says a great deal about the terrible power of the human heart.

I couldn't imagine never looking into her eyes again. God, I loved her eyes. They held the whole ocean. When she was happy, they were a clear, radiant blue. They were usually slightly crinkled around the corners as she laughed or smiled, and there was no trace of storm.

When she was angry? Oh, that was a completely different matter. They were grey, murky and blazing with rage. Those eyes could burn a hole in your heart.

When she was sad? They turned icy, cold, bitter. There were a few clouds, but mostly just ice.

The last time I saw her, they were an odd, terrifying mix of the three. This hurt me the most. Those eyes swallowed me whole. I feel as if I will spend the rest of my life trying to get out of them. I don't know what it is that got me hooked on her, but I can't get her fingerprints off my heart, her touch off my skin. All I know is every night I lay there, missing her. Craving her, needing her like the very air I breathe.

A week passed. I decided to write Elise a letter.

Therese,

I miss you every hour. Do you know what the worst part is? It has caught me completely by surprise. I catch myself just walking around to find you. Not for any reason, just out of habit because I'd seen something that I wanted to tell you about, or wanted to hear your voice. Then I realise that you aren't here anymore, and every time - every single goddamn time, it feels like having the wind knocked out of me.

Emma.

Her letter had held no return address. I had gone to her house that first night, in a fit of rage, desperately seeking answers that I was sure I deserved. A young couple answered the door. She had already sold the house. So, I found a box and shoved the letter in there.

I was surrounded by my friends, constantly pushing them away. They kept coming back. They offered a shoulder to cry on. Advice. Words of wisdom. But everyone was giving me tips on how to fly higher when I was struggling to breathe without falling apart.

Another week passed and I desperately found myself craving a way to vent my feelings, so I wrote another letter.

Therese,

I had always liked you in a way I never had to think of. Like my hands and arms - they're so intensely a part of me I don't have to think about them; but if I were to lose them my life would feel very difficult and odd.

When I was asked by Rachel a few months before you left if and why I liked you - it had occurred to me that I hadn't got an answer. It's like you make me speechless. So, I thought of my hands and arms and how they help me pick things up, and I found my answer - or at least part of it. You see, you pick up my pieces and put them together; it's magic. You know exactly what piece to put where. You're like a special blessing. Like a gift from God. Just like having my limbs is a blessing - so are you. Just like having a body part which makes life easy - you're a part of my heart that makes living life, easy.

Or at least, you were.

Emma.

Wet. I was wet. Soaked, in fact. Raindrops tore viciously at my skin, fighting and clawing to reach inside of me and tear me limb from limb, icy beads of anger and hatred. My first instinct was to fight them off - to run, to find shelter, to hide from the torrent of tears shed by the reckless skies above.

But such instinct was not tapped upon by myself as I dragged my head to tilt it towards the heavens and embrace the assault upon my body. My senses were alight; the roaring scream of water hitting a concrete pavement danced into my ears, the hollow darkness filled with sparkling, erratic lights that followed my tightly shut eyes, petrichor being washed away by the second rainfall as the scent of car fumes and tangy metal crept towards my nostrils.

"Elise." I whispered. She was not there. Slowly, ever so slowly, slow as if I had all the time in the world although I knew with the utmost certainty I did not, my mouth began to open, stretching so far open my cheeks began to burn, the sides of my lips beginning to crack. But, still I stretched my mouth wide open, revelling in the feeling of the cool droplets sporadically touching upon my tongue as the wind picked up the pace. Bliss it was, bliss despite my blue cheeks flushed with cold - bliss, despite the knowledge that I was truly falling apart in this moment of pure madness. Pure insanity.

Therese,

You look so beautiful in the pale haze of this February twilight. Your eyes glitter like a riot of surprise and the stars stretch the sloping, gleeful smirk across your face as you invade my dreams, much like you do every night.

You do not look perfect - even here, in this fleeting moment that we exist in, your imperfections are as evident as ever. The cracks in your past lurk visibly and your flaws are painted on every poisonous word you say. Looking at you, I do not feel just love; there is love, but there is also tormented nostalgia, heartbreak. Broken dreams, broken promises. That's how I know you are not a sliver, a fancy. You are chipped at the edges and haunted by the mess you made.

But you look so beautiful in the pale haze of this February twilight because you are not real. You are not larger than life, this is not the idea of you. It is you. Raw. And there is so much beauty in staggering reality.

Emma.

Sometimes people leave your life and that is it. They don't come back, and you don't get the apology that you wanted and there's nothing more to the relationship that you shared beyond that point. Sometimes people leave, not to come back but to make room for others who are yet to come into your life. And you must accept their departure as an end of everything between you two - even if you didn't want things to end this way. Sometimes one thing needs to end before another can begin. One chapter needs to close before you can start a new one. One heart needs to break before another can end, and that is the only way you can look at it without letting it destroy you.

"Hey, Emma." Rachels sad voice echoed around the empty room as it blasted out from the receiver. "Look... I know you haven't been feeling great lately, I know that. But you're shutting me out. Again. Please... don't do this. Call me." A loud beep sounded out. Her voice disappeared. I took another sip of my whiskey and deleted the message.

--

Therese

I'm tired. I'm hurting. I want to stay inside all day, for the world to go away. I hate this feeling, this indescribable feeling, like I'm here but I'm not. Like somebody cares, but they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here. I'm just too tired to fight, tired of waiting for the good things to come my way. My head is a horrible place to be and I'm not sure how much more I can take, I've been so sad lately. It's like I can't even cry anymore. I breathe everyday wishing I didn't. I'm such a fucking mess that cannot be cleaned up, and I'm scared because I'm falling into old habits and crying for the wrong reasons. I hate these voices in my head; I hate myself. Someone please save me, just take the pain away. Someday I'll just disappear and never come back. I'm not good with feelings, I never was. You know that.

Emma.

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