Collect of Short Stories

A Talk of the Past

"You look sad."
      Lyra broke out of her daze at the masculine voice she came to know so well. Though a thousand thoughts swam through her head, she was unable to grasp what she was truly passing through her mind. An aching feeling resided in the pit of heart. A sort of plague was beginning to ravage at her soul—digging, clawing.
      "It's nothing. Just wanted to..." she gestured towards the open air. Just in time for the breeze to blow by peacefully. It flowed through the locks of her blonde hair perfectly. "Just wanted to get some fresh air."
      Maven smirked down at her and within a second, the blank spot beside the bench became whole. He leaned against the cold support and stared up at the sky. The stars were out tonight.
      "Forgot to tell you this earlier but you look great in that dress."
       Her eyes widened a little and she instinctively stared down at her attire. A plain black, off the shoulder dress that reached down just at her knees. Her bare feet was shown, sore from the high heels she was just getting used to.
      Despite the compliment having no valuable whatsoever to her, she couldn't help but crack a small smile. "You don't look to bad yourself, handsome." She dramatically fluttered her long  eyelashes at him to which he gave a sly wink.
     It wasn't meant to effect her but despite that, a small blush colored her cheeks. It wasn't from the wind. Lyra could clearly see Maven was handsome. Strong jawline, piercing silver eyes and glossy black hair. But she had her eyes on someone else...
      The wind picked up and a chilly sensation ran up her spine. She rubbed her hands against her arms and balled up her body. Maven watched quietly with his strong gaze until finally, he stripped himself from his coat and gingerly placed it over her shivering body. The inside flooded warmth through Lyra's muscles and almost instantly, she began to relax. "Thanks."
     "No problem."
       The two lapses into an uncomfortable silence. Like a weight of unanswered questions was hanging in they air, letting them breathe it all in before one of them breaks.
      Maven's red-nosed face dropped a little. A familiar I'm-going-through-an-existential-crisis expression beginning to take form. He leaned forward a little, resting both his arms on his thighs as he let out a low whistle.
      "What's the real reason you're out here?"
      She knew that question was the inevitable. She knew that he knew that she was lying before. Well, not completely. After being in a room full of drunken friends and watching people continuing throw up on the trash bin which was beginning to leak, she needed oxygen that wasn't vomit flavored.
      But she also needed to think about what was nagging at her the entire time. Despite being in a room with Emmet and Tom to fill in the constant threat of silence, she felt alone. Isolated. She knew even before she figured out why.
      "I miss my family." The cold air that was once refreshing kissed her cheeks. A red blossom colored her nose. Maven was the last person she expected to talk to about this. To put it bluntly, he had no family. He had no friends. He was a lone wolf, destined to only look after himself. Until things changed.
      "I miss waking up in my own bed with the ugly wooden walls. I miss staring at my chandelier up on the ceiling. I miss eating with my family. I miss when my mom dressed me up. I miss when my dad told me bedtime stories."
      She inhaled sharply. She wasn't about to cry anything but even then, her heart weight heavily in her chest. I remember waking up each and everyday, wondering if we won the war against the British." He smiled humorlessly. "Well I guess I know now."
      Maven was silent for what seemed like a decade though it couldn't have last for more than ten seconds. He couldn't relate to anything she just said. He couldn't understand emotionally what she was going through. What was there for him to say? Did he even miss anything from his past life?
      "That's..." he began cautiously. His mouth searched for a word that could've fit in, but each ended up being a useless puzzle piece. Where all sides matched up to the rest all except for one. Finally, he resorted to, "Yeah, that's sucks."
      He shifted uncomfortably but did want to leave. The two has always been attracted to one another since day one. Not like that but in a mutual respect. Two people from different backgrounds settling on an even playing field. Change is possible. Adaptation is possible...
       She brushed away her glassy eyes and turned to look at him. His lips were pulled down and for once, he wasn't masking his fear or shielding his emotions. Valerie has always been the best but now Lyra could give her a run for her money.
      "What about you?"
      "Hm?"
      "Did you have anything you cared about?"
      The answer was so simple but several thoughts scurried around his head. The very details about his past were closed off, reserved for him and only him. He grew up in the 1920s. He was lone man. A lone man who created so many enemies he lost count.
      He made promises he couldn't keep. And as a result, he paid for it in blood. A heavy burden followed him wherever he went like it was his shadow. When plunged into darkness, it was all he will ever see. The silhouette of her angelic, small face. Her eyes crinkled in happiness. Her lips parted in a toothy grin.
      He clutched his hands together. This was a dangerous subject to touch on. But he was willing to enter that field.
      He pulled in a deep, raggedy breath and stared at her, his intense sharp and steady. Funny, seeing as how it was a total contradiction to the tsunami that was his emotions.
      "Her name was Bo. That's it. I found her sleeping in a cardboard box. It was raining out. Shelooked like she had a fever. I took her in." Her heart ached tightly under the immense emotional pressure. Those few words were enough. Enough to break the locks he locked so many times. He cut down his story short, adamant on straying away from this for as long as possible: "Long story short: she died."
      He left out the part where he watched as her life was seeping out of her. He left out the part where he killed the men that kill her. He left out the part where as her dying, fragile body laid hair on his blood-stained hand, he turned away at the last second. He didn't want to her life pass in front of him.
       But it didn't matter. He felt it. He felt the way that her heart stopped beating. Saw the way the light that used to shine so brightly behind those eyes dulled. Expressionless, like a doll. He buried her in proper burial to the best of his abilities. And the rest? The rest is history.
      His nails dug in sharply into the palm of his hand. His knuckles shown white against the silver of the moon shine.  
       Lyra suddenly turned away, almost bashful; embarrassed. Here she was complaining about missing someone when the only thing that kept Maven anchored was dead. She couldn't tell which inflicted the most pain, being alive with nobody to care for but one person and having that person die or being alive with many people and watching them die one by one.
      He suddenly threw his hands up, apparently a cover to how vulnerable he was just moments ago. "Ah, well, nothing we can do now, right?" He pulled out one of his charismatic smiles. That smile that swooned Valerie so many times for a reason Lyra could never understand. But with one face hidden in the shadows and the other veiled with light, it was like he was torn.
      "Life moves on. We move on."
        They both knew he didn't believe that. At least, not yet.