Chapter Twenty-Two – Aaron
Unfortunately, Aaron didn’t get to see as much of Cat as he had done through the past few months. She said that it was best that they took a break from being together. He knew she had to support Henry as best as she could – Henry needed her more than Aaron did – and with it being so close to exam season, he didn’t mind the time apart. At least it gave him time to go over everything for his final exams. As long as it wasn’t permanent, he was okay with it.
Going back to his essay, he continued to write. The words flew one after the other, filling up the pages with black cursive writing. He focused his brain on the question rather than the ticking of the clock beside him, taunting him with the few minutes he had left to finish.
The moors…
He made the mistake of choosing to write about ‘Wuthering Heights’. It was the text he first studied with her - the text that they both related to – yet also the easiest to talk about.
Bronte uses the moors to reflect…
Everything reminded him of her. Even simple words such as ‘passionate’, ‘eternal’ and ‘dignified’ brought her into his mind. It wasn’t right – he couldn’t think about her in the exam, so why was he thinking of her now? It hadn’t happened before. It wasn’t like he couldn’t breathe without her.
…Cathy and Heathcliff’s freedom.
Who was he kidding? He missed his Cathy so much that it hurt. This time apart – or temporary break up, as Aaron called it – would be the death of him if he didn’t get to spend some time with her soon. Even band practices were minimal; it didn’t make sense to practice when they had to revise.
He slammed the pen onto the table, groaning when the timer went off. It wasn’t as though his essay was any good, especially when his mind was elsewhere. It was the withdrawal of being without her, slowly eating him up. If he didn’t get to spend some time with her soon, he was afraid that he would lose his mind.
His head fell into his hands, elbows banging against the solid wood. Curses repetitively left his mouth, mixing in with his silent cry. He could imagine her with Henry, revising or maybe just having some ‘family time’ with their mum. He could see her faded scars clearly and although he had paid little attention to them recently, they were there. Anything he could think of, he visualised.
All of a sudden, his phone vibrated, blasting Bastille’s Pompeii in the process. He picked it up without even thinking to check for the caller ID. Part of him just hoped it was Cat.
