Little Girl Blue - 𝐖𝐋𝐖

𝐈𝐈. Pragma- ThirtyFour

Everything became painfully parallel to those first weeks back in May—the quiet, the attempts at trying to stay close yet wanting so desperately to get away, never knowing which words to use.

She kept to herself mostly, staying in the room that by now is decorated with a new duvet and curtains, only ever showing her lost face when it was necessary, and to my dismay, that wasn't often.

I paced the halls like a ghost, contemplating knocking on her closed door, reaching out to her and giving in to what my body craved. I racked my brain more than enough times to find some sort of reconcile point. Things never would return to how I wanted them to. The innocence that was once heavy on us, gone, and pretending it was anything else than what it was ate more and more at my heart.

But again most things went avoided until is was reasonable to go in and unravel the depths I seemed to put myself into. I hated that Florence was getting caught in the wrath of that and I hated even more that it seemed she had gotten used to it.

I watched from afar, keeping my hands to myself, and hoped things would come around.

But hope, I've learned, can only get you so far.

Now it was Thursday, and the week and a half we spent floating around each other was coming to a halt at the start of my first day. It would be another one of pretending, using the rehearsed smile and responses to keep the facade, and other aspects of my ego, going.

Every robotic movement it took to get out of bed this morning was strategically planned. The flannel suit prepared the night before, my laptop and categorized files placed neatly in my tote. The bed was made, the curtains pulled back, and the sprayed perfume falling into a mist.

I stood at the mirror longer than I should've. Wanting for something to reach out and shake me into the Jane that was here a year ago. I wasn't more put together, or healthy, or anything really. But it was a time when caring was subpar and therefore living was done at free will without much conscious thought. Now the ugliest sides of me were seen in my reflection, and this time around it wasn't easy to avoid it. This time I didn't want to.

I pulled the handle and shook myself away from the morbid image, ducking my head under the faucet and swallowing the bitter ash of each prescription; beta blockers, mood enhancements, antidepressants, and a long list of vitamins.

Brushing my dripping lips with the back of my hand, I made sure not to look at myself unless I was ready to see what awaited. "You're going to be okay Jane. Everything's alright." I flattened out my pockets to my hips and smoothed the edges of my ponytail. I convinced myself over and over. Everything is going to be just fine.

My stumble upon the kitchen was welcomed with the young girl sitting at the counter nursing a mug as she starred aimlessly ahead. Her slender fingers played with tag of her tea bag. The words she hummed weren't easily heard. "You're up."

She stopped, not bringing her eyes away from whatever they captured ahead. "Yeah I wanted to make sure you ate before your first day." Next to her sat a simple plate of eggs and fruit, she pulled out the chair and patted the seat.

I let my bags lean against the wall before sitting. She looked over briefly. "This is the you I remember."

"What does that mean?" I let my hair flutter past my face in the hopes that hid my blush.

"A happier you or at least a better you. I could tell you loved your job from the moment I saw you and you look no different from then as you do now."

I brought the coffee to my lips I'd take the compliment as more than what it was, it was the affirmation I needed. "Well thank you," I smiled into my sip before bringing it back down to cool. "What are you doing up so early?"