The Last We Fell

08. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔰𝔱 ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔢 | 𝔄𝔡𝔞𝔪

St. Honors Clinic: a place of goodwill and noble intentions. It portrays itself as a serene haven with its grand architecture and lush gardens. This place becomes a home for those who struggle and carry weights more than their own shoulders can take- those without a support system. I hate St. Honors Clinic. It only reminds me of my shortcomings and failings, my inability to look beyond myself and prioritize someone more important.

I really try not to think of my little sister and the hundred other kids that have been, or still are, subjugated to staying in this place. It was a hard task when I've come to know of her whereabouts and struggles. It's an even more difficult task with her standing all of 20 meters away with the biggest smile on her face, cake smeared across her features as a result of some other kid jokingly pushing her into it. I have not seen her laugh and smile for years. See, I was nowhere to be found for her fifteenth and sixteenth birthday, then rightfully exluded from her seventeenth. I was miles away in a city landscape much different than the place I have grown up and known my entire life. I chose to leave, get away, escape or whatever one would call it.

Showing up here today isn't a first-time incident. It took all the courage I could muster to decide I should give myself a chance to repent and be forgiven by Primrose. Maybe it's not something she would understand, and I cannot demand that of her. I disappeared when she needed me, and it was too late when I've come back and effectively came to know about how she spent the past three years in this place. My absence is not something she will forgive easily, which is why I promised I'd show her how much I want it. It's been a couple months of impromptu visits, texts, calls, groveling to get her to talk to me and give me a chance. On her birthday, I'd hoped she would at least allow me to be with her on this special occasion. I shouldn't have pushed my luck too far. Showing up at her door unannounced is definitely not the way to go about it.

That girl, the one I seem to meet everywhere I go lately, was helping Ro clean her face with a napkin while my sister pouted like a child. I must admit it made something behind my ribcage twist in envy, but I had to remind myself that I wasn't entitled to these feelings yet. I have a vivid memory of the girl with long blonde hair who's now covered in frosting too and laughing like it's the most natural thing ever with Primrose. They painted quite the joyous picnic picture in lovely golden sunlight. It was ironic that it was held in a place as morose as St. Honors Clinic.

"You're still here?" A familiar voice sounded, coming closer to the bench on which I sat quietly in the distance so I can observe the party from afar. Last thing I wanted to do was to ruin Prim's birthday after making her cry earlier. That thought left a bitter taste in my throat. Dominic Hughes settled to my right, sliding a paper plate of cake towads me. I looked at it for a long contemplative moment before accepting it. I don't think I had a proper piece of cake for three years now.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're wondering." Dominic half joked, cutting into his own slice while eying the view of the party from this spot.

I gave the cake a taste just for the hell of it and soon regretted the years of cake I had missed on for whatever reason. I went in for another bite immediately. I'm pretty sure this is the most delicious thing I've had in awhile.

"Good isn't it?" Dominic noted smugly. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at the piece of sugar and carbs. Why was he so smug? He burst into laughter, shoulders shaking and all. "I promise it's not poisoned. It's some of the best cake you can get in town, possibly the whole country."

I put the plate aside, having already wolfed down the slice. "You didn't come here to discuss cake, did you?"

He shook his head and put away his own plate too. "No. I came to discuss why you're still here."

I scoffed. "It should be obvious since it's my little sister's birthday, regardless of whether I can talk to her or not."

"Well." He trailed off, but the insinuation and reality of the situation were loud and clear. Primrose didn't want me here. The annoying thing about this guy is he seemed to regret even considering to say that simple truth out loud, and I know his regret was genuine because it's Dominic Hughes. You couldn't get more straightforward and truthful than the guy. Perhaps he wanted to ask the same questions that Primrose would ask if she were to talk to me: Where were you? Why and how could you leave just like that? Much like Primrose, I hadn't been in contact with him for the length of my stay outside of this city. I couldn't answer any of those questions in a satisfying manner. My reasons were tailored and rationalized by my own state of mind back then, and I couldn't explain it to another person if I tried. I have often felt ashamed of admitting it was an escape, simply put. Maybe I carried a lot of regret about it, but guilt and regret doesn't get people far.