What she left Behind | ONGOING

CHAPTER 16

───── Chloe ─────

It's been a couple of hours since I returned from the Prescott's residence. While driving, I had placed the manuscript in the passenger's seat, and every time I was at a stoplight, I would look at it, still questioning myself if it could be a good idea to open it and begin reading it. Speaking of which, I was surprised when Derek suggested I should have it first, his generosity truly warms my heart, and it makes me think that maybe he is trying to be at peace with me.

Now, I'm in my apartment, staring at the manuscript I have placed far away from me. It seems almost as if keeping my distance is my last defense against the overwhelming emotions I know it will bring. Every time I see just the front cover of the manuscript, there is a tightness in my chest and my mind becomes clouded with uncertainty. The pages inside that bound stack symbolize more than just words—they're Savannah's voice, thoughts, and essence.

Truthfully, I can't help but feel torn between two conflicting desires: the urge to open it and feel her close to me once more, and the fear that once I decide I am completely ready to find out what she's written, it will make her absence even more real.

She's gone, I know that for sure. But this? This makes her come back to us in a way.

My fingers twitch, wanting to reach for it, but I hold myself back. It becomes almost unbearable to think that this is the last thing she left behind. A piece of her she never got to share with me. My question is: Why? Why did she feel she had to hide from me—or everyone for that matter?

I can't help but feel torn between two conflicting desires: the urge to open it and feel close to her again, and the fear that once I do, it will make her absence even more real, more final. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach for it, but I hold myself back. It's almost unbearable to think that this might be the last new piece of Savannah I will ever have. A piece of her that she never got to share with me.

I take a deep breath, stand up from the couch, and begin to pace back and forth as if my moving around will somehow distract from the weight of what's in front of me. I know deep down, I can't avoid it forever and maybe part of me doesn't want to. But, why am I so scared of what's inside?

I feel like I'm being ridiculous.

I walk toward the manuscript and grab it. I tightly hold it and my finger begins to go down to the edge of the paper, ready to flip it open to the first page—the beginning of the Prologue of this novel I never knew about.

The tightness in my chest felt even worse, it caused me to place the manuscript back to its original spot. I'm not ready, not yet at least. It frustrates me a little that I'm being a coward about this. But I guess I need to still process this.

One step at a time. . .

◆ ◆ ◆

What an annoying sound. God, what is it?

I groan annoyed and open my eyes to try and figure out where that noise is coming from. I sit up straight on my bed and rub my eyes to adjust my focus. When I'm a bit more conscious about my surroundings, I figure out the annoying noise is coming from my phone—the alarm. I check the time and begin to panic because if I don't move now, I will be late for work.

Like a bullet, I rush out of bed and to the bathroom. I try to get myself as decent as possible. I want to look sharp and ready to move forward—though that's easier said than done. This isn't my first day at work since the death of Savannah. The day going back was horrible. Derek was the only one who was able to skip a day or two—not only because he was the boss's son but also because he was going to marry her and that means that technically, he was like a family to her. On the other hand, I wasn't anything near a family member and I had to return to the normal schedule. Apparently, saying that she was like a sister to me, doesn't mean that she is.