rays of sunlight // Antoine Griezmann

Chapter 4

Current Time

I'm not in my attic anymore. I'm laying on my couch, eyes still dry, of course. It's been a few days since that day in the attic, and I haven't been up there since. It's hard to bring myself to just get up there and clean it all out like I should. It's hard to get myself to do that. Really hard.

But honestly, though, if I'm really being honest to myself, these days, it's hard for me to do just about everything and anything. Sometimes breathing, which to most is just a natural thing, becomes hard. Breathing. Why should breathing be so hard for me?

It's because I'm suffering. That's why.

Another thing that I really am not in the mood to do today is to go to my therapist, Andre. Andre is a blue eyed compassionate, intelligent man in his mid thirties who's career is to help people. And he's got to be pretty good, because he tries to help me, just about the saddest person I think you'll ever meet.

I mean, I'm so depressed, thinking about going to Andre to get help is a burden. I don't want to do it, but I know how disappointed he'll be in me if I don't. So, somehow, I pull myself up off the couch, grab my purse, and the notebook from fourteen-year-old me, and head out the door. I sigh, getting in my breaking down car, and start driving to the office.

I walk in, and Andre is waiting for me. I'm late, but he doesn't mention it. "Hi, Andre," I sigh.

"Yeah, hey, Belle," he says gently. Everything about him is gentle- his career, his voice, his features, his eyes. He's a very gentle man, but I know he's strong too. Otherwise, he would not have the job he does.

We walk into the office, and he asks me, sitting in his gamer chair, folding his hands over his crossed knee, "So, Belle, how have you been doing?"

"Bad," I say bluntly. He always tells me to be completely honest.

"Alright. What is that notebook you have with you?"

I sigh, scuffing my show on the soft rug in his office. "I was cleaning- trying to clean out the attic. I found this notebook. It was mine, when I was fourteen. The first page is about when my mother and brother passed away."

He nods. "How did you feel reading it?"

"I felt like it was happening all again. As I described it all, I could feel myself tearing apart, like I did in that very moment. I was also reminded of this boy I used to know, too, though. His name was Antoine."

Andre has been my therapist since I was a little girl- he's great, and he knows me better than anyone else- so I'm not surprised when he says, "Antoine Griezmann?"

"Yes... That's the boy. He plays football now, but I don't keep track of that."

He smiles softly, and nods, shifting in his seat. "Well, what did you read about Antoine?"

"Nothing. I just remembered the way he comforted me on that day. I also remembered how close friends we were as kids, before it all happened, when I saw a picture of me and him, at probably, like, age nine."

"Yeah? And what did that make you feel?"

"Happy, I guess. I know that that kid always made me feel happy in the past. I'm sure I probably had a crush on him or something back then."

"Belle, I think I want you to read something, in that very notebook."

I look up at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I remember you, years ago, bringing that same exact notebook into my office. You read me two entries. One of them was about your brother and mother's funeral. The other was all about that Antoine boy. On that day, you cried one of the hardest times here in my office. It was hard, and once you read it, it still will be, but I think this is a sign that we have some stuff to work through here."

I sigh. "Andre, why do you always encourage me to go through hard things?"

"Because, Belle, even though you might not understand it, you need to work through some things. Can I have that notebook for a second, please?"

I nod, handing it to him. He flips some pages, then finds one, studies it over, and hands the book back to me, still opened to that page. "I want you to read this entry here. I think you'll remember some more things that you completely tried to forget. Because you have a tendency of just pushing things out of your mind when they're too hard to deal with. You need to go back to that now, and sort through it, because years ago, when you should have, you didn't."

The pit that feels like tears forms in my stomach as soon as I start reading, but of course, I can't cry just yet. But my hands shake as the memory floods back to me, like as if it happened just yesterday.

Flashback, 6 years ago, age 14

I haven't been talking to anyone. Not my friends. Not the teachers. I barely talk to my family. You know, the family members that are still around, that is.

Every time I open my mouth, tears come out instead of words, and it takes all my energy to just hold it together at school. I hate it. I am literal hell. If hell existed, that is.

Everyday I have been making my run to Charlie's car after school, just to get away from it all, as quickly as I can. But today, much to my dismay, I'm stopped.

As I'm speeding down the hallway, suddenly there's a hand on my shoulder from behind, which makes me jump and stop abruptly. I swerve around to see Antoine standing in front of me.

Antoine is taller than me now, and stronger. I don't know when that happened. Maybe overnight. But it feels uncomfortable and unfamiliar to have to look up at him slightly to meet his eyes. He's long and lanky, lean, and extremely strong. He's a star on the basketball team, the track team, but most of all, the football team. His blue eyes look at me very softly now, and his blond hair is swept back, in the most charming way.

Two months ago, I would have died for this moment. Now, I could care less. Not even Antoine Griezmann can make me happy. Not even Antoine Griezmann.

"Hey, Belle," he says softly. The last time he spoke to me was the funeral. Another thing that I haven't noticed about him, that I'm sure must have happened overnight, too, is his voice. Now it has dropped. He used to have a high boyish voice, but now he sounds like a man, with a lower, deeper, stronger voice. There is more sound to his voice. It matches his new appearance. I'm sure he'll be the sports star, heartthrob in high school. "Do you have a few minutes before you go?"

I sigh. I'd love to say no. I just want to get out of this situation, but I like him too much to say no. And not to mention my curiosity at why he wants a few minutes with me. "What is it?" I ask him softly, my voice sad, hollow, and somewhat groggy, compared to his sharp low voice that seems to echo inside my head. 

"Well..." He starts walking, and I fall into step with him, glancing up at him. Seriously, when did he get this tall? It's not fair. "Let's wait a bit..." he mutters as we walks. "Once there are a little less people around."