It Was A Whole Thing | Herophine

Glass Heart + Pinned Up Hair

"Claire—" I start to say as I drop to one knee, only to stop short at the abrupt shift in my girlfriend's expression. Words I've practiced for weeks lodge in my throat, the one question I've been meaning to ask her dangling at the tip of my tongue.

A tear spills from the pool in her hallow eyes and runs down her pale cheek in that one finite second it takes for her to suck in a shallow breath and say, "Hero." My name falls like a whispered plea from those lips I've shared countless kisses with since my freshman year in university.

I stop breathing as I patiently wait for what she'll say next... and wait and wait. But she doesn't say more even though her lips part and purse a few times. She stares at me—my one knee on the carpeted floor of my sister's flat in Notting Hill with our families and closest friends gathered at my request—but she's not looking at me. She's doing it again, drawing the shutters between herself and the people around her. I recognize that look on her face all too well and know that it'll only be a matter of minutes before she completely shuts off.

I discard the diamond ring pinched between my fingers in the depths of my pocket and clasp both her hands in mine to ground her here with me. "Claire? Darling?" I say in the softest whisper, but there's no helping the strain in my voice or the escalating beats of my heart.

"Get off your knees, Hero."

Everyone in the room can probably see the smile on my face vanish, the bright hopefulness in my eyes dim. Hell, I can probably hear a hairpin drop if someone actually manages to unfreeze from their shell-shocked state.

I heard that wrong... right?

"I—uh... Claire, what..." I'm lost for words and meaning. "Claire."

This is clearly a rejection. A rejection of my proposal that's yet to be proposed, but my stupid heart can't seem to grasp why my girlfriend of thirteen years is telling me to get up when I haven't even said the four-word question that hangs over us. A question that I foolishly thought deserved only a yes as an answer.

She tugs me up until I'm hovering over her five-foot-six frame. "Can we talk somewhere private?" Without waiting for my response, she turns on her heels and ducks her head as she pushes through our equally speechless guests.

I blink around, desperately trying to make sense of the riot in my heart and the logic in my brain, and catch a glimpse of Mercy, my dear sister, with an unpopped bottle of Dom Pérignon in hand. She insisted on splashing out on the bottles after I told her of my plan, saying the occasion deserved a proper celebratory drink. Joke's on her because looks like no one's in the mood for celebrating shit.

Giving my head a good shake, I stride after Claire. Low murmurs and shuffles follow in my wake. "What's happening?" I catch someone whispering to another. "I'm confused," another says.

Tell me about it, man. Except, that's not entirely true. I know what's happening. I reckon I've always known this is how it'll end; I'm just too fucking proud to accept the reality even if it slapped me in the face. I mean, shit, my girlfriend just walked out on my proposal yet there's still the foolish part of me that thinks this is just a misunderstanding.

I'm good for her or we'll figure it out together or we've been together for so long. Foolish, foolish Hero.

There's not a lot of room for privacy in my sister's one-bedroom flat, especially with the eighteen guests I invited tonight to witness what was supposed to be a milestone in my and Claire's relationship. The bedroom is the practical choice to have a private conversation, but Claire doesn't share my thought as she walks straight out the door and onto the landing leading down the front door. A thud echoes as I close the door behind me, and in two strides, I'm standing in front of her.