A girl, A boy, and a graveyard

A sleeping boy under a blanket

Lucy POV
530 words

🎵A heart that's full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal
You look so tired, unhappy🎵

🎵I'll take a quiet life
A handshake of carbon monoxide and no alarms and no surprises no alarms and no surprises
silence🎵
-No surprises by Radiohead

When morning came i was already awake, my eyelids hung heavy but i just couldn't sleep, afraid of what dreams would come from the events of the kitchen and Hyde Park. I had kissed Anthony Lockwood, and Anthony Lockwood had kissed me. I had my first kiss years ago back home, behind a few bushes next to the marshes. Some boy with ratty short hair and freckled face. I hardly remember it and it was more out of fascination than love. But i had never actually kissed a boy, not till whatever happened that night. I waited till everyone was definitely asleep, my bags already packed. I knew i should have gone as soon as i could, i shouldn't have stayed so long, because now it hurts even more, now my cheeks stained with tears and my eyes stung from crying so much.

I picked up my bags, packed the jar in my backpack, slung it round my back and walked down the attic stairs to the door. Silently i crept down the stairs to the landing, the locked door, the bathroom, Lockwood's room and George's room. A chalk sign hung on George's door, spelling his name out in blue chalk. A triangular mark lay on the wood of Jessica's room, where a sign or something would have hung. The bathroom door lay open, dark and lifeless, i could see the outline of my reflection on the mirror as i passed. Stood outside Lockwood's room. I doubted he was in there, yet i couldn't bring myself to open it and look, lightly placing my hand on the wood of the door was enough. I flinched away at its coldness and hurried along downstairs. Passed the newspaper clippings and photographs, passed the ancient artefacts from around the world, and the bookshelf's nailed into the wall.

I made it down into the hallway, the living room to my left and the library to my right. Stepping around the creaky floorboard i went, nearing the front door. Then i heard something, very light breathing. Came from the library. I put my bags down and peaked inside, Lockwood lay in his usual chair, long legs dangling off the side, head snuggled in a nook of the chair. He was sleeping, his shirt tight around him, showcasing his muscles and thin frame. His tie lay on the table in front of him, he had his arms crossed over his chest, his body lightly shivering. I frowned, standing in the doorway staring down at him, a complete mess. Unstable, but so beautiful. His swooping hair covering his pale face. I took a blanket that had been draped over the back of the sofa, and lay it on top of Lockwood. He pulled the blanket over him and shivered one last time before his face softened, and already looked more comfortable.

I smiled, and slowly made my way back outside, picked up my bags once more, walked passed the cracked umbrella pot we used to put rapiers in. Took my coat from its hanger, put it on, and walked out. Walked down the worn stone steps and out the gate. Finally leaving 35 Portland Row for good.