The Symphony

If Only You Had Stayed

If you are brave enough
to destruct yourself, you are brave enough
to begin again
-Vinati
_____________

Wilhemina's pov
All I've been able to do since she left is work. I've reverted to what I know I'm best at; executing plans and flourishing in spite of various adversity. However, Charlie has not once left my mind during this time and it somehow infuriates me to my core. I don't think I've ever been so angry in my life, in fact.

The 'funny' thing is, I'm not even sure who or what I'm angry at. That day I left her in the room, I went to my home office to think. I mostly cried and I can't even remember now if it was out of sadness or anger, maybe both. I know it was fear taking over; fear that she may actually heed her parents warnings. Those thoughts creeping in that maybe I'm not good enough for her.

So when I returned to find her gone, my thoughts—if only momentarily—were validated. Then I caught sight of her note and of course I read it. It was short and mainly an apology for her abrupt departure. Even amongst the almost illegible scribbles, I could feel the emotion as if it were embedded in the fibers of the paper.

I couldn't help but blame myself for her feeling like she needed to leave. If only I'd been able to stay and speak to her, perhaps this wouldn't have happened. Until those feelings began to morph and I saw a different side of things. Charlie is an adult, as am I, she—and she alone—is responsible for her actions. Was she not the one that told me not to act out of impulse or sheer emotion?

The same person that told me overthinking is a killer? Ok, perhaps she didn't say those exact words but the point is the same. So I found myself growing angry each day that passed without us speaking. Could I have reached out? Sure; but I'm not the one who left so suddenly. I've tried my best this past month to wrap my head around it all.

Trying to get in her headspace and figure out what she could've possibly been thinking. It dawned on me that she may not have been thinking at all. I know how it is to be overcome with emotion and though it agitates me to no end, I can relate to her in that way. Monday of this week was the first time I tried to call her and I bit my lip as it rang over and over.

The sound of the voicemail felt like a nail in the coffin. Each time I heard it was like digging my own grave. Yesterday, however, was the straw that broke the camel's back. It didn't even ring. All I heard was her annoyingly sweet voice and I decided I'd had enough. Which is exactly why I'm on my way to her house as we speak.

As I draw nearer to it, a thought briefly crosses my mind. She may not even be here. I remember her telling me of her penthouse in the city, one I'd never been afforded the privilege of visiting. That only adds fuel to the already raging fire inside of me. How could I be so stupid? Here I am, driving all the way out here in hopes of rekindling what we once had—when all we had was lies.

As I come upon a stop light, I have to close my eyes for a moment. My heart is beating entirely too fast and I'm not even sure why. I know anger—what it feels like in my veins. This isn't that. And as I continue on towards my destination, I feel everything begin to fall away. The walls I've rebuilt just crumble at the prospect of seeing her face again.

All I can feel is empathy. It's clear now, even before seeing her, that she's doing all of this to protect herself. I've forged enough brick walls disguised as boundaries to know when a person has fallen into the cycle. She only wanted to protect me. By isolating herself, there was no way she could do anything to hurt me beyond what my own mind could procure.

Though it hurts more than I can say, I understand her motives. I know Charlie, her intentions must've been good at heart. As I pull in her driveway I take a deep breath, sighing in relief at the presence of a car outside. I get out and knock on the door, trying to control my breathing as I wait for it to be opened. I grip the head of my cane, my knuckles whitening under the pressure.

When it finally opens, I can't find any words to describe the feeling. My eyes scan over her disheveled form, my jaw dropping open slightly. I've never seen her in such a state and the feelings I had during the last leg of my drive only intensify. I can't imagine how much she's been burdening herself—and subsequently tortured herself with this past month.

I do my best to fix my expression, not wanting her to feel any worse. As I focus once more, I realize she's been taking in my appearance too. Our eyes meet and I'm frightened at what I find in hers. Where they once shimmered with light, there's nothing. She looks at me blankly, it's as if the lights are on and nobody's home.

I don't miss the way they slightly glaze over as she stares back at me, however. Though it doesn't even feel like that breaks the surface of her emotion. It only makes her appear more lifeless, like a doll of sorts. "Char? Did the delivery boy kidnap you or something?" I hear from somewhere deeper within the house and it seems to snap her out of whatever trance she'd found herself in as well.

Before I can say anything she just steps aside and lets me in. I cautiously pass her, not knowing the proper actions to take. I assume I can only do as much as she'll allow me to and so I decide to let her take the lead. Which ends up in us lingering in the foyer, her gazing further into the house but not daring to venture anymore than we already have.

"They ordered from Daville's I thought you were..." she stumbles over her words a bit before just stopping completely and I hum. "I assume you didn't just come here to admire the decor" she says more firmly and my gaze darts from the painting I was staring at to her face, taken aback by her tone. She doesn't allow any more words to be exchanged, gesturing down the hall in the direction of her office.

This will certainly be a rollercoaster...