𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 | g. w

51. i never asked for this to happen

My heart shattered. The remnants of what was left of it disintegrated, turned to dust and flew away into nothing. Like the remains of footsteps in the sand, with nothing left behind to point toward it ever having  been there at all.

His letter made every aspect of my life seem like a nightmare I'd never imagined I'd have to endure. When I'd finally thought I'd assembled the last of the  puzzle pieces that was my life, everything came crashing down, seemingly out of nowhere. I was given a taste of pure happiness, only for it to be taken away from me again. Only, this time the crash left me completely paralysed, and for some reason, the second time around hurt infinitely more than the first.

Only hours ago, I was the happiest I'd been in a very long time, and now, now all of that's gone. I can't even let myself think about the way I'd used to experience life in color, and now it's all turned to grey. There's no music, no light anymore, and I'm scared that this ache in my chest won't ever go away.

The best way I know how to describe it is like those old Hollywood films, where all of a sudden, the black and white moving pictures switch to colour. Only, in the case of my life; it's the other way around.

And it's different this time.

This time, I'd imagined we'd actually see it through, that we'd make it no matter what, because we had each other. I wasn't going anywhere, I'd promised us both, and yet he was the one to leave.

He's given up on us, when I believed us to finally have a real chance at making it, he abandoned me.

I blink, staring into nothing. A figure appears in my periphery, moving towards where I'm seated.

"Is everything alright there, sweetheart?"

My first instinct is to smile, but it comes out looking quite pathetic, my attempt not the least bit believable to even the most clueless of people.

Mr Monroe's hand on my shoulder is what finally wakes me from my day dream (or should I say day-nightmare). He looks at me with gentle eyes,  and there's no trace of pity in them, none at all, but I sense his comcern nonetheless.

Ever since I first came back to town, the old couple have become like the grandparents I never knew I needed. They've taken good care of me whenever I need it, and I've felt seen and heard even when every other aspect of my life has felt hopeless, even when I've felt completely lost.

Growing up, I didn't really know my grandparents. I knew of them, but my rocky relationship with my parents kept me from ever really seeing them as anything more than blurry faces in a polaroid. They never came to visit us, and my parents rarely spoke of them at all, steering the conversation in another direction whenever I became too curious. So they stayed a mystery, a story well out of reach.

Enter, the old but very kind owners of one picturesque but cozy book cafe in old town.

A mere two minute walk from where I found a place to stay when I first returned from Athens, it became my safe space on the days where I managed to leave my bed for more than half an hour at a time. A place in which I could find solace, even on the worst and darkest of days. Mr and Mrs Monroe, or Gibson and Rita as were their given names, were quick to  notice my tendency to self isolate, treating me like their own grandchild within seconds of meeting me and continuing to care for me since.

Ever since that very first day, I've found myself spending most of my time in whatever comfortable reading chair I feel like daydreaming away in. I've even taken them up on their kind offer to let me help them on the days when their bodies can't take it, or when it's more busy than usual and they need an extra hand. It gives me a sense of purpose to know I'm needed.  That someone wants me to not just feel like a walking corpse on autopilot, but an actual human being that's allowed to hate life just a little bit sometimes. Especially when my own parents seem to have forgotten about me.

I'm not sure they ever really cared about me at all. At least not in the way parents should care for their child.

My mum and dad stopped loving each other towards the very end of my last year at school, at least that's when they decided I was deserving enough to know the truth. At that point, I'd had already had my suspicions for a while, but it didn't become real enough until they sat me down and told me themselves.

Eventually, their love for me faded into nothing as well.

I became almost like a burden, something they cared enough about not to abuse and too little about to hug, spend the afternoon with or even call every once in a while.

They said they wanted me to be independent; that I was old enough to know real love from over-bearing coddling, and that I was wasting my energy in my wanting for them to love me as I believed I loved them.

So to say our relationship was rocky, is to put it way too lightly.

In fact, I'd often find myself feeling as if they saw me more like a distant relative you don't want to be seated by at christmas, or a co worker you cross paths with on the way to the espresso machine at lunch.

They made me feel like a stranger, so I started seeing them in the same way, and when I left England behind me to go travel on my own, I cut ties with my parents as well.

I guess that was another thing I actually found gratifying about that whole situation.

Yes, I'd left the love of my life and my best friend behind, but I'd also managed to stand up for myself in choosing to break the relationship I had with my parents, which to be completely honest, wasn't even really a relationship to begin with.

So you see, in a way, Mr and Mrs Monroe saved me, even though I didn't know it at the time. They became a safety net for me to fall back on in case I needed it, and I owe everything to them. If it weren't for their kindness and patience, I don't think I would even be here today.

I haven't really spoken to anyone but the two of them about my battles, opting to close myself off from any real human contact. At first, it felt like the best option, because it meant I wouldn't have to force anyone else to carry any of that heavy weight I've been dealing with for so long. But then I stepped into their book cafe one day, and that all changed. They didn't force me to talk about anything, they just listened. Really listened, and they've continued to show support and unbridled compassion every day since.

"No, I'm not", I finally mutter, my eyes already flooding with tears. "To be honest, it's been a weird couple of days."