Ara Yeo cherished her peace,
nestled far from the city's ceaseless clamor.
Her haven was the shoreline,
a place where the whispers of the sea spoke more of solitude than sorrow.
But when the sea surrenders a lifeless form,
will her sanctuary of...
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Dust clung to Ara's hands as her small figure peered through the doorway which revealed harsh whispers of conversation.
Her mother had taken her to see her grandparents earlier in the day, where the sun just barely peeked through their shared bedroom, her mother shaking the little girl awake through her mumbled protests.
Ara could hear snippets of her mother and grandparents conversation, hearing her name every so often, which made the girl slowly inch out the door in curiosity.
The young woman threw her hands up in frustration, hands coming down to card through her wild hair as she restlessly paced across the living room.
"She's not like me!" The woman exclaimed, hands coming out in front of her to emphasise her words to her disapproving parents. "She won't make it if she stays with me."
"Diane." Her father, the greying man who stood hands on his hips harshly reprimanded his daughter with a whisper. "That is your daughter you're talking about. You can't just leave her here."
The woman darted to the old man, grabbing a hold of his arms as she clung to them desperately. "You don't understand," she spoke through gritted teeth, voice aching with desperation, "You don't know what they're like, they'll fucking kill her."
Her mother, whose eyes grew wide at her daughters words, grabbed her arm, dragging her to face her mother. "Have you no remorse for the girl?" The old lady tightly gripping her daughters hand as she spoke, making the woman hiss as she tore her arm away.
The woman looked close to tears as she shoved her face at her mother's. "I'm doing this for her!" she shouted, voice no longer the raspy whispers that Ara had heard. "The farther she is from me, the safer she will be, the safer all of you will."
The mothers eyes grew compassionate, tears welling up at the sight of her daughter. "What have you done now, Diane?"
Ara darted away from the door as she spotted her mother dashing for the room she was in. Rushing to the bed, she dragged the blanket over her body as her small hands wiped themselves on the pale blue sheets.
Ara couldn't see the door opening, but her heightened senses from the adrenaline alerted her of the creaking door. She could hear heavy breaths which came from her mother, followed by quiet sobs which made it difficult for Ara to guise her consciousness as she could feel tears slipping from her shut eyes.
The hair that flew with the gentle breeze reminded Ara of her mother, she never did like to keep her hair long from what she remembered of the woman, the boy had resurfaced memories that she kept well hidden, even though he had lost his own.
In some ways, Reggie reminded her of her mother, the hollowness she had felt when she thought he had left was not the first time the feeling coursed through her veins, though brief, her body remembered the feeling of abandonment.
A groan escaped her chapped lips as Ara struggled to pry her eyes open, dry flakes gluing her eyelids shut as her fingers clamored to scratch away the dry shells stuck to her lashes. Ara forcefully sat up, silence encompassing her room as the tranquil morning light filtered through her sheer curtains.
She felt a weight burrow itself into her chest at the silent atmosphere, a reminder of her current state of desolation which had been left by the boy, though she couldn't fathom the reason why.
Ara felt her half conscious body move towards her bed side table, cluttered to the brim with knick knacks, there was no denying that she was a hoarder; but you couldn't blame her, after all, everything was precious to her.
Trained fingers meticulously moved across the blank canvas of her grained sketchbook, absentmindedly etching features as it gradually gathered to form one coherent image of a stranger whom she couldn't quite recognise.
Ara truly loved doing portraits, she had done it for mostly everyone she knew; her grandparents accumulating an array of images of themselves over the years, even Deborah, Cillian, and Alfie had one of their own. She adored how each determining feature of the people she loved would show through the picture, as if catching the essence of their being. There was also something personal, intimate about taking the time to know someone, their quirks and uniqueness, and be able to imitate their likeness in a portrait.
Ara felt the familiar cramp in her hand, notable when she had been manipulating a pencil for too long. Her gaze shifted to the clock on her wall which had been in the form of a rabbit, the numbers curving around the belly as the clock hands gradually moved. It was twenty past 11, far later than she usually woke up, and she figured that her body must have needed the extra down time, especially with all the stress that has been flocking towards her as of late.
Usually, she woke at about eight in the morning to ready herself for work, mostly finish up some painting, and prepare breakfast.
Ara definitely wasn't a breakfast person, but when the boy finally gained consciousness which alerted the girl's mind that he was, in fact alive, Ara had worried about his meal preferences and chose to opt for the safe option of providing him all three meals; though, she guessed that she wouldn't have to worry much now.
Her sock cladded feet padded their way through the short distance of her bed and the door, one hand twisting the cold handle as the other came up to rub off any excess tiredness from her face. The wooden door creaked open, and if it weren't for her eyes, which were cast on the wooden planked floor, she would have completely coated her feet in toast and jam.
Ara's face scrunched up in confusion, brows knitting together and mouth sloping into a frown, as she looked at the meal which had been neatly placed on a porcelain tray, pieces of toast and a separated cup for jam— which looked absolutely delectable, mind you.
Her curious gaze peeked around the door frame and into the hallway, which shone with the natural light the morning offered. From her vantage point, she could not see anything curious from within the living room and kitchen. Her gaze snapped to the adjacent door, searching for imprints of Reggie, but no sound came from the room.
Ara felt relief course through her body, shoulders loosening as she made a move to pick up the delicate tray from its position on the floor. Her fluffy socks definitely proved useful to shield her skin from the cool air brought by the ocean breeze. A light clang resounded through the room as she set down the tray on the limestone countertop, slender fingers effortlessly ripping apart the bread as she dipped it into the jam.
The first bite was everything she could ever imagine, the muscle beneath her ears tweaking slightly as the perfectly made toast entered her salivating mouth.
A smile stretched her morning drawn features, eagerly tearing and scooping more of the breakfast served to her— maybe having a companion wasn't that bad when they're not trying to kill you.
