"I've realized that..." he started, then took a shaky breath. "Earlier today, when Stanley pulled you aside... seeing you two so close and secretive, I hated it." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I don't like how others make you smile..." He traile...
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°•°Vanessa's POV°•°
My feet carried me on a path my conscious mind had forgotten, but my soul remembered. The quarry. It materialized before me, a vast, silent bowl carved into the earth. The air was different here-colder, sharper, tasting of ancient rock and still water. I wasn't entirely sure why I had come, only that a deep, magnetic pull had led me here. And then, the memory surfaced, breaking through the mental fog like a shark's fin in dark water.
This had been my sanctuary. The place I'd fled to after the fight, when the fabric of our friendship had torn and the world had felt too loud, too cruel.
I collapsed onto a flat, sun-warmed rock, my chest heaving. I hadn't needed to run, not really, but the phantom sensation of being chased-by Henry's malice, by the clown's leering grin, by the crushing weight of our shattered circle-had been a fire in my blood. Those days, the line between my cousin's hatred and the thing that wore his face was terrifyingly thin. The clown seemed to bloom in the fractures of our fear, a monstrous flower waiting for one of us to break so it could feast.
My eyes scanned the familiar outcrops, a habit born of paranoia, and landed on a small, white square tucked beneath a smaller stone. A letter. My heart gave a frantic leap. How had he managed it? With his mother's hawk-like gaze constantly on him, Eddie's acts of rebellion were small, precious miracles.
My fingers, trembling slightly, unfolded the paper. His neat, cramped handwriting was a balm.
"I don't know how long I'll be able to stay sane, without seeing your face. My mother has been paying extra attention to me, and it's suffocating. I hope I get to see that beautiful smile of yours soon. Yours, E."
Tears pricked my eyes. These secret notes were my lifeline, the only things that convinced me the world wasn't entirely made of darkness. I carefully went to the crevice I'd carved between two large rocks, a tiny vault for my most treasured possessions. I added this new note to the others, my fingers brushing against the small pile of papers that represented our stolen moments. With a heavy sigh that felt like it came from the very core of my being, I stood and began the long walk back to my uncle's house, to the waiting silence and the promise of violence.
The quarry was still beautiful, but it was a stark, lonely beauty now. Lush green moss and ivy clung to the cliffs, a vibrant blanket over the grey stone. The silence, once peaceful, was now absolute and oppressive. It wasn't a relaxing quiet; it was the dead, watchful silence of a held breath. I could feel eyes on me, though I was utterly alone.
I hoped the others were faring better. Remembering that hellish, lonely month after our fight was like touching a psychic scar. I understood now why we'd forgotten. Some pain was too vast to carry consciously.
