YELLOW

PART 12

It had been a few days since I last saw Elora—maybe even a week. In this place, time felt almost irrelevant.

Sunlight streamed through the glass, making the room uncomfortably warm. I sat with my pen in hand, jotting down thoughts in my notebook, the soothing strains of "Last Kiss" by Taylor Swift playing through my headphones. I let my memories wash over me, hoping they would find a semblance of a happy ending on the blank pages before me.

I turned to glance at Anastasia, who was playfully shoving her fingers into her mouth as if to gag. I chuckled softly, pulling my AirPods out and resting my pen on my lap.

"You know, listening to that song is pretty depressing," she remarked, her Metallica t-shirt swaying slightly as she spoke. I smirked back at her, "Oh right, I forgot—you don't have a heart." She winked, and I laughed it off. Surprisingly, Anastasia and I had managed to find a way to coexist, or at least to avoid wanting to strangle each other.

It was time for visits, so I got off the bed and began to fix my hair.

"Don't you have any visitors?" I asked Anastasia, who was perched on her bed, engrossed in a book.

"No," she replied, arching her eyebrows as if to suggest I shouldn't pry. Her gaze flickered from the book to me, and I smiled in return.

"Marcus, are you ready?" the nurse called, interrupting our moment. I glanced back at Anastasia before turning to the nurse and nodding, slipping my hands into my pockets—a habitual gesture.

As I walked out of the room, I could feel Anastasia's eyes on me, a weighty presence that lingered in the air.

As we entered the visitors' room, my heart skipped a beat when I spotted Ginny. I made my way toward her, whispering, "Damn. And I'm the one stuck in a hospital. You look terrible." Without warning, she dashed toward me and enveloped me in a tight embrace. I felt my ribs protest against the pressure.

"I've missed you," she murmured, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around her. For a fleeting moment, we stood in silence, holding each other close, savoring the connection.

Once we settled into our seats, I couldn't help but ask, "Where's Elora? I thought she would join us." Ginny glanced around the room before turning back to me, her expression serious.

"Well, how can I put this... Elora won't be coming anymore," she said hesitantly. Confusion washed over me. "Pardon?"

Ginny sighed, scratching her forehead as she gathered her thoughts. "I'm not really the one who should tell you this, but she found all the letters you wrote to Olivia. And when the doctor mistakenly referred to her as Olivia... well, she didn't take it well. She knows, Marcus. She knows."

I cleared my throat, trying to feign ignorance. "What does she know? I don't understand." Ginny locked her gaze onto mine, her eyes filled with an intensity that made my heart race.

"She knows you didn't forget Olivia. She knows you love her." At that moment, my heart seemed to stop entirely.

"Marcus?" I suddenly heard the front door swing open. I was back in my room, writing yet another letter to Olivia. Each day spent away from her deserved to be documented, as if somehow linking those moments to her would give them meaning, would make them worth enduring.

"Coming!" I shouted from upstairs as I quickly tucked the letters under the bed, the very bed that Elora and I shared. The weight of the hidden words pressed down on me as I dashed down the stairs.

When I reached the bottom, I found her standing there, pouring herself a glass of wine while a Taylor Swift LP spun softly in the background. I paused at the stairs, taking in the scene before me. It felt different somehow—off, as if something essential was missing. She wasn't the same.

"Oh, such a ballerina!" I exclaimed with a grin, watching Olivia dance around the room in nothing but her panties. She twirled playfully, a mischievous smirk crossing her face as she took a sip of juice from a glass. "Do you like what you see?" she teased, her eyes sparkling.

I walked toward her, placing my hand gently over her baby bump, feeling the warmth beneath my palm. Kneeling in front of her, I pressed a soft kiss to her belly, my gaze lifting to meet hers. "Immensely," I replied, my heart swelling with affection.

"Marcus?" A hand waved in front of my face, jolting me back to reality. It was Ginny, pulling me out of my daydream.

"So, yeah, that's basically it. I'm really sorry, Marcus," she said, her voice tinged with empathy.

I cleared my throat, trying to compose myself, and placed my fist against my mouth to stifle my emotions. "It's fine. I guess it just wasn't meant to be," I admitted, the words tasting sour on my tongue. Ginny nodded, understanding the unspoken truth that lingered between us.

She then reached into her bag and pulled out the wooden box kit I had once gifted to Olivia. I felt a pang of nostalgia; it was something I had always wanted to keep close, a piece of our shared history. I used to take it everywhere, even on vacations, a tangible reminder of the love and dreams we once had.

"I thought you wanted this with you," she remarked, her voice laced with concern. I glanced down at the wooden box, tracing my fingers over the engraved initials—my own—and the letters "O.B." that accompanied them.

"What are you doing, scam?" my brother Nate interjected, snatching the scissors from my hands. I stared at him, the box clutched tightly in my grip.

"I'm creating a kit to gather all the things I might need if we're ever in danger and have to leave quickly," I explained, trying to sound confident.

Nate scoffed, prying the box from my hands to peer inside. "So you think these are the items you'll need if you're in danger? Pathetic," he said, shaking his head as he rifled through the contents—NBA cards, PlayStation games, and other trivial items.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the wooden box onto the floor, causing it to crack open and spill a few items out. I winced as I knelt down to retrieve it, my fingers tracing the edges and corners, each scar and scratch telling a story. The wear and tear gave the box its character; every bump and mark added to its value, reminding me of the memories it held.

"Thank you," I said to Ginny as I picked up the wooden box. "Get well soon, please. We're waiting for you outside," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. We embraced once more before it was time for me to leave the room again, returning to the space I was destined to occupy until I got better.

Entering the room, I clutched the box tightly as I spotted Anastasia standing in the middle, rolling herself a cigarette.

"What's that?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as her gaze shifted to the box in my hands.

"Oh, it's nothing—just something I made as a kid," I shrugged, trying to downplay its significance. Anastasia studied it for a moment, then walked over to her bed and retrieved a small box that was similar to mine, but adorned with her name.

"This is mine," she said, holding it up with a hint of pride. "It's all I have left of my family—or at least, what I remember of them." She settled next to me on the bed, placing the box in her lap.

As she opened it, I saw that it was filled with pictures of her and her family, colorful hair accessories, and a few delicate flower petals. "It's like this is the only Anastasia left," she said softly, her eyes reflecting a deep sadness. "It's as if I locked her away inside here, and she lives on in this box."

I leaned back against the bed, turning to face her fully. "And what about the Anastasia outside the box?" I asked gently, curious about the person she had become.

Her breath caught in her throat, and our eyes locked in a moment of shared understanding. But she didn't respond, a silence stretching between us.

Just then, the nurse entered the room. "Anastasia, you have a visitor," she announced. Anastasia turned away, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks as she quickly tucked the box under the bed and disappeared into the hallway.

A visitor?