The Night Hides Scars >> Kellic A.U.

Chapter 3

"Last chance, you stupid bowl, or you'll be lost forever." I grumbled and walked toward the closed door.

When I opened the door, I half-expected a cloud of dust to rise up and slap me in the face, and maybe a dozen rats to run past my feet. However, that didn't happen.

I was met with towers of boxes that I forgot existed until now.

They weren't towers of course. I was just short, though I would never actually admit it.

When I took a few steps forward, I tripped on, oh look at that, a box. Then, when I fell, I hit my head on, guess what, a box.

"Fuck! Ow..." I rubbed the back of my head because the box that I hit happened to have something hard in it.

I turned around to open it, hoping it was the bowl. But I certainly was not expecting to see what I did again in this lifetime or the next.

When I opened the box, I was met with the smell of burnt paper and dirt. I could honestly say I missed it, but at that moment I would have rejected even the mere idea of saying that in an instant.

I reached in and grabbed the large, hard back book with the burnt front cover. It now had frayed bindings from the many times I'd looked through the second half, and the few times I'd looked through the first.

I hadn't pulled this book out of this box in over a year. Now that I had, every memory that was kept in it came flooding back.

I sank to my knees, with the book to my chest, no doubt leaving small black ash marks on my white shirt.

Just then, I noticed that I had started to cry. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and onto the floor.

My bottom lip quivered and, no matter how hard I tried to hold them back, broken sobs escaped my throat.

Truth be told, I didn't try to hold them back at all. No one was home to see the wreck that I was.

"Why? Why did you have to leave me?" I cried.

In my mind, I knew that nothing was his fault and would never be. He couldn't help the fact that he died.

But in my state of broken turmoil, my brain wasn't quite comprehending the fact that Vic ever loved me.

My coping method, from being told that my true love and best friend was dead, was to believe that he never loved me in the first place.

It was to believe that we never loved each other, so that I could walk away unscathed.

See how fucking well that worked out.

I knew he loved me, deep down in my heart. And I loved him more than anything in the world. He was my entire world. I was just in denial. Complete and utter denial.

"I fucking hate you!" I screamed.

I threw the book across the room, as far as I could. However, my heart still wanted it to be undamaged and as intact as it was before I threw it. I didn't make a move to go check on it though.

If it was even possible, I sank further into myself and slumped into what was more of a lump on the floor.

Tears still ran down my face, but I didn't care. I didn't wipe them away. I watched them drip off of my chin, then onto my shirt. They had left a small spot where my shoulder met my chest.

My sobs had died down, and they sounded more like whimpers and whines.

I turned my head and stared at the book. It managed to land safely on the ground by the window, in between two upturned boxes.