[COMPLETED BUT WONT LET ME PRESS THE COMPLETED BUTTON AHAHHA]
Aurora Lockheart was once the sunshine girl-bright, kind, and full of life. But one night changed everything, leaving her a shadow of who she used to be.
A year later, just as she's be...
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Hours later, after what felt like an eternity of chaotic painting and cleaning, my room was finally back to normal—tidy and clean, as if the earlier madness had never happened. The bed, which had been piled with all my belongings just a few hours ago, was now a calm space where we both sat, the air between us thick with unspoken tension.
Aurora was next to me, her fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of my jersey, tugging at the fabric as if the motion could help steady her thoughts. I could feel the shift in her energy, the playfulness from earlier gone, replaced with something heavier, more serious.
We'd been laughing not too long ago, lost in the ridiculousness of our ceiling masterpiece, but now the mood had shifted. She'd asked for her bag, the one she'd left at school before everything went down—before the chaos of the past few days had hit like a tidal wave. I had it ready for her, resisting the temptation to look inside even though I'd been dying to. The curiosity burned in me, but there was something sacred about it. I knew better than to invade that space.
Wordlessly, I handed it over, and she took it with a small nod, her hands brushing against mine. There was a moment of silence between us, a thick, heavy pause where neither of us knew how to start.
Finally, she spoke, her voice soft and unsure. "Right..." she began, exhaling slowly. "So, I'm not 100% good at talking about this at all, so it's all written down. If you need me to explain anything, just let me know."
With a sigh, she reached into her bag and pulled out a worn notebook, its edges frayed from use. She held it out to me, her hand trembling slightly. There was something vulnerable in the way she offered it, like it held pieces of her she wasn't sure she could say out loud. "There's another book, as well as pictures and other things," she added quietly. "My therapist said it'll be good to get this off my chest."
I looked down at the notebook in my hand, the weight of it suddenly feeling much heavier than it should. This wasn't just paper. This was her heart, her past, and whatever had been haunting her in silence all this time. I could tell this was a big deal for her—sharing this part of herself, trusting me with it.
I swallowed hard, glancing over at her, and noticed how she kept her gaze down, her fingers now twisting together in her lap. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was bracing herself for whatever reaction might come next.
"Okay," I said softly, my voice quieter than I'd intended. I wasn't sure what to say in a moment like this, but I knew I had to tread carefully. Whatever was in these books, whatever secrets and pain they held, I was going to respect that. I was going to respect her. "I'll read it."
Her shoulders relaxed a little, and she nodded, still not looking at me.
I opened the notebook slowly, the first page filled with neat, deliberate handwriting. As my eyes skimmed over the words, I felt her presence next to me, heavy with anticipation.
