𝙄𝙣 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝࿔*⁀➷ Lenora Vallard moves to Quantico, Virginia to live with her bestfriend, Jordyn. Although Lenora has a dark past and struggles with trust, when officer Reid keeps crossing her path, neither of them can help but feel compelled to e...
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𝑳𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒂'𝒔 𝑷𝑶𝑽 I spent the day writing, since my next shift isn't until tomorrow. But I found it hard to focus when I had this party on my mind, so I end up closing my laptop and putting my notebook back in my bag, deciding to sort through some of the boxes before Jordyn gets home. I go through the first one, which is mostly just clothes and hair products I placed away. The second one was full of room decor that I couldn't not bring. I spend an hour placing plants, hanging up the fairy lights and framing photographs around my new room.
When I open the third box, I'm surprised to see it's a box of my exes things, or things that reminded me of my ex. Shit, this was supposed to be in the throw pile. I stare at the box for what felt like multiple minutes, and hesitantly start going through it. There was multiple hoodies and tracksuit bottoms that would never be worn ever ever again. I found a few of the trip tickets and love notes he had wrote to me early on the relationship. He always marked the notes at the bottom with a ballard petal, and a small drawing of a ballard flower. He'd assumed they were my favourite flowers simply because it sounded similar to my surname. My favourite flower was actually a Lily, they're beautiful, yet so delicate. Such a femininity, though they'll leave a huge stain in the future if you're not careful. Story of my life. I place the letters down without even reading them, I wasn't willing to open fresh wounds that much.
I found a scrapbook I made, again at the beginning of the relationship, when everything was fresh, lustful - a lie, an act. I flicked through it hesitantly, not staring at the photographs in it for longer than a few seconds. I was worried if I looked for too long, I might start to miss it, but I know what I was missing would be only a feeling from what could have a been. I don't actually miss anything that happened after those first four months. There was a page in which I'd dried up the petals he put on his notes, and stuck into this book to treasure. There was writing on each page, but I didn't read the dates or texts either, I didn't need any fresh reminders of anniversaries, or to remind myself how stupid I was writing naively about him before it all got ugly. In fact, now I think about it, going through this box can do nothing but harm.
I go to close it, but then next page was blank. I'd stopped treasuring the memories from that point on. I flicked through the empty pages, and felt nothing but numbness as I look at the blank pages that seem to hold more memory that the ones with pictures. I'd stopped wanting to remember after 7 months, I'd stopped caring if I forgot all about him one day - hoping. I hadn't.. forgotten. Unfortunately my occasional nightmares and flashbacks prevent that, but I'm the best I've been in a while, especially moving here, away from any memories or reminders I might pass back there. I pause on a page which had a photograph stuck in the middle of it, right in the middle of the blank pages. This photograph was different, it was torn, it was bloody. It was stuck on crooked, and the rest of the page was blank - no cute design around the brim, and no text to elaborate on my love for him.
