❝ 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫
𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 ❞ | mature
Too many arguments too much tears, they foreseed how it will end. Their break up was a mutual agreement and so was what came after.
Six months afte...
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When she was young, she used to test herself.
On every occasion she felt bored, she would stare at the sky, focusing on the sun, gazing defiantly at it as if she were conducting a sort of staring contest with the radiant star. "Emilia, if you keep doing that, you'll end up damaging your eyes!" her mother would scold her, grabbing her chin with her cold fingers to get her attention. However, her skinny claws couldn't break Emily's fascination or determination. The six-year-old was stubborn, and a part of her wanted to prove her mother wrong, to show her that she would be the first person to ever develop immunity to the blinding rays. So she kept that habit, hoping she would win an unequal competition.
It always ended the same way. She despised how powerful the sun was, even as it settled down and hid beneath tree branches. She whined as her eyes stung and filled with tears, and she feared the inevitable arrival of the image of the burning sun in front of her, even after she defeatedly looked down and blinked. A vision of a big, glowing white ball continually reappeared; it was there, floating brightly in front of her once she surrendered and looked down at the ground to watch the green grass. And once again it appeared against a black background as she closed her eyes tightly, frowning, frustrated with the sun's insistence to remain a stain on her clear vision, as if it were mocking her loss.
But she didn't stare at the sun this time, and she never believed anything else could be as powerful and hunt her so fiercely.
Now, the thing torturing her eyes was the monitor above Aaron's head. She tried to escape it by shutting her eyes, but the flat line etched itself in her mind, a bright, vibrant trail exposing its existence. And she experienced the same frustration she had felt as a six-year-old over why she kept seeing it.
Everything else should have been indistinguishable; what she saw was enough for her, but it didn't cease there. She noticed the sound of the beeping monitor, the uniform, sustained sound, the calls from the paramedics urging her to let go of his body, and the noise their hands made as they touched him and slammed their hands against his chest.
It was enough.
She knew it was enough. Why couldn't she have that moment of desertion? To forget where she was and what was happening. Was it really over? If so, why did the ambulance feel like it was getting smaller? shrinking into a new form of some kind of a coffin?
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Now she was outside, the sun as bright as ever, managing to dry any puddles and drip stains on the pavement. It ruined any evidence of the wild rain that had fallen all night long and into her morning.
Emily sensed that the world had stopped since that day, and with it, the sun's invincible shine had also paused. Everything was on hold, anticipating something big about to drop.
She found herself staring at the familiar sky again, the yellow light greeting her with its warm rays. This time, it wasn't as painful to look at. She felt as if she had invisible sunglasses shielding her from the intensity. She couldn't let the child version of herself get excited about it; her new ability didn't feel real.
