Post Office ✓

03 | stamps

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter isn't as long or good as the others, but it's to pave the way for a thrilling Valentine's Day chapter. Shoutout to all of my Americans getting a day off from school today as well as a shoutout to Martin Luther King Jr.

03 • petitions

Surprisingly so, Blaise looked adorable in his admiral uniform, almost like a romantic hero as he led my by the hand through the deck of his ship.

All around us, there were faceless people partying, swaying to upbeat jazzy music in their bright dresses and dark suits, the Louisiana air stifling and hot yet something about that made it even easier to breathe.

Or maybe because here I was, at Blaise Cohen's Baton Rouge boat party before he left for the Navy.

"You want a drink," he asked me as we broke out of the dancing crowd, finally making it to a less congested area. "I could really go for one right now."

For a second, I couldn't even respond, as if the loud music had taken me away and I was nothing but taken space but reality sunk in and I nodded. Sometimes you had to let go of dreams and realize that love was there in the moment, that you needn't waste a waking moment in case love escaped you. I should've known as much, considering how he was going to leave me again. Once for London, this time for war.

I smirked at him as his figure retreated, leaving me on the outskirts of the dance floor. Whenever he left, he had to take something with him. This time - like the last time - my biggest fear wasn't whether he would come back, but whether he was taking my heart with him.

Hayley giddily came to my side, wrapping one of her hands around my wrist. "Come on, you've been with him all day. Blaise this, Blaise that, blah blah blah. What about us? Your friends?"

She tugged on my arm harder and I knew something wasn't right. It was sensible that Hayley wanted me to spend time with her and Rachel, but to not have interest in my love life? She was the president of the Blottie (Blaise and Lottie) fan club, always getting me to go out on dates with him and make him all types of gift baskets. One time, she heard him say that he liked bologna sandwiches, so she made him one pretending that it was me who did it.

It hit me like a bullet, that this was all a dream. Nothing was real here, hell, Blaise didn't even like the military. And why the hell would we be on a boat in 1920s St. Louis?

Because you want this, my conscience reminded me, more than you think you do. More than anything.

This was turning out to be a nightmare.

♕ ♕ ♕

Martin Luther King Jr's birthday wasn't exactly the most festive holiday and it was more based in reflection, but I was thankful for the day off. More than anything, I needed to clear my head of all thoughts filled under 'Blaise Cohen,' get him out of my system - contrary to my dream-self's beliefs.

If December was cold, then January was an ice age, the ground frozen solid, the air sharp enough to cut through three layers. I normally would've used the day off to my advantage, kicking my feet up and chilling with a movie and the heating on. But duty always called and I found my phone ringing with a request to meet my friends at Glenn's, the bookstore on campus. So here I was, bundling up, piling on scarves and sweaters as if my life depended on it and I could tell that I looked like some type of abominable snowman.

In fact, the excess clothing made it hard to move, something I belatedly realized while hobbling my way over to the elevator. Each step was heavy and my legs seemed to move ahead of my body, the weight making me lean slightly backwards. The only thing that lightened the situation was that I was wearing one of the beautiful cashmere sweaters that my mom sent me for Christmas, and when I got all of these coats off, I would be able to stun my friends with how it looked.