s h e

chapter twenty-six

Every story has a beginning. Maybe it started long ago in a far off galaxy, or under a staircase, or in a museum with a ballpoint pen. Maybe it started with a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe. Maybe it started with a big blue box, a man called Sherlock, or a burning woman on the ceiling. Maybe it started with a big-hearted blonde girl wearing Muppet socks.

The story will rise. Up it goes, ever climbing, moving towards the climax, the biggest point in any tale. Then there is the fall out, the aftermath, the resolution. Every good story must end.

For this story, that final point is now.

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Winnie is back but she doesn't look like Winnie. Seawater eyes are red and puffy and dull gray, honey blonde waves are knotted and mangled, and she's shaky and sad-looking and you don't even care that she broke your heart, you feel this fucking deep-seeded need to give her a hug.

"Winnie, I-"

"I'm leaving," she gasps out, her voice raw and scratchy, the way it gets when she goes on rollercoasters and screams her lungs out, the way it gets when she sings too loud at a Taylor Swift concert. It's the little things about her that worked their way inside and ripped you apart from there. You know Winnie better than you know the back of your hand, to be honest. She's the constant, and fuck, you should have known that one day she'd be gone.

"What?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and the last bits of your heart fall into the pit of your stomach.

Red had escaped the moment you two had seen each other, shutting the door behind her. There's no one to stop Winnie from marching out into the parking lot and taking off for California.

Except the door.

"It's stuck," the older girl frowns, and if the situation wasn't so hopeless, you'd start snickering. "It's stuck!" She cries, kicking it a few times.

You're locked in apartment with the girl who might as well have thrown your heart from the Sears tower.

Great.

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"Winnie."

There's not a word from the blonde girl who used to babble on about nothing in particular for hours at a time.

"Winnie."

She shoots you a heated, hurtful glare that makes your face flush red. How does one go from best friend to arch-nemesis overnight?

"Winnie."

She whips her head around. "What do you want, Melanie?" Ouch. You wince at the venomous tone she uses to say your name. It's a far cry from the airy marshmallow voice of your memories.

Has it only been a few weeks? It feels like decades have passed since everything went oh so wrong.

"Why are you mad at me?" You sound like a small child that's just been screamed at by a parent.

The rage fades, her shoulders slump. She's never been good at staying angry. "You know exactly why. You made it pretty clear."

"Is it really so horrible?" You bring your knees in closer to your body, shutting your eyes.

"It's the worst thing in the world."

Wow. Did you have a heart? It's so smashed beyond recognition that you don't think a forensic team could reassemble it.

"This sucks," you exhale slowly, trying to lessen the ache inside your chest. You fail miserably.