They Said My Life Was Perfect - Book 1

Chapter 29 - Rayna

It's too late.

The day has officially arrived where I am no longer my mother's daughter, but rather the person she housed for eighteen years. She's not even here to say goodbye, instead sitting in the back room where she doesn't actually have to see me or feel guilt for her choices.

I run my hand on the walls of my bedroom, the room I've occupied for the few years we've been in England and the room I've spent the majority of my time in. It never felt like I actually belonged here, there was never anything I could properly associate myself with, excluding Evander. The room I would regularly stay in at my Grandma's managed to fit me, the walls painted in gentle lavender tones and beige carpeted floors. Here everything is white washed, reminding me of a hospital.

I think the space is completely empty and take one more scout around just to check before I spot the photographs on my ceiling above my bed. The photographs I would look up at every morning, recalling the distant past of my youth...the fair, shopping with my friends, the café across the street. Every single thing that meant so much to me at the time are suddenly crushed into insignificant memories of which I won't be worrying about again.

I climb on my bed and want to take them down. I want with all my heart to have them with me but at the same time, they've been in their positions from the start and I wonder whether I should actually keep them there. No doubt my mother will try to take them down but hopefully she'll see it as one reminder that someone once lived in this room.

A quiet squeak of the door halts my thoughts and I turn my head to see Evander stood there, expressionless. His eyes are almost vacant of any emotion and it it makes me feel uncomfortable.

'Rayna?' He says quietly and I step down from the bed. He looks unsure for a moment, and I half wish he'd called me by my classic nickname of 'Pluie', a name he never failed to use when in an affectionate mood.

I sit down on the floor and stare at him for a few heavy moments. After looking round the now empty room, the realisation crashes into him and his eyes begin to water as he makes no attempt to stop them. I make my way over to where he's standing and pick up his small frame. He hugs me tightly and I try not to break down myself as I hear his heart wrenching cries. Of course I fail and soon I am reduced to tears myself.

'I c-can't believe you're actually going,' He stutters, hiccuping several times between his words.

'I know,' I gently stoke his hair, 'I honestly wish it hadn't come to this, I never want to leave you,'

'It's not your fault,'

Even though he says this, I can't help but think that perhaps it is. Maybe if I'd have tried a little bit harder with my mother, she wouldn't have tried to kick me out and I'd still be living here. But then again, my mother is a very particular person and I doubt we would've been able to get along for more then five minutes.

'Please don't take down the pictures,' He whispers and I barely hear him.

'The pictures?' I repeat and he points at the ones I had been studying only moments before he came in.

'Why?'

'I want them to stay there. I want to sleep in your room and look at them,'

He has a fascination with those pictures, not remembering much of his life in America since he had been younger when we lived there but still finding them sentimental himself.

'Won't your mother yell at you for being in here,'

'You and I both know she won't even notice. She never does,'

'I'm so sorry, Ev,'

He doesn't say it's okay because we both know it's not. It's easier to accept things rather then making excuses for them.