Beginnings and Endings [complete]

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four  

It was like a new lifestyle, a new routine, ever since after that incident - or would you call it an accident? Well, whichever. It was boring and monotonous and painful, but I couldn't do anything about it.

Get up.

Breakfast.

Wash up and dress for school.

Church/in front of the staffroom until 7.10.

Class.

Recess - eat and hurt on the inside.

Class - and continue hurting.

Lunch - books in the locker and hurt more.

Class.

Home.

Tea.

Bathe.

Study.

Soppy love stories that don't make me feel better.

TV.

Dinner.

TV.

Sleep.

And repeat the above all over again the next morning. My life was a constant circle of pain and sadness. Every smile seemed faked, every laugh forced. I hated this, but all I could do was regret and hope the future would be better.

Of course, seeing him five days a week and not being able to look at him let alone talk to him did nothing to help. Yeah, officially we weren't a couple anymore, but he insisted to keep it that way. To me, it just hurt all the more.

Leaving notes in the locker became a duty, a responsibility, even though his notes were all still short and concise and made me feel worse, whereas mine were long and paragraphic. I always imagined walking in on him putting the note there, but...naturally, it never happened. The closest we'd gotten to was when I was in the locker room keeping books during my lunch break, and he came to stand behind me.

His Dominic scent filled my senses, and I leaned backward carefully, relishing the warmth he held and the closeness. He was wearing his black hoodie, rolled up at the sleeves, and his tie was undone as usual. Too paralyzed, too scared to make any move, let alone turn around to see him in the paranoia of ending a now rare perfect moment alone with him, made me stay where I was. Fuck, I missed this. I missed this so fucking much. A wracking sob emerged from my throat, and before I knew I was crying. To my hurt and disappointment, he didn't wrap his arms around me in an attempt to make me feel any better. Instead, he whispered, "Please don't cry," and handed me a small note.

Sniffing, I took it, and leaned back forward in irritation that he made no reaction to my obvious display of unhappiness. "I love you," he whispered, and left with a lingering peck on my cheek. As I stood standing at my locker in want and sadness and pure longing, more people poured in, and I wiped the falling tears away with the back of my hand and went out.

Suddenly, daily trips to the locker room at lunch became a norm. I'd stall there, pretending to be choosing which books to take back first, or rearranging books, until he came. One morning, when the room was dark and the sky cloudy, he came in. I didn't see nor hear him walk in so casually, didn't know he was there until his cold fingers gently curled around the back of my neck.

I gasped in shock at the sudden contact, but no sound came out as he pressed his lips to mine. The contact was short, and the kiss so brief I didn't have time to react to it, but I was not beyond savouring it. In that three seconds where his mouth was so passionately glued to mine, I'd closed my eyes and went along, desire and love and pain and pleasure burning hot after so long. We used to do this several times every day, and it wasn't to say I didn't appreciate it, but now it was even more precious.