Help our souls // bws

Epilogue

After pacing for what lasted an eternity in front of the gallery, he eventually pushed the door and stepped in, his body at the same time begging him to run away, again, and warming up at the thought of seeing her. The bell rang, surprising him a little. He wouldn't have much time to prepare himself. Although, no one seemed to rush immediately to welcome him, which was a good thing. He turned around and observed the gallery which once was known as Gregor's music shop. It had been extended a lot, probably engulfing the Italian restaurant which stood next to the shop more than ten years ago. On this part of the room were hanging up several photographies in black and white. The theme, he guessed, was travelling. He distinguished different civilisations from all around the world, always under the same angle. It caught the beauty of each one of them. The photos were beautiful, captivating, mesmerising. Different names and none of them was hers. He wondered if she had found those amazing photographers and built up the exposition.

He brought his hands to his mouth in a desperate move to warm them. He always hated winter. The cold weather had the annoying knack of turning him into a depressed man. He sighed loudly, remembering all the times his friends told him that they didn't like to tour with him at this time of the year because he always was annoying as hell. He sighed. His hands smelled like cigarette and suddenly he wanted to smoke so badly. Heels clicked on the ground and he hesitated one second on whether hiding behind the wall in the middle of the room or not. Panic was real. He hadn't seen her in thirteen years and he feared this moment, the moment his eyes would meet hers again, the moment she would realise it was him. He wondered if her eyes would reflect the hate she probably held all this time against him. He wondered if she had changed a lot, physically and mentally. The band and Spencer never showed any pictures of her through the years, they didn't talk about her or his decision to leave without a real word. They didn't need to say anything, their disapproving looks the first few months told him about their thoughts on his behaviour. Somehow, he wish they had said something. He wish they could've stopped him from doing the biggest mistake of his life. "What can I do for--"

She appeared in the shadow of the backdoor and her heart fluttered, her legs threatening to let go of her although her feet were dug deep in the floor. The smile which developed on her face minutes ago slowly vanished, she was simply too surprised. Her breath became hasty and hard to catch. She couldn't believe it, couldn't believe who stood in front of her. He didn't seem to have changed in so many years. He wore a long navy blue coat, black pants and black boots. She thought that he looked more like a grown up, which was normal regarding the fact that they were thirty. Her eyes couldn't focus on a precise part of him, they looked for any details who had changed. His eyes darkened over the years, it seemed. His hair were shorter than when she last saw him, the curls falling just a little on his forehead. His face may be thinner too. A recently shaved beard caught her eyes. Maybe a thing or two changed, but he still looked the same. He was beautiful, she thought. Her cheeks tinted with a bright shade of red, an old habit that wouldn't go away. "W-what are you doing here ?" She hadn't stuttered in years but his presence made her feet as if she was seventeen again.

"I decided to come home, I guess." Home. He never felt home for the past thirteen years, he even forgot what home felt like, until then. He sought for this feeling everywhere, whether it was places in the world, in music, in alcohol or in other woman's arms. Nothing worked. His heart always missed something to be complete. He'd been happy through the years, his dreams came true, he couldn't ask for more but in dark times, he couldn't see the end of his hidden depression. He never found the strength to forget himself, he never forget her and after all these years, his feelings only increased.

He stared at her for a moment, silently. She was thinner, wearing a dark dress with thighs, her heels boots making her seem way taller than she really was. Her long and curled brown hair falling on her shoulders, she seemed tired. Her light blue eyes still sent shivers through his spine. Her face would always remind her or anybody else of this accident; a long scar running from her right temple to her ear. His stomach turned upside down and the taste of iron appeared in his mouth. He remembered how damaged she was, how many bruises she had on her body, how many ribs she broke, he remembered how frightening it was for him to see her laying in a hospital bed, hoping she'd wake up someday. She did, eventually, but by then he was already far away from her. Their eyes locked into each other. She was beautiful, he thought. He looked over her head and noticed a sentence painted in black on the white wall. "Some things strike a chord so strong that they leave a constant melody playing in your head." Right out from the letter he wrote years ago, he cracked a smile. She didn't forget him. She couldn't forget him with that sentence that meant so much on her working place, could she ? He hoped she couldn't, because she was the only thing in his head. The memory of her took over his life so much lately that he didn't see any other way out than coming back home, coming back to her, secretly hoping that she'd be there waiting for him. "How have you been all these years ?"