Never Again

Chapter Fifteen

Dear Dairy,

I'm not sure what I'm doing, writing in you. I haven't been able to write since...

I pause, raking my hands over my face.

Scratch that. I have moved into my new house, in Ireland. I finally unpacked the last box a couple days ago, and I guess it's been okay so far. Lots of rain, but I guess that's better than the sun— I don't want anything happy right now. Speaking of the rain, my first night here was certainly memorable. As soon as I got off the phone it started storming like mad— just great, right? How fitting. So I spent like, twenty minutes trying to hail a cab, and when I finally got one I had to load all my luggage myself; but then, maybe five, ten miles out, the driver says that he's running out of gas and that he can't go any further with me in the cab. The little jackass kicks me out onto the curb, and I'm left in the pouring rain in a country I've never been to before. So I trudge through the storm and find this bar— people here call it a pub? Anyways, I end up causing a scene, and this bartender ended up helping me, and even offered to take me to the flat. I know, right? What was I doing, letting a stranger give me a ride? But, hey, I had no other options, okay?

Anyways, this guy was so... different. I'm not sure how to put it, but like... he just had this air about him, you know? But, it was strange. He had such confidence, like he didn't have a care in the world. He obviously had a way with women— the way they were just hanging off of him was quite annoying, actually. He wasn't exactly cocky, but he knew that he was good looking, and so did everyone around him.

But, he almost seemed... kind. Caring. Almost humble, in a way. The way that he was taking care of the customers, especially the old drunks, was almost humorous to watch. By his physique alone, one would think that he's an asshole. The pure-white smile, the tamed yet crazy curly hair, the dimples and his jawbone that could cut anything. But, but those eyes... He had these green eyes, that was for sure— but, I couldn't tell what kind, light or dark. They kept changing, like they themselves weren't positive what color they were... they reminded me of jade, they were so pure. But at the same time, they were also clouded. Like he was hiding something, like he had this past and

I pause, looking up. Blinking a few times, shaking my head, I read over what just wrote.

What the hell, El?

Disgusted with myself, I throw my journal at the wall, watching it fall to the floor with a satisfying thud. Suddenly feeling very anxious, I look around my room to find something to distract me, but I realize that I haven't unpacked nor decorated; besides my bed, the room is as bare as it was when I arrived. I get up and try to make my way out of the room but the walls seem to close in faster the closer I get to the door. Panic sets in and I fall to the floor, shaking.

Someone help me, I think. Octavia isn't home yet: you're all alone...

"No, no no no!" I yell, curling up.

"El? Eleanor?" I hear off in the distance. I hear what sounds like doors opening and closing, objects dropping, feet running.

Who is home? I hear voice, but they sound like echoes; I feel the brush of contact, but it feels distant.

"El? C'mon, you're scaring me." The voice sounded familiar.

"Octavia?"

"Yes, yes it's me." I open my eyes only to see TV static, but slowly I can see my room again. Turning my head, I see my flatmate, her eyebrows scrunched together.

"Hi," I quietly say. She gives a small laugh.

"Well, hi there." We look at each other in silence. She finally speaks, whispering, "Are you alright?" It takes me a moment for me to reply.

"Yes, I think so." I didn't meet her eyes.

"I came home and heard you yelling. You kept saying, "make it stop", repeatedly. I, I thought..." I look up at her and see that her bottom lip was trembling, her eyes watering. I reach out and place my hand on hers. "What was that...?" she asks softly. I think back to the airport.

"I think it was a panic attack." Her head pops up. "I, I've had one, before. Once, in the airport. I was only way here and just began thinking and, and..." I close my eyes, remembering. "I went down, collapsed."

"Thinking?"

"Of, of him..." My voice shakes. Octavia lets out a sigh.

"El, hunny. You know that it's okay to say his name, right?" My head whips around, my eyes wide.

"No. I won't say it." I stand up and Octavia follows suit.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." There's an awkward silence that soon fills the room. "Hey," she says, breaking it. "Did you bring anything over besides clothes?" I shake my head no. "Perfect! How about you get changed, and we go out for drinks and décor shopping? Your room should feel like home, this whole flat should. My treat, okay?" I give her a funny face. "C'mooooooon, Eleanor!" She drags out, wiggling her eyebrows. I laugh, and she takes that as a yes. "Perfect!" She claps her hands. "Hurry up, lazy!" And with that, she runs out the door.

Slightly chuckling to myself, I walk over to my bags and pull out an army green tank top, a mustard-yellow cardigan, and a pair of black skinny jeans. Slipping them on, I slide my shoes on and grab my purse.

"Well," I say, looking into the mirror. "it's as good as it's gonna get." I walk out and find Octavia sitting on one of the bar stools.

"Man, are you slow!" I throw her a glare and she laughs. "Let's go shopping!"

~~~

We have been gone for three hours and have only gone to two stores. I'm exhausted, but Octavia seems to have more energy than when we began. It could have been due to the two cups of coffee that she had, and the fact that I had a smoothie instead of the latte she tried to get me. She got super pissy about it, but two minutes later she was laughing about how a girl from New York doesn't like coffee. Maybe she's bipolar, or ADD? Either way, I'm actually enjoying myself. At the moment, my silly flatmate was trying to hold five different rolls of curtains in her arms— it is quite amusing.

"Okay, okay," she says. "What about these?"" And that's when she lets them fall to the floor.

"Octavia!" She gives me an innocent look as I roll my eyes. We start picking through them, deciding which one I— or Octavia, rather— is going to buy. We completely dissect the options and end up agreeing on a maroon colored pair. Earlier we had bought new paint for the walls and the furniture, and some accessories like mirrors and picture frames. Sadly, we couldn't find a bookshelf that could fit in my room nicely. I guess my books will just have to stay in my suitcase for now.

As we are on our way to the checkout, something catches my eye. Pausing, I take a closer look. It is a painting of a Gerber daisy. The strokes are small, but still strategically places. It doesn't look completely alive— it was wilting, but still beautiful.

"El?" I snap back into reality and find Octavia looking at me funnily.

"Yea?"

"You fell behind. What are you looking at?" she questions. I glance at the painting and she says, "It's dying." I shake my head.

"It's just learning to grow a different way." I pick it up off the shelf. "It's beautiful." She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say a word.

"Well, c'mon then. Let's go check out." Following her to the registers, I silently smile to myself, my beautiful flower in my hands.