after alice; book three {5sos}

twelve

it already feels like i escaped decades ago. i feel weaker than ever, struggling to comprehend the idea that i'm going to have a baby and that there's a baby living within me.

i push the last cardboard box through the front door, my new cutlery and clothes and small furniture all packed away within these boxes. it's five weeks after i've left and i have already managed to sign a lease and move my way into a new apartment.

i've used my mum's current money until she sells the house and until it sells i can only hope that everything will be fine.

my baby is ten weeks, the bump still not visible. all i want to do is cry; i'm doing this on my own.

the post-mortem clarified that the last rabbit, louis, was in fact the brother from all those years ago who disappeared and never returned. what was he doing all those years? i can't help but dwell over the liberty and the wholeness of disappearing and never returning again and i envy him in an aspect; to disappear and fall off the face of the earth sounds perfect to me.

but now i'm safe and myself wholeheartedly returning back to who i used to be, all those months ago. i've been many people since i made those terrible decisions and the person i am now is not somebody i recognise. yet i feel fragments of myself returning, glimmerig and filling me with hope.

hope is the only thing i have. this baby, along with the hope, is the only thing that i have remaining. i have no friends, no relationships, no family that i know of. my aunty and uncle have moved to the other side of the world and they said they would visit as soon as possible but they never made it across. they haven't tried yet and i don't blame them; i wouldn't drop everything for me either.

i'm working closely with the police to avoid a trial and everything has seemed to halt to a standstill. nothing is revolving or taking place and i prefer it this way. i prefer the stillness and the wholeness and the promise that everything will always remain the same.

i wander into my bedroom, the walls bricked with thick wooden shelves. i can already visualise my books on these shelves and my pictures hung here. the haze in my head clears slightly as i place the palm of my hand on my invisible bump.

there's already a few boxes stacked in here and the bed is yet to be made. i've labelled the cardboard boxes pushed up against the brick: clothes, small furniture and memories. i pull the tape away from the box labelled memories, feeling a spark of forgiveness within me and the pity i have regarded for myself simmering away.

i always think back to the night, the light breeze, the night sky reeling with stars, the taste of luke's lips, the tea cups, the chipped paint, the matted fur. this is all followed by the red and white stripes, the thick dust, the blood, the blood and the blood. it all hurts too much, yet i'm not to blame; i was immature in the most innocent way, a mind spinning with adventures and dreams. i wanted things and i would always fight for what i wanted, however this time i was fighting for the wrong thing.

i should have never climbed that fence, i know i shouldn't have, yet i always had the impulses and the wild, abrupt thoughts.

the memories are stacked, from school hoodies, certificates and larger photo frames. on the top is a simple black box, similiar to that of a jewellery box. it's velvet coated, the edges slightly worn. tracing my fingertip along the soft, velvety lid, i smile with nostalga, and with caution open the lid.

the memories flood the room, from drunken nights with my best friends and lying beneath trees with bryana. there's ones of kian and i on a coffee date, the smile on my face grinning yet the soul within my eyes frowning. i remember we had argued that day. i feel the tears welling in my eyes, the tiny photographs capturing the energy in the exact moment that luke and i had shared a momentary love that would become eternal, the energy of bryana and i getting frozen yoghurt together and the energy of the sea salt and the sand from being at the beach with bryana. there's millions of my best friends and i, one after the other, ones that are blurred and indecipherable of green beer bottles and ripped tights.

i gently fall to my knees, the rug cushioning my knees, and i want to cry out that i'm sorry and that i always will be sorry. the energy is so alive and it all hits home, right within my heart where the storm continually spins, lifting up the scraps of happiness that ever lived within my body.

there's a knock at the door which is peculiar since i only moved my little belongings in half an hour ago. i hastily gather the tiny polaroids pictures from the carpet and delicately place them back into the black velvet box.

i fumble with the door, not familiar with the lock, before pulling it open.

the uncertain frown on my face and on their face gives me an uneasy feeling. i feel as though i should know this boy, who looks around my age, if not slightly older.

he's staring back at me with shame and uncertainity whether he should hug me.

"we heard. i'm sorry we didn't come sooner." her softly says, his fingers dancing around each other, a nervous habit i assume. i further scan his face, my mouth opening to speak and then closing again.

his eyes are light brown, a caramel colour, his hair a mop of curls on his head. i piece together the mop of curls and the button nose and i instantly craft an image of my aunty.

"joe," i breathily say and desperately wrap my arms around him. "oh god, i can't believe you're here. i- i wasn't expecting you. how do you know i'm here?"

"i came to help, that's all." he acknowledges, awkwardly pulling away. "i haven't seen you in years... since you were only little. you've changed, a lot."

i don't say a word and take a step back, allowing him to wander inside. he doesn't take a step further, his eyes searching my most likely drained face in an attempt of asking how i am.

"i thought you might need somebody," he gently says. "i- i've been travelling lately and it only made sense to travel here to see you. i'm so sorry... for what you have been through."

i take a step away, dumbfounded with my knees weakening. he strikes a resemblance to ashton, the sweet, curly haired boy that will always be one of my best friends. i wonder what it would have been like if one of the others, not just luke, was still breathing. i wonder what it would feel like to be comforted by someone who had the blood and the dust on their clothes to tell the tale and to comfort them alone. i should let him in and rid of this lonliness but i can't; i don't need help in a life that is without substance and happiness.

"i'm sorry, joe," i respond. "but you can't be here. i- i can't do this."

i begin to shut the door yet he urgently wedges his body between the door and the frame, startling me.

"please, sophia. just hear me out," he gently says. "i'm sorry for what you have been through and i'm here to help you."

"no," i shake my head, the anger washing over me. "no, i don't know who you are!"

a fuse in my brain seems to pop, my mind flipping upside down.

"you do," he begs with me. "i'm your cousin. i'm trying to help you. i know i haven't seen you in ages but don't you remember how we used to be before the argument between our parents?"

i falter, the palm of my hand still pushed up against the door. i shake the thoughts from my mind.

"get out of my fucking home," i demand, my voice desperate for peace. "please, just get out!" shriek, my head throbbing as the anger pumps through my fists.

joe shrinks away from the door, completely disappearing.

"okay, i'll go." he says with disappointment, the bitterness sticking to his words.

i slam the door shut and bolt the door, restlessly wandering the living area as i sob.

"no, no, no." cry out, hitting my balled fists against my thighs. my blurred surroundings are spinning and all i need is luke. him. i let out a painful cry and all i can hear is the sound of me wailing, the pain i can hear causing me even more pain. how can i ever tackle this grief?