The Love Of A Lifetime

Broken Hearts In Cold Nights

 It was a cold July night and rain was falling from the sky, clinging to my skin. I was barefoot but I had lost feeling in my feet hours ago. My breath came out in small white clouds before me and I had goose bumps covering my skin. I was shivering, my teeth were chattering. The street lamps were dim and far apart, allowing me to make out only basic shapes in the darkness.

  I wasn't sure where I was, or even where I had been, I just knew I had to keep walking; there was somewhere I had to be. I tried desperately to think of where that was. It was important, that much I knew. But I simply couldn't remember. So I continued walking, hoping to know my destination when I saw it.

  It was three blocks later when I finally recognised a house. It was a one story brick house with a blue roof, and a blue letter box with the number thirteen written in black out the front. The house had a beautiful garden full of colourful flowers, and a welcome mat by the front door. I walked to the door and paused. I had no idea why I was drawn to this house. Was it my house? Did a friend of mine live here? Someone whom I trusted? I didn't know, I just knew this was the house I had been searching for all night, the place I had known I'd needed to come to without even realising it. I knocked on the door.

  It took a few moments for them to answer and it was then that I realised I had no clue as to the time. I imagined it to be very late as none of the houses I passed on my journey here had had lights on. When the door finally opened, after some grumbling and shuffling from the other side, I was blinded by the light streaming out from the inside of the house. It took the person a moment to really see me, but once they did they pulled me into a tight hug, asking if I was alright. I still had no idea who the hell this person was, but I felt safe with them. 

  After they had ensured I was, in fact, alright, I was pulled into the house and had a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders, for which I was grateful. I was handed a cup of warm tea and hounded with questions, none of which I knew the answers to. But then, they asked the one question I wished they hadn't;

  "Ella, where's Liam?"

  And that was when everything came rushing back to me. Liam, the boy I loved, had been killed tonight, shot before my very eyes, in an alley by some punk with a gun who was trying to prove himself.

  Then the tears started and I didn't think they would ever stop, my heart was broken.

  I don't know how long I sat there, crying, holding my locket, but as the tears began to slow I was lead to our bedroom, the bedroom I had shared with Liam, where I planned on staying until my Liam was brought back to me.