Black Ink || Harlena a.u.

39.

The name made something inside me click; which could have been at the recognition of the name, or the reaction of the name.

His smile faltered at my hand that gripped onto his a bit tighter. I let go.

"Nice to meet you, Louis."

S e l e n e 's  P.O.V

The next day was as uneventful as the day before. Except for the fact that Bridget mentioned that she and Niall were official and that when I had a boyfriend, she would be more than thrilled to double date.

I'd have to talk to my 'boyfriend' about that one- queue the pointed look at reality.

It wasn't long after I got home that Anne texted me, letting me know she was staying over at Liam's.

I was glad that she couldn't see my look of disappointment.

My room was cold, but our heater had broken and so I had to resort to my blankets. However, they weren't enough and so I went into my closet to pull out the ones on the top shelf.

I was already on my tippy-toes, fingers gripping the tiniest bit of blanket, but I refused to drag in a chair from the kitchen. I tugged hard and it came tumbling down with a hard crash.

With a frown at the loud sound coming from a blanket, I moved it to uncover the black box with random scribbles drawn over it here and there.

There was a sense of nostalgia at the small box that contained the whole reason as to why I didn't let anyone else decide what I wanted to do with my life.

It wasn't the cheesy writing on the old and tattered paper, but rather the determination behind it that had sparked something within me during my last two years of high school.

Carefully, I picked up the paper and sat down on the floor, reading over a simple response, to the simple prompt, I had written years ago.

Prompt: Write about the sound, the colour, and the smell of loneliness.

It's what brings that deafening silence- with the exception of your own ragged breaths, that try to stay as rhythmic as your thumping heart. It's that itch in your fingertips that yearn to touch skin besides your own. It's what causes the tears to sit at the brim, impatiently waiting to be stopped before jumping down on pale skin that was once covered in various shades of colours, and then even further down- in between the small cracks of the lips that stopped curling around the words that made them smile. The sharp intake of air making those tears halt for a split of a second- and in those few moments, you can smell it... the reminiscence of the sweet scent in the air that lingers in a painful reminder of all the things gone and all the nothings you have left. And that's when it hits you the hardest. 

Y o u ' r e   a l o n e .

I smiled softly at the words that I fought so hard to defend- more specifically, the goal to travel and write. The whole situation after bringing it up to my parents had made them furious.

They didn't want a writer, they wanted a lawyer.

I shook my head at the sad outcome. But as I looked around my room, the writing couldn't have been more true. It's as if I had predicted my own future.

The dream I had fought so hard for seemed to be only a thing of the past. I had gone no where near it and the thought alone depressed me.

What was I going to do for the rest of my life?

Wait tables?

This whole time I had been doing everything for the wrong reasons because I had forgotten what had brought me here in the first place.

My life was an absolute shit-hole.

I had no grand sum of money saved up to travel; the course I had taken was even more useless because I had done nothing with it afterwards.

I was still sitting by myself in a cold and dark room, with no one to talk to, no pages to fill and no ink to write down the mirrored splashes of thoughts that painted the canvas that was my mind.

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BLACK INK IS #823 IN FAN FICTION

THANK YOU ALL SO FUCKING MUCH FOR THAT.

It may seem like no big deal, but this was a story I had lost hope for and now... Wow xx

-M.D.R.