Eighty Days of Heartache

the day before;

THE DAY BEFORE

IS LOVE THE best lie we have ever been told?

When we are young, we watch our parents and how they act. The majority of us, watch how tender our parents are to each other. We watch movies that portray fairytales, and we wish we were those fairytales. We watch Cinderella running as the clock strikes midnight, and we watch as Prince Charming uses her glass slipper to find her. From the very beginning of life, we understand love is unconditional.

What we don't see is heartache.

We have to learn that, firsthand.

So that's where my question is love the best lie we have ever been told? Stems from. As a girl that has experienced two heartaches, and having learnt the con that love truly is, I was starting to think that love really is the best lie society has ever told us.

I was starting to give up with love.

Then eighty consecutive days changed my mind.

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I LOOK AT my notes; the pages I spent tirelessly perfecting for psychology are splayed across the hallway floor, being trampled on by the snowy feet which belong to the students of St. George's Academy. I feel my heart ache, knowing that if he hadn't have barged into me I wouldn't breaking down at how wet and crinkled my notes are becoming.

I fall to my knees, ignoring his weighty stare and quickly snatch my notes to my chest. My aching chest.

It's aching for a few reasons. The first being that my psychology notes that are my pride and joy, colour coded to perfection and aesthetically appealing to each and every eye, are currently being damaged. It could be said I have O.C.D when it comes to my notes, and it wouldn't be an over exaggeration.

The second, being the heavy feel of mortification and embarrassment which settles over me like an itchy blanket. We all know how annoying itchy blankets are.

Being a natural corkscrew—curly—bright—ginger, I get enough stares as it is. So being crouched to the floor, scrambling as quickly as I can to stop my notes from being harmed and damaged any further, shouldn't make my cheeks flare red at the attention I've brought to myself.

Lastly, my chest is aching because it is him, of people that smacked into me. Because it is him, of all people that have caused my cheeks to turn scarlet, and my pulse to accelerate. Because it is him, Nero Eastwood.

Nero is crouched in front of me now too, helping collect my notes as the sound of the hallway dies down to a low hum, telling us we're the last two students left in this hallway.

If it wasn't for him, I could be in my car and on my way to get food, and my notes wouldn't be all dirty and ruined.

"I'm sorry— shit, I was talking to Kathleen and I didn't realise that you were in front of me, Fawn... I am so sorry," he rambles admittedly adorably, however I ignore him as I place my notes back inside my bag. Just for safe keeping.

He outstretches his muscled arm towards me, the notes slightly wavering in his grasp as he looks at me with this mesmerising jade green eyes through his sleek, jet black hair. Nero was the personification of an oxymoron; he was rather dark featured, for someone that was labelled the school's golden boy.

Shrugging a single shoulder at him, I accept the notes and shove those in my folder too. He's still watching me, slightly more cautiously than before. "I wasn't looking either, I was talking to Ivy."

He clears his throat awkwardly. "Right," the answer is short and clipped, and it's now I realise that there's literally nobody surrounding us. I'm suddenly alone in a hallway, with the school golden boy, and my pulse is thrumming to new heights.

There's a short period of silence, as I rise to my feet and dust myself off, and now suddenly he begins to walk closer. Creeping up on me slightly, and I feel myself grow more so on edge. I need oxygen, and I need it fast.

Nero places a hand on my shoulder. He gives it a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry about your notes, I know they're your pride and joy," he whispers lowly, and I don't know why. There's nobody around to hear us.

"It's okay," I smile tightly, my glossed lips stretching above my chin as I try to shake him off. My heart. It's not used to this type of ache. "Excuse me, I need to meet my brother —"

"He works at Apple Jack's, right?" He cuts in suddenly, and I raise an eyebrow as if to say, how do you know where my brother works? And then I remember that my brother was the village's prodigy before he decided to not go university, so everyone knows about his life choices.

Giving a single nod, I watch as Nero smiles a mega—watt smile. "You meet him everyday after school?"

I nod once more.

Nero then laughs.

"I'll see you tomorrow, babe."

And before I know it, it's just me, standing in an empty hallway as I watch his retreating figure and I think... what on earth just happened?

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[ a.n ]

• hey readers it's me, home girl narry with another teen fiction because i love me some teen fic. this ones going to be a lot more polished and perfect, the plot has been set in stone for a year pretty much, and my writing has [dramatically] improved from my first wattpad novel [that was complete train wreck first attempt].

BEFORE ANYONE FIGHTS ME;
1. this books starts on a TUESDAY & THIS IMPORTANT FOR THE TIMELINE OF THE BOOK.
2. this was a PROLOGUE because it happened A DAY BEFORE the eighty days of heartache began.

🚨 DISCLAIMER: i have no clue if st. georges is an actual school in the uk. if it is then im sorry for taking your school name i guess.

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thank you for reading.

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also add to your reading lists.

much love & thanks.

— NARITA 🧡