•••••3rd Person Perspective
After tearful goodbyes to Ben and Josh, Aiden retrieved her suitcase, and caught the earliests available buses to the nearest airport in Detroit.
She stepped on and found a seat, tears stinging her eyes as she held them back.
Sky arrived last to the lobby of the hotel, where Ben, Josh, and DeMarius waited to walk to the theatre.
"Where's Aiden?" He asked, noticing the absence of the group's fifth member.
Ben's eyes grew wide.
"She didn't tell you?" Josh asked, his mouth slightly agape.
Sky tilted his head. "She didn't tell me what?"
Ben turned on DeMarius. "You said she'd told him."
"I thought she had! I knew she had something else to tell him, but not this," DeMarius turned his sorrowful gaze to Sky.
"Tell me what?" Sky demanded.
"She left." Josh said quietly, bracing himself for his friend's reaction.
Sky furrowed his brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"
DeMarius held out a journal, with a string wrapped around it to keep it closed. "She said to give this to you."
"Where is she?" He asked, taking the journal and looking it over.
"She just walked down the the bus stop—"
Sky bolted from the room, running towards the door that lead to the street.
"You won't catch her!" Josh called.
Sky didn't listen.
He weaved in and out of the early morning crowds, until he reached the stop, with the bus pulling away.
He searched the windows, looking for her face, but she wasn't on his side of the bus, and his time had run out.
The bus started driving away from the stop.
He pulled out his phone.
Her phone buzzed.
She looked down at the caller, finding his contact photo covering her phone screen.
His red hair, his handsome bronze eyes.
She couldn't bear to look at his face anymore, and turned her phone over.
"Pick up, pick up," he muttered to himself, calling her again.
She declined call after call until they ceased coming through.
He gave up, at least momentarily, not knowing what to do.
His feet took him to the theater, and he walked the hallways and staircases.
He made it to a secluded section of dressing rooms, and paced the hall, trying to think.
He looked down at the journal in his hands.
He unwrapped the string and opened it up to the first page.
Dear Sky Flaherty,
I'm not sure what you've done to me, but I can't stop thinking about you.
To cope with this strange conundrum, I'll write something about you. I'm not sure what it will be, but there's no other way for me to figure you out. I have a theory of what you've done, but please tell me I'm wrong in my assumptions.
Let's see how this goes.
Sincerely, me.
He turned the page, finding it marked with a stanza written in black pen.
And you held me close and told me,
"everything's alright"
Now I can't remember
What was bad about that night
