Vendetta

Chapter 11:Restless Is The Soul

Aella

November's Beginning

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I watched him quietly from across the way, hoping and praying that he wouldn't come over. Praying that he would break eye contact.

And when he did break eye contact,  I regretted my prayer almost instantly, missing his eyes on me. I watched him order his drink, probably a spiced coffee as usual. I watched him avoid eye contact as he waited. Memories of us smiling and laughing bombarded my senses and I felt a tug at my heartstrings. I held my hand over my heart with my eyebrows drawn. No matter how much I missed him, or how much my heart longed for him, I would never go back on my word.

I promised myself that I would never go back to him. And a promise to myself held greater value than feelings for and from someone who couldn't understand my self-morals. 

"Hey, Princess," I smiled to myself, forcing my mind from him. Only one person in the entire world called me that. And he was, by far,  my most favorite person. "Who're you ogling?" Chris nudged me over and plopped into the booth beside me. He took a piece of my chocolate cake and side-eyed me. I looked around the cafe. It was quiet and very few customers. A young man stood idly behind the counter, awaiting the arrival of new or returning customers.

"Chris," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Don't be so loud,"  He laughed at my whine and helped himself to another piece of my cake. "And aren't you supposed...to be working?" He ignored that question. The forest green of his eyes hid his undying and unfaltering aversion-but not well enough even though he tried. He let a small smile creep onto his face, a smile that held bitterness and dark secrets.  He only revealed that side of himself to people he trusted and those people were few and far between.

"Oh-o-oh, okay, okay," His chuckle is deep and rich, pulling himself back to the cheery Chris. "I get it," Again, that infamous eye roll comes.

"No, you don't," I pull my ponytail out and let my hair tumble down, framing my face in layers and layers of silky brown. I had just gotten my hair done again, a nice simple middle-part blowout. It was much easier to manage in this weather and saved me a ton of time in the mornings. Chris takes it upon himself to massage the spot where my ponytail was, of course with his free hand not the one with chocolate crumbs all over it, relieving the area of tension. I moaned in delight.

"Thanks..." I mumbled. He smiled.

"So, tell me, have you and Dakota spoken since the...incident?" He gave me a 'Can I?' look, nodding towards the spiced tea. I gave him my nod of approval.

"No...I cut him off, remember. I couldn't bring myself even to look away from him. It's like I miss him, but...I can't get over what he did. I thought he was better than that.  He could have been. He should have. But, he wasn't, and it broke my heart," I held back the tears that threatened to spill over and reveal my true feelings. Even though my tone was bitter my heart was not. To everyone else, I was angry and unforgiving, but deep down I was still that hurt and lonely girl, longing for a past she could not bring forward to the future.

His hand fell from atop my head and found its way to my hand. He intertwined our fingers and squeezed. He said nothing, but I knew he'd always be there for me even through his silence. We sat hand in hand, my eyes focused on what was outside and his on the young man who shared my past and was the reason for some of my pain.

We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, him sneaking the rest of my cake and spiced tea, and me resting my head on one of my best friend's shoulders, grateful for their presence.

I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the moment of peace in the toasty cafe.

~~~~

I drove silently back to my house after the visit to The Bistro. The drive was almost too quiet.  If not for the mummering of the radio and the muted whistle of the fall wind as my car sped through the street, I would have lost myself deeper into my thoughts. Already, my mind was floating towards the shore of my past,  just barely brushing against the land of what was a memory. If I allowed myself to reach any further, my eyes would be obscured by something that was not reality but subtle caresses of a wish. So, to keep my mind busy, but only busy enough, I turned the music up and sang along to the familiar song.

Finally, I reached my house in Cambridge with a sigh. It had been a long and short day simultaneously. It had been a day where I had risen early before the sun, done much more than I planned, and had to retire early to keep myself afloat amidst the waves of grief. Even though my time had been spent in a good space, I had grown eerily tired and irritable, not long after seeing him from across the space. A flash of his pearly white smile skittered across my vision, making my heart beat faster briefly. I slid out of my warm, sleek, black Chevrolet Camaro Coupe and locked the doors behind me before I entered my home.

It was warm, but I shivered from a coolness only death could bring. His presence was well known here and he whispered in the air.

It was quiet and dark. I assumed no one was home, deciding not to announce my return. Instead, I hung my coat on the silver rack beside the door and made my way through the house. I stopped at the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and ignoring the large floor-to-ceiling window that framed the view of the lake. Instead, I walked up the stairs to the hallway. All the bedroom doors were closed, and I stopped at the second door down the hall.

It was closed, but I could still see everything inside. I saw the king-sized bed pushed up against the center of the wall that was parallel to the ensuite bathroom. I saw the mural of the stars painted on the ceiling. I saw a forest painting, similar to mine, on the wall where the door to the closet was.

I rested my hand on the doorknob, its coolness seeping into my palm.

I opened the door.

His room was just how he'd left it. Clean and tidy, everything in its place. His books were stacked neatly on his desk, and his painting supplies were in the box beside it. I smiled to myself, thinking of the many times I had caught my brother painting on his wall or a canvas and he'd always say; "Can't stop once I start,". Mom had left his curtains open to let in light, but it was still barely bright enough to see one hundred percent. I flicked the light, and something flashed across the room on his desk.

I made my way over, the crinkling of my water bottle was loud in the silence of the room.

On his desk sat a gold cross at the end of a long gold chain. I picked it up, feeling the heaviness of it in my hand, and remembering how my brother wore it every day.

I pulled it over my head, and let it rest against my heart, the coolness of it a reminder that he was gone and it was my responsibility to keep his memory alive.

***

The pendant is above.

I honestly hope whoever is reading this is enjoying the story. I have been putting in a lot of time and effort in writing and rewriting this.