The Dead Poets

38

I found myself in a moment of déjà vu, as I stood anxiously outside Charlie's door. The last time I stood in this very position, feeling a similar way, was when I had come to forgive him for what had happened with Lucy.

I raise my fist to knock against the wood, but find my arm instantly falling back to my side.

I always, even with my limited experience, believed that relationships consist of up's and down's. Part of the reason we value the up's so much, is because we've experienced and survived the down's. But how many down's is too many...

My mind reeled a mile a minute, as I raise my knuckles to the wooden door once again, only this time forcing myself to knock.

The sound echos throughout my ears and around the empty corridor.

My eyes dart from Charlie's door towards mine just a little down the hall, mentally calculating whether I would have enough time to make a run for it.

Just as I'm about to settle on a decision, the door swings open.

Charlie stood in the doorway with a look of almost shock on his face. His lips were parted slightly, his skin pale. His light brown eyes were deep set, like he hadn't slept in days. Although during exam time that wasn't entirely uncommon, but Charlie wasn't much of a studier.

"Can we talk?" I offer to speak first, once a cloud of awkward silence threatened to fall upon us.

Charlie remains silent, simply nodding his head slowly, and stepping off towards the side for me to come in.

As I stepped inside the familiar four walls of Charlie's dorm, I realize I had absolutely no idea of what I was going to say.

A pang of sadness hits my chest, as my eyes catch sight of a Polaroid of us sitting atop his desk. Seeing the smile that graced our faces, slightly changed my mind. I was happy. Happier than I had ever been, and even if it requires work, I'm willing to do so, because I love him.

Just as I spun on my heel to face him, to tell him we should work on us, he opens his mouth to speak for the first time.

"Violet," he sighs, as I peel my eyes from the photograph.

"I'm sorry about the other night," he says softly, sitting beside me on the edge of his bed.

"I was stupid—and I trust you—I really do. I just, I don't know why I do the things I do sometimes. I don't feel like I deserve you, so I guess I'm just waiting for a better guy to come around and—"

"-hey," I say quickly, an effort to end his rambling.

"I would never leave you for anyone. And you do deserve me—we deserve each other."

His shoulders visibly sag and his tense muscles relax ever so slightly— as though a heavy load has just been taken off of him.

He smiles briefly, but his smile never quite reaches his eyes, and fades quickly.

"I know you're good for me. Hell, you're easily the best thing that's ever happened to me," he responds earnestly, his voice an odd mixture of gratitude and sorrow.

"I love you." His voice is soft and weak, but his words are strong and meaningful.

"But..." his low voice trails off, before I can even tell him that I love him just as much— maybe even more. The anxious pit that formed itself inside my stomach the moment I walked inside the room, began to grow even deeper.

"I don't know if I'm good for you."

I felt as though my heart fell to my stomach, as my body sat frozen, rooted in place. I force my gaze to meet his, but his eyes don't look at me. I wasn't sure what to do. Cry? Storm out? Yell at him?

Although, none of those felt right. I stood up, flattening down the hem of my skirt in the process.

My eyes fall onto that stupid picture sitting atop his desk. Happiness I wondered if I would ever again feel.

"So, what are you saying?" I manage to muster, my voice hoarse, as I stand above him.

He audibly sighs, standing to meet my eye line, but I quickly take a step away, causing a frown to stretch across his lips.

"I'm saying," he begins, his voice heavy with sadness.

"I think that maybe we should break up."

His words were like serrated knives cutting into my skin. I stared at him for a moment, not sure what emotion I felt most. Anger? Sadness? Loneliness?
It all became a blur, as I realized my eyes were quickly filling up with tears.

I swiftly turn on my heel, determined not to let him see a single tear fall down my cheeks.

Charlie's strained voice lightly calls my name from behind me, but my feet continue to quickly carry me away from his presence.

I reach my dorm and sink to my knees. I press my back against the wall, and finally let the warm tears stream down my face.

The Polaroid quickly becoming a distant memory. The happiness I once felt, was now reduced to sadness. Where there was once love and light, was now an aching hollow shell of nothing.

The sun began to set, the last of its golden rays providing little light into my otherwise dark room. I walk over to the lamp that sat atop the small wooden nightstand beside my bed, pulling its string and turning it on.

I reach under my pillow for the small stack of letters Charlie had given me. Angrily ripping off the small red ribbon that held the envelopes together, I let the papers fall over my lap.

My name was written in cursive print along the front of each envelope, with two small drawn hearts on either side. I grab the first envelope, gazing at it for a moment, before the reminder of his handwriting and the sappy words that lie beneath the pages, becomes too much to bare.

I tear the paper in two, three, four— until my floor becomes scattered with the small remains of Charlie's so called love.

Oddly enough, I felt a little better. It was almost therapeutic. Clearly his words of affection meant nothing to him— I meant nothing to him.

I picked up the next letter, and then the next one, and another, until I finally fell asleep surrounded by the shredded pieces of our broken love.