The Truth About Damian Moore

Chapter 14: Love Between Wounded Hearts

I snapped out of my past that floated in the sky in front of my green eyes like the changing seasons.

I stood at my favorite window in my old home, holding a small cup of tea and watching the snow fall. Every season brought back memories of the mystery boy I always thought about as a little girl, but winter seemed to haunt me.

I was an old woman now, but those emotional days of my childhood never faded.

Wind blew the snow around in little flurries, and the sky darkened.

I sipped my tea, breathing in the loneliness of my home.

Damian Moore had left that day so long ago and never returned.

My mom passed away peacefully many years ago, but I knew my heart would never be peaceful with her absence in my heart.

Garvan Wentz grew up to become a detective like he always dreamed about. He was the one who discovered that Damian had been murdered a couple of weeks after he left Grimwick.

He broke the crushing news to me with tears in his eyes. Soon after that, he announced that he would put the murderers in jail. True to his words, Garvan hunted down the men and they were thrown in prison for a lifetime.

Garvan had lived with me in the home of peeling wallpaper and wounded hearts until he died a couple of years ago. He was buried in front of his favorite tree and a bench was placed on the opposite side where I often sat to remember my best friend.

With all of them gone, I spent everyday sipping out of the tea cups Garvan had given me and looking for messages in the snow.

I finished my tea and turned to place the cup in the kitchen, but something on the wall stopped me like it always did.

The picture. The picture from so long ago.

Damian and I standing in the glimmering snow in front of Garvan's favorite tree. Our pajamas and ruffled hair. Our smiles, but pain filled eyes. Our wounded hearts beating out of our chests. A childhood that ended too quickly and too painfully.

The doorbell rang. I slowly moved across the room and dragged open the giant wooden door. A package sat on the welcome mat in front of me. I picked it up and started to move inside, but froze like the icicles on the windows when I saw the faint message in the snow.

My first friend, my mystery girl, my Claire.

I stared at the words, almost hearing my mom calling me downstairs to clean it up. I smiled and closed the door with the package in my hand. I opened it up and found a little journal, a faded picture that matched the one on my wall, and a box of tissues.

I opened the journal, hoping to read it before I started sobbing.

Claire Blevins was a reliable friend and a confusing mystery all wrapped up in one girl who barely spoke.

She would stay loyal to anyone even when red and blue lights flashed and sirens wailed.

Of course there were rumors. Everyone whispered around that she a wild girl with a dream of solving mysteries. The main story was that her best friend practically lived in a tree.

If she ever missed a day at school, it was quickly decided by the crowds of teens that she had found a mystery to solve.

She didn't wear makeup or dress up for any occasion. She didn't skip school (often) and didn't climb trees like her best friend.

Girls didn't talk to her, they just stared.

Boys weren't in love with her, only curious.

She wasn't the talk of the town, but she was quite possibly the love of my life.

Only I knew the truth about Claire Blevins.

My cheeks heated up as I read the very first words of his journal, realizing that he must of been observing me like I had been observing him. I went back to reading, and found that he had written emotionally about all the memories we shared. I turned the page to the final entry.

My mystery girl,

How are you? I hope your answer to that question will be good every time for as long as you live. Is Garvan doing well? Hopefully he hasn't fallen out of that tree of his. Please tell him that I say hi and that I recommend that he wear darker hoodies during his spying times. How is your mom? Please pass on the message that I can't even express how thankful I am that she took me in so quickly. I know I do not have much time left so I plan on leaving you this entry as a way to say goodbye. I sit on a bus headed north now. The snow is falling outside and it reminds me of you. To be honest, all the seasons remind me of you. The snow in winter, the leaves in fall, the rain in spring, and the flowers in summer. I am crying as I write this letter which is causing people to give me similar looks to the ones that I will miss so much from the people of Grimwick. I packed tissues in this little box, hoping that if you do happen to ever feel sick or cry over me like I cry over you, you will be prepared. I also packed the special photo that I will always hold dear. Garvan had given it to me the day that I left, and I placed it in my coat pocket in front of my heart. I gaze at it sometimes as the bus drives on and the snow keeps falling.

My dear Claire, it is time for me to go. I will forever remember you and the kindness you always held in your outreached hands. Please stay safe and happy. Take care of Garvan as he takes care of you. I am happy to announce that I have solved the mystery of Claire Blevins. The truth about you is that... I love you.

I love you, mystery girl. I love you with all of my wounded heart.

                                                                                               Love,
                                                                                                  Damian Moore (mystery boy)

I read the final sentence over and over and over again. He loved me and I...I loved him. I cried and reached for the tissue box Damian had known I needed. Written on the box was "Get well soon ;)", the same message he had left for me all those years ago. Under the tissue box was the very same coat Damian had worn in the picture and talked about in the journal. I pulled it on and breathed in the piney scent of the boy I would never see again. I picked up the picture he had sent and tucked it in the pocket in front of my heart. I held the journal close to my chest.

Damian Moore.

The truth about Damian Moore was that I loved him.

The End

A/N:
Thanks for reading! Did you like the story? Should I do a sequel or something? Any requests for another story?