p u r i t y

c h a p t e r 1

The autumnal leaves crunched underneath my tattered crimson converse. The only other sound to be heard was the blissful singing of a robin red breast, carelessly hopping up and down on a willow tree. A musty fragrance of grief and sorrow filled the air, which must have meant that I was close.

It was cold. Freezing cold - to the point where I thought I was going to turn to ice at any moment. Bony finger shaped trees were whispering in my ear that I should never have come. Deep down, I agreed with them. A commotion of uncomfortable feelings were dancing around in my stomach, just waiting to be hurled out.

It was a misty September evening in Portland, Oregon. Rose went missing almost a year ago, and I hadn't even visited her memorial. I knew she was still out there, I guess that was why. I didn't want to see sympathising candids or letters about my best friend, talking about her like she was dead. I wouldn't believe that. However, Dad said I had to pay my respects to the Collins'.

When I turned the corner and approached the local church, the tears slowly started to stroke my flushed face. The memorial was on display, with dimly lit candles and roses the colour of spilt blood - those were her favourite.

There was a picture of her behind the candles, showing off her pearly whites. I remember specifically when it was taken; Bonfire Night 2013. She looked joyous and peaceful, like she didn't have a care in the world.

A bench tile was laid in front of it. Engraved on it was:

Our dearest Rose. We miss you.

I pulled out a blinding white rose from my denim jacket, and placed it with the rest of the flowers, wiping a single tear from my cheek with the tartan scarf I had wrapped around my neck. It stood out - it was the brightest one there. I figured it would at least bring some hope to such a tragedy. I'd heard it was a sign of protection, and that's exactly what I wanted Rose to be.

* * *

The intimate coffee shop was almost full by the time I'd paid for my order. Julianne's was my favourite place to be on a weekend. Soothing background music and glittering fairy lights were part of its alluring decor.

The smell of desperation to arrive at work on time drifted into my nostrils, nauseatingly. People in their late twenties or thirties were most likely to be in here, craving a caffeinated boost of energy.

I, on the other hand, just liked coffee. I was still attending Madison High School, therefore I didn't have a job just yet. My dream job would be to become an entrepreneur. Boring, I know. I would describe myself a very plain and banal girl. My coffee order was a regular frappucino, I paint in my free time, books were my favourite inventions ever, and I wasn't awfully pretty or popular. Yes, I had a close knit group of friends - Nicole, Zoe and Will - but who didn't?

I started coming here ever since my fifteenth birthday, where I met my boyfriend, Lucas. We met the creative way - I accidentally hit him in the face with the door, and bought him a strawberry cupcake to apologise. He didn't like strawberry, but he ate it anyway. He said he liked the way my 'angelic' blonde hair reminded him of a halo, and that my gleaming smile was enough to change his opinion on strawberries. I thought it was cheesy but cute. When he left, he wrote his number on a napkin. Ever since then, we were inseperable.

I found a free circular table near the window and perched myself at it, slipping on my glasses. The Goldfinch was definitely one of the best books ever written; in my opinion. I opened it up to resume chapter twelve.

When I was a paragraph in, I sensed a figure looming over my table. I looked up to see a flaxen haired barista, his button up blouse draping over his crumpled apron.