Nightfall ✓

Preface

0 0

T h e o V o l k a n

Fear.

That's the first emotion he felt when he looked at her. The terrifying emotion of fear that she'll leave one of these days. Fear that they'd grown up, drifted apart and had left so many – so, so many – things unsaid that there was no going back. No fixing it.

Whatever that may be.

And now, he was certain this was the end. It's funny. His exterior was utterly calm. People around him didn't even know the inner turmoil was going to kill him – if it didn't do something worse already.

The door clicked shut behind him softly, as if sympathising with him about what was about to occur. He looked down at his shoes, polished, shiny – completely contradicting how he felt. For the first time, he leaned his hand against the wall to remove them, afraid he'd fall if he depended solely on himself today.

He saw her even before he entered the living room, if you could call it that. She cut a sorry figure, and he felt his chest constrict once again.

This is more unfair to her, he reminded himself once again. He must have greeted her, he can't remember. Perhaps he didn't want to remember whatever he had control over. There were enough memories that haunted him anyway. But, the next thing he knew, she was crying – it was uncontrollable, gut-wrenching. That, he'd remember forever.

"I saw a doctor today," she finally managed when she'd calmed down a little bit. "It's gone."

It.

He didn't know why that pronoun hurt him so much. He wasn't the one whose career was about to be ruined because they had a life growing inside of them. But it did. And he was only human. He was never going to tell her how much it hurt. No. He'd never do that. What right did he have?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I am so, so sorry." He kept whispering until his voice was hoarse. "Please don't cry. Please–"

"My parents cut me off." She'd interrupted him, tears welling up in those beautiful, expressive eyes again.

Boys in her ballet group always teased her about how her eyes took up half of her face. Of course, he knew better. And they did too. No one was as beautiful as her.

And she was upset about being cut off. Not it. No. It was an obstacle. It wasn't even supposed to happen.

"How am I going to pay for ballet?" She was crying harder than before, curled up into herself.

It was pity that made her speak to him four years ago. And look where it brought her. Married to a person whose entire life savings didn't amount to a bracelet on her wrist. 

She'd found him wandering the streets when she'd been wandering them herself. Difference was that he had nowhere to sleep that night and she was tired of the place she slept at.

"Boys who surround me never cry," she'd said upon coming closer to him on the cold, wet pavement he was sitting on with his head on his knees.

That night, she found a fascinating human to bring home and have him ooh and ahh at her achievements. The next four years of his life were the best. Alas, all good things had an end.

And this moment here was his.

"Use my scholarship money," he blurted out hastily, meaning every word. He didn't care that desperation seeped into his tone. She'd seen him at his worse already. Even her father would tell him in the later years what an imbecile he'd been to offer her that. "It should cover you for two years – it must. Then you'll have your own institute."

She touched him for the first time that night, cupping his face in her small, dainty hands and gave him the same adoring stare. "Never, mon bonheur."

My happiness.

Did he still provide her with that emotion? Was he still worthy of being called that?

"I'm leaving."

Two words. And the fear was back full force. He kept quiet, waiting for her to explain – reassure him – that she'd be back. That it's only temporary. That he'd see her when he went to her father's house to attend the party where he's paraded around as the scholarship fund kid. That she'd save him once again.

Because he had no one but her.

"The day you entered my life," she brought his face closer so she could kiss his eyelids, "I was a hollow shell until then. And I knew that the day you leave, I'd become that shell again. You'll have this heart, raw and bleeding, in the palms of your hand even when I am no longer here."

"So don't leave–" he paused, closing his eyes. So selfish. He was so fucking selfish. "I'll work hard – please I–"

She shook her head, pulling him closer. "Please don't make this harder. I have to go. I have to." She looked into his eyes. "You'll always be my home."

"No." He shook his head. "Don't say that. You know how much I hate liars." And yet, he was lying. "It's fine. You needed a warm bed." Her expression crumpled. "And now you don't." He finished with a shrug.

They both knew he was lying and yet, she nodded as if everything he had said did not cut her. As if it didn't pain her. As if it wasn't him who gained the most out of their relationship.

"Goodbye." Her voice was small, reminding him of their first night together. She blinked rapidly, reaching up to rub her eyes. "You're home. You'll always be." She took a deep breath and spun around when it didn't help, opening the front door.

Just like that, she was gone.

And he was without a home once again.