FORTY-THREE

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you can nurse my wounds,
you can kiss all my scars,
you can caress my skin,
but nothing you do
will help ease
the chaos
that lies
within.

~

Kira's been watching.

She's been worrying and watching as she follows Jayson around until they reach their destination. He went quiet, though. When they reached their destination, a place too beautiful for her eyes — a garden — Jayson became quiet. And that worried her. He continued walking and Kira followed him around like a lost puppy, "Jay, why did you bring me here? What is this place?"

He came to a stopping point. No one was around. And if they were, they were out of earshot. "This is Abbey Gardens." He lead her through a meadow and under the shade of a great oak. Two wrought iron chairs sat before them like they were meant for someone. The singing of birds could be heard in her ears.

This was not just beautiful, but magically beautiful.

Jayson's words distracted her, though. He didn't look at her. No, his gaze was downward, his chin almost hitting his chest. His eyes were set upon one of the chairs and then he spoke, a rasp in his voice, "My mother and I used to come here when she was...still alive."

Kira turned around and gave the chairs a solemn look, then cast her eyes upon Jayson. They narrowed in an attempt to study him and what he was feeling. He looked as if, somehow, he was somewhere else — taken back into the memories of this place. They grew around him. In every tree, in every flower, in the smell of the air. Everywhere around him smelt of his mother. And this might just cause him to crumble.

"She died when I was six."

Kira shifted her footing, which was something she does rarely, "How did she die?"

"Cancer. The doctors hadn't caught it in time and it was inoperable. Of course, my father told us when he brought her home from the doctor that she was sick, would have to stay in bed for a while, and would be 'right as rain' in just a short time." He said and ripped his gaze away from that iron chair, "She tried to hide her illness with good humor — and my father hid his own fear behind the same mask. I was too young to suspect a thing. It wasn't until much later that I put everything together." He leant his body on a railing that distanced them from the flowers on the other side, "It was the day after Christmas. I, um...I wasn't with her. My brother, Tristan, was. We didn't know that would be her last day." He turned around again to face both chairs, "We used to sit here. Me and my mom. She would take me every week and when she got sick, she didn't have the energy anymore. So we stopped. We shouldn't have, though. This was her favorite place. She deserved to live in it just a little longer." Kira took his hand and he didn't pull away, "I haven't been here in a long time."

"How long?"

"Since she died." He said and then his head tilted towards the chair on the left.

His chair.

His hand slipped from Kira's as he neared it and dusted it off. Then, he slowly sat down and visibly melted, "Everything's so different now."

"Well, you've grown a lot since then."

Jayson was quiet for a moment. Kira almost thought that he zoned out into the memories of the place, but no, he was in thought. And a long thought it was. "He wanted to say goodbye to me. My Papa." Jayson slowly shook his head, "I—" He took a sharp breath, "—I just can't imagine my life without him. I left him in there and I shouldn't have." He closed his eyes now, "I can't say goodbye to him. I just can't."

As I Collide, I See I Am a Paradox // White CollarWhere stories live. Discover now