The Dead Poets

53

a/n: I'm adding songs to the remaining chapters, if you want to listen & read, just swipe above!
p.s./ the song makes this chapter reallllly sad

"Violet"

"Violet!"

"Violet— wake up!"

I stir slowly, rubbing my eyes gently, and pulling the duvet closer to my face.

"Baby, please," I hear the soft, pleading voice of Charlie.

He sounds raw— broken.

I open my eyes slowly— adjusting to the fluorescent light in the room.

His eyes are red, puffy, and wet— had he been crying?

My tired eyes fall atop the alarm clock on the nightstand; 3:00 AM. 

"Charlie?"

His face was unreadable.

It was as if he held my life in the palm of his hands, and if he told me what he needed to, he'd have to watch it shatter.

It was a strange look, as though he was the only one suited to tell me whatever it was, but also, the one who would hate to do it the most.

As I stare at the face sadder than any other I've seen, I had the most gut-wrenching feeling. Like the drop on a rollercoaster— minus the thrill. Like you're on the edge of your seat, waiting to hear news, and you just know it's bad— you can feel it in your gut— in your heart.

And It was bad— I could sense it.

"Charlie," I say again, my voice hoarse and worrisome, "please."

"It's Neil."

I knew it.

I wasn't entirely sure what it was that I had known— but I knew it. I knew Neil was troubled the last moment I saw him. The moment his father dragged him away from his first—and seemingly final—moment of sheer and utter happiness.

I told him I didn't think there was a key to happiness— but he found it onstage.

And his father ripped it away just as fast.

My heart thudded loudly in my chest.

What had his father done to him? Had he shipped him off to some military-style-boarding-school early? Had he withdrawn him from Welton already? From us?

It was a thought that I simply couldn't bare.

"Violet, baby, listen to me," Charlie spoke again, in a gentler tone than I had ever heard before. Like I was glass and the slightest vocal inflection would shatter me. His eyes bore into mine intently, commanding my complete attention.

It was as if his eyes were silently trying to apologize to me— for what though?— I'm not sure. But it only made me increasingly anxious.