My Favourite Part

57: love

The next morning, I wake up. That sort of takes me by surprise.

I wasn't expecting to be dead or anything, but it feels as though things should have changed somehow; like the world should have stopped  - something. But everything's exactly the same.

I let out a groan as I reluctantly pull the covers from over my head. When the daylight hits me, the migraine does too. That I expected.

As much as I want to believe that it's nothing more than a hangover headache after a night of harmless fun and drunken karaoke, the eyeliner stains on my pillow remind me that it's more likely from crying myself to sleep.

In an instant and all too quickly, the memories start to trickle in, hastily skipping through the good bits, the beer pong and the dancing, and lingering on the rain and tears and silence through the little red door.

I sit up slowly, clutching my sheets to my chest and trying to convince myself to get up for a glass of water, but the moment I try to, my phone starts buzzing, bashing about on my bedside table as the marimba ringtone rings. I watch it silently, waiting for it to stop before I flop back under my covers.

I don't even want to think about who that could be. I don't want to think at all.

When I do, I'll have to think about what comes next – who I'll turn to now that I can't call up my girls, what I'm supposed to do now that the person on my mind from the first thing in the morning wants nothing to do with me; who I am now.

My wall clock ticks loudly, like it's under the covers with me, and all I can think is: would I be better off rewinding time? Hell, even to just a night ago. Before Babe told me how she felt. Before I went charging up that hill in the rain like an idiot. I can't help but wonder which I prefer: the ache of knowing nothing, or the numbness of knowing everything.

At least when he ignored my calls, I could hold out hope that he'd dropped his phone in the bath or caught the flu or something else stupid enough to fool a girl desperately in love. But now I've heard the truth plain and clear, and it won't stop ringing, no matter how deeply I bury myself in my bed.

'Don't call, Evie. Go home.'

'Don't call, Evie. Go home.'

'Don't call Ev-'

"Ange?"

It's August. I didn't hear her come in, but I can her the worry in her voice. I can see it in her eyes too when she lifts the covers from over my head.  Great, I must still look like death.

"Angie? Wh- Angie, what's wrong?" My too-pure-for-this-world little sister stretches her arms around my cotton cocoon for a bear hug, and I wish it solved everything. "Why are you crying?"

"Hey Augs, I-" My voice wobbles as soon as I try to get the words out. I can't lie to her – not now.

But I can't face the truth, either.

"Aug, can we talk a little later? I just... really wanna sleep for a bit."

August sits up, scanning my face with sombre hesitation. I know my little sister. I know that if she didn't think it was serious, she'd want every detail, and she'd want it now; but, after a moment, she nods, gives me another hug and stands to leave.

"I love you, Angie."

"Love you too, Aug."

I don't know if I actually want to go to sleep – I'm half afraid of what I'll see – but sleep swallows me up anyway, and I sure as hell don't stop it.