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❝ you're asking all the wrong questions. ❞
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LIFE CONSISTS OF SMALL MOMENTS LIKE THIS: driving out with a bunch of people who matter at two in the morning, while watching the glowing, flickering lights in tall buildings and long bridges as you roll down the windows to feel the soft breeze tangling your hair and brushing pat your delicate skin. Life is curling up in your favorite maroon sweater, with the book you can't seem to put down despite reading it for the hundredth time, as the rain swallows the outside.
Standing on the shore, watching the ocean waves kiss the surface of the sandy beach inevitably, as you think about the person you love the most, who is now looking at you, showing off their widest and most liberal smile. It is waking up early in the middle of winter to experience the chill and to have a sip of peppermint hot chocolate in the cafe at the corner of the busy street. It's hiking up the forest filled with tall evergreen pine trees; it's watching the bright radiant sun throwing up the shades of pink and blue and orange tones into the skies as it sets behind the horizons. Sometimes it's even crying yourself to sleep and eventually acknowledging that you've been blessed to feel; and there's a sense of hope still igniting in your bleeding heart that allows you to carry on. It's a million pieces of the puzzles that never quite fit together. It's scary. It consists of leaps of faith off cliffs into unknown places, but it is also filled with these innocently beautiful moments.
Unfortunately, Enola was subjected to constant pestering by Damon. And just like that, the small moments full of peace and serenity and happiness instantly evaporated into a cloud of smoke. She had been doing a good—great, even—job of basking in the little things that made life worthwhile despite the constant threats on her life. But she could never seem to escape him no matter how hard she tried. And she did try. Hard.
"What do you want?" Enola muttered without so much as a glance up.
"So this is where you spend your time when you're not stabbing people in the back," Damon hummed, looking around the Grill in faux curiosity.
"You assaulted me and then killed my brother." Enola recalled, collecting her belongings as she stood to her feet. "Yet I am the backstabber?"
"Where are you going?" Damon inquired, watching her sling her purse over her shoulder.
"I made myself clear, Damon. I want nothing to do with you." Enola scoffed, moving to leave.
"Okay. See you at Jenna's barbecue." Damon hummed, smirking mischievously.
