The Fall

chapter three

I shivered underneath the blanket, and my book fluttered open to a different page. However, I didn't move to close the windows. I liked watching the rain pelting down, and I loved the cool weather it brought.

I missed the snow though. These past days still had fairly low temperatures, but they weren't low enough for it to snow.

Maybe if it snowed, I would go out, but then again, maybe I wouldn't. I hadn't been out much since he returned. In fact, I barely even left my room today.

I hated that. I loathed how much he could still affect me. Yes, we weren't together anymore. Sure, we didn't even talk anymore, but he was still lurking in my thoughts, my dreams, and my life.

And I hated that, despised that, and loathed that about him.

Sighing, I closed my book. I could barely understand what I was reading. My thoughts were too jumbled, and it was as if they left a bitter aftertaste that kept me thinking.

The TV was turned on, but I just stared at it. I couldn't hear the reporter's words, and the screen showed several images I couldn't comprehend.

I rolled over on my bed, propping up my elbows for support. The door was open, and I saw my mom, leaning on the wall.

"Ella?" My mom's voice was soft, and her eyes seemed to be examining me.

I blew at my bangs. "Yeah?"

She removed her eyeglasses, squinting at me. Most of the time, she had her contacts on, but when she was home, she didn't use them. She claimed she only used them for the press.

"Someone's downstairs, looking for you," she said after a long pause.

I blinked, and then I sat up, running a hand through my hair. My clothes were all wrinkled, and as I tried to fix them, I wondered who could be looking for me.

My thoughts first traveled to Vicki, but I knew it couldn't be her. She was my closest friend, but her mom sent her to some posh boarding school in England. As far as I knew, she wouldn't be home even for a vacation.

Then I thought of him. To me, it seemed plausible that he would be here so we could talk. I imagined him with flowers, an idea I claimed was romantic, and begging for my forgiveness.

Then the image in my mind faded away. I was imagining a Lucas who loved me, but then again, the real him didn't. How much of his real side did I see? How much of our relationship-the random gifts and notes, the little jokes and smiles we shared, the concern we showed for each other-were genuine?

Shaking my head, I tried to think of other people. My mind ended up blank. I had no idea who else it could be. My dad was pretty strict when it came to letting people inside our house, and even when he wasn't around, it had rubbed off on my mom and even some of the servants.

I pushed my book aside and said, "Who is it?"

"Trevor Washington," she said, slipping her eyeglasses into her pocket. "I can ask him to go up here if you want."

I continued running a hand through my hair. When we were younger, he used to come here all the time, but as we grew older, his visits became fewer. "I'll just wait for him then."

She smiled, but it wasn't happy. The smile didn't reach her eyes, and the usual cheerfulness in them were gone. I should've asked what was wrong, but I just kept quiet, letting the TV's noise wash over the silence.

Slowly, my mom stood up straight and left my room.

Standing up, I walked towards my vanity. I grabbed a brush and started fixing my hair. It seemed to be too short. A week ago, my hair reached my waist, but now it was only shoulder-length. I decided to cut it as a reminder that things change.