Keys of Life

Chapter Twenty-Two, Part Two: Faye

Sorry it's taking me so long to load. Also, I know the last chapter shook things up a bit, but please keep on reading. And commenting. And voting. And all the rest of it. Thanks.

(P.S. I know I don't usually split chapters up, but bear with me.)

Chapter Twenty-Two, Part Two: Faye

   I woke up, stretching my arms out and pawing the air. With a muffled groan through the duvet, I glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty. Keenan should be up, and if I was lucky, he might even have made pancakes.

  The white tiles of the kitchen felt cool next to my bare feet, almost liquid. I hunted through each of the rooms, looking for honey brown eyes and a familiar smile. Nothing but deathly silence, no hint of his presence.

   Something was wrong. Keenan was an early riser - he'd never slept past nine the whole time he'd been here.

   I walked up the stairs, dreading each lonely step I took. I mentally shook myself, trying to lose the feeling that was peeling layers from my stomach. My fingernails dug scores into my hands, a little scarlet red blood leaking out and staining the bright white tips an ominous dusty red. Wincing in pain, I remembered the last time I had felt like this. It had been the day of the fire, with my frantic wanderings around what had once seemed so familiar.

   I knocked on his door. No reply. Dust mites glided in a sunny beam of light from the window.

   I put my ear against the varnished timber, listening for a noise that would prove me wrong. I had a horrible feeling that I knew exactly what had happened. But that would have been too simple, wouldn't it?

    I opened the door. A stark white sheet of paper lay on the carefully made bed, glaring at me in disapproval. I crossed the room in the blink of an eye, picking up the offending object with a shaking hand. I knew what would be on it, the gist of what it would say. That was all that mattered. Not the phrases, not the sugarcoated poetry of partings and sweet sorrow. Was it really that hard to say goodbye? Apparently so.   

   Rereading the letter - if it could be called that - a sense of resigned detachment stripped me down to the barest of emotions. Just words. Just letters on a page. Then why did they feel like each one was a claw, cutting marks into my heart just like the fingernails into my palm?

   I tear trickled town my cheek, dribbling onto the crisp whiteness. A smudge of ink worked its way down the paper. I swiped at it furiously. This wasn't some desperate love story, and I refused to weep over a guy I had thought I knew. He wasn't an Edward, wouldn't come back if I threatened to jump off a cliff, because he was far, far away by now, wherever he wanted or needed to be.

  Who cared, really? Another dewdrop gathered and rolled, pausing along the side of my nose. I didn't. Of course I didn't. The tears didn't stop, even as I told myself over and over again that he meant nothing, and my breathing hitched and struggled to force its way past my pursed lips.

   Who I was I kidding? I wanted to be worth more than a scribbled note. Didn't I deserve that much?

   I did. I had to. If I didn't believe that I could make a difference - jump over the rainbow and fly to the moon - then who would?

***

   I glanced down the street as I walked, seeing a familiar head of russet curls coming towards me. I smiled. Maybe I could talk to Anna for a while? After all, that's what Jason would've done, and it worked out well enough for him.

   As soon as she was close enough, I raised my hand in a wave and smiled in what I hoped was a friendly manner.

   "Hey, Anna," I said, my voice gradually trailing off as she walked straight past me without a single look in my direction. I turned to stare at her, debating whether it was worth making her stop. With a sigh, I resigned myself to walking forward again, keeping my face down and tucked under my hood and my eyes resting firmly on the ground. Most days I managed to pull off an air of cold and unfeeling aloofness. Today, I couldn't. I didn't have it in me to pretend that I didn't care, that I wasn't the same as every other human being.

   I trudged towards the house, my feet dragging behind me with every step. I'd been out to get a few groceries, just bread and milk and fruit. The bags swinging out of my wrist felt like tonne weights now, but still not as heavy as the burden of loneliness that hung around my shoulders like a shroud.

   My mobile rang, a shrill, piercing shriek breaking through my thoughts. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Smithy.

   "Hello?" I said, the sound coming out in a breathy whisper, like I'd just woken up. I'd certainly received a wake-up call, anyway.

   "Hi, Faye, it's Smithy. I was wondering if you wanted to come to the bar tomorrow? I mean, you don't have anything to do on a Sunday, do you?" I thought about that for a minute. I had homework and a project to do for school, but handing a paper in late wasn't going to kill me.

   "Sounds great," I replied, a small smile creeping onto my face.