⟨⟨ ᴇʟᴏʀᴀ ʀᴀʏɴᴇ ⟩⟩
A wannabe writer studying Psychology in London far away from home. As her time in the great wide world comes to a close, she is left feeling as though she has done nothing with it. That is until she's in the right place, playing t...
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The morning of February the fifth was poetically bleak, its grey skies oppressing and the rainfall threatening to drown them. It felt cruel that such a mournful day was on a Friday but, then again, everything about it felt cruel. Elora lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering how she would bare to face what lay beyond her door. The room was empty of her belongings shy a few things she would need that morning. The large closet that she had once marveled at was now blank once more, her photos no longer covering its front and no more clothes stuffed into the corners of the shelves. Her eyes flickered to the large mirror she had bought at the beginning of her stay and recalled how she had ridiculed Simon for possessing no mirrors in his home. The walls were starkly clean in a way that twisted her heart; despite the amount of stories that were written on their paint, there was nothing left to mark them. She had fought and battled to decorate the apartment a little bit more, allowing some colour to liven up the interior and was able to smile with the thought that at least that memento would remain.
The sheets were cold despite her body lying beneath them and it felt as though she was already gone. She supposed that was fair, at least her room wasn't sentient enough to pine after her. Every article of clothing that she slid on in the pursuit of warmth felt stiff and unfamiliar, although she may have just been projecting. Every single aspect of her morning thus far felt like this world was shoving her out of it.
She had ensconced herself in joy and love the evening before but all that memory served was to remind her of what she was losing. Outside her door, strewn over furniture and floor, cuddled up under blankets, were the most painful reminders of what she had to give up. They had stayed over the night before so as to end her stay with laughter and childish memories, blatantly ignoring the reason for their visit but it rested at the back of her conscience throughout the evening. Elora tried to keep silent as she finished getting ready so as to prolong the confrontation. Flitting between rooms as she searched for hidden things made her feel secretive but each time she glanced at their huddled figures, her heart clenched and she had to rush away.
The first sign of further life eventually appeared when she had switched the kettle on and was pulling out various mismatched mugs. Simon shuffled out of his bedroom, already dressed and looking just as weary as his (now) ex-roommate. As someone who prided himself on being unaffectionate, it was a surprise when he wrapped his long arms around her frame and bent down to curl himself above her. For once, however, Elora didn't say a piep in retort and sank into his heat, welcoming the comfort his large build offered. They stayed like that even as the water finished boiling and she made the many cups of coffee, somehow managing to remain tightly enclosed throughout her movements.
She shifted around once she had finished, deciding that remaining in his grasp was preferable to facing what needed to be done. He held her tighter and allowed her head to nestle in the crook of his neck as he rested his cheek against her hair. "You should wake them up," he whispered into their silence and she sighed, hiding her face further. "I don't want to." He exhaled resignly, "I know." They stood like that for a few more moments before Simon moved to gently unentangle themselves. He looked intensely into her eyes before nudging his head backwards and she looked away but nodded regardless.
