𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

In Another Life

I woke up feeling dull. Like an empty bottle that had been tossed into the ocean, only to drift back to shore weeks later; having lost its shine and sharp edge. A piece of sea glass, buried in the sand.

Sea glass goes unnoticed, I kept that in mind. I descended the stairs and left the lodging house without saying a word; I didn't even respond to Ms Darby when she called out, reminding me for the 5th time that week that I had mail. I probably should have, it was rude of me not to, but my mind was on other things. Things that in the moment felt far more important.

And besides, what people had been sending me was not at all a pressing matter. Back at the estate, the only things I received were letters addressed to the previous resident, and job offers from anonymous nobles, asking me to meet them in some of the sketchier parts of town for an 'interview'.

The mail could wait, but my final visit could not.

The previous night, I'd made the decision to go back. I'd need the rest of the week to sort things out and pack up the makeshift life I'd started for myself here, but I had to return. Just because I couldn't see my problems, just because he wasn't physically near me, didn't mean they weren't on my mind. Because they were, constantly

I'd planned it all out. Well, most of it. I'd show up, beg for forgiveness, and hopefully, if all went well, he'd give it to me. And then maybe, things could calm down. We'd be friends again, I'd work for him and life would be easy. Things would be just as they had been when I was fifteen.

God, I wish I was fifteen.

I was beginning to forget the happening of it all. I couldn't recall how he'd taken it, consumed and digest my rejection of his proposal. And I knew my mind was playing tricks on me because every time I pictured it, he looked more and more disappointed; until that disappointment turned to anger.

But T couldn't have been mad at me for saying no. I'd told him why, and he'd said he understood. He couldn't have been angry with my for not wanting to essentially give myself to him...

Right?

I supposed I'd know soon enough. My stomach churned just thinking about it. Me, showing up out of the blue, having avoided any and all contact for nearly a month. My mother would scorn me, but that was the least of my worries.

The idea of returning after I practically ran away from him, fleeing not only the town, but the entire county. I had been placed in his shoes. This must have been how he had felt last year, when he returned from his big city escapade. But hopefully, he would be nicer to me than I had been to him.

Less furious, at least.

Upon arriving at his resting place, I lay a bouquet of tulips upon my fathers grave. It was larger than the one I had left last time.

Last time. I'd told myself that It would be the last time, and yet here I was again. I just couldn't bring myself to leave without saying goodbye, not if I had the opportunity to.

I knew from his letter, that he would have wanted me to say yes. Perhaps he would have even pushed me to do so. It's bittersweet to think about these things— places he should have been, things he should have been able to do.

I stared at his headstone for a short while, noticing the moss starting to rise at its base. There was a creeper root beside it, and I had no doubts that within the next year, someone would be struggling to pull its vines from off of the stone.

I frowned at every scuff mark, every scratch, and every potential future crack on its surface. Not because I wanted it to be perfect, and remain that way forever. But because I didn't want to confront the fact that he'd been gone for a while.