Learning to be Strong Alone // Jeraphina Fanfiction

Chapter XXVII: A Second Chance

"The answer to last chapter's
question is no...
or is it? 👀👀"

...............

[TW: mentions of suicide]

3rd POV

"You're popping in quite late, Arlo. Any particular reason why you couldn't just call?" his aunt asked him as she locked the door before them. "Not that I'm not happy to see you. Again."

The boy nodded awkwardly, silently hoping that Val hadn't noticed and wouldn't comment on the odd attire he sported; a large, poofy jacket in the middle of spring. Wasn't exactly the outfit of the innocent.

He planned to dump it in the lost and found once left to his own devices, as underneath he wore a black hoodie—a matching black mask in his pocket.

This was their only plan. There was no room for failure.

Arlo spoke up, hands tightly squeezed in his pockets, "It just came to me that I should have talked to you about getting a part-time job here," he paused, face slightly falling, "...since the position as your assistant has been . . . taken."

Val turned to face him. Noting the rather sour expression on his pale face, she chuckled, patting his shoulder with her free hand, a blazer draped over her other arm.

"No need to be bitter, Arlo. You'll work your way up with or without my help."

Arlo nodded, not letting the knowledge that the main mother figure of his life—the woman who had been there for him through thick and thin—had been taken by some wannabe blonde who just happened to have the same eye colour as her.

...And the same name as her never-existing son.

His brows furrowed at a sudden thought.

"Hey, Val?"

Valerie turned to the side to glance at him, still continuing on her trek through the halls. "Yes?"

"That wasn't your office, was it," Arlo noted, more of a statement than a question. He remembered the many times he visited her as a child, but not quite remembering what was in that room.

"What was in there? If you don't mind me asking."

Valerie's shoulders relaxed, head not straying from the path ahead. "Nothing. Don't worry about it," she spoke, barely looking over the question before dismissing it.

Arlo didn't say any more.

They had both now reached the reception room—the chairs and couches that decorated the floors once full, now rather empty. Several side tables and potted plants were scattered around the area, seemingly trying to make up for the lack of life that wandered.

Limited chatter and the absence of footsteps made the building seem stone-cold dead—as if it were never awake at all.

If the silence did not taunt him of the looming task ahead, Arlo noted that it would be somewhat calming; after a long day, coming to rest in the armchairs beside the weeping plants and unstable tables—well, in this situation, it was rather the absence of quiet that made him worry.

Now or never.

"Well, it was lovely seeing you, A—"

"If you don't mind, could I use the bathroom?"

And that's how they got to where they were.

Arlo stood before the boy, paper clumped messily on the ground, his torch lying atop the files, light flickering with its loosened batteries. He was backed up against the desk, the sharp edge of the table stabbing the back of his thighs as he tried to slink away into the darkness. Failing.