Cosmos

O

"The contemplation of celestial things will make a man both speak and think more sublimely and magnificently when he descends to human affairs."

— Marcus Tullius Cicero, c. 30 BCE

* * *

Of course Artemis was shocked, it was a given. But learning these news one after the other, it was hard for her to keep up. She, crying like a wuss and arguing like a five year old in front of her best friend made her think that she only added to the problem. And she didn't want that.

It was Orion for damn's sake, she thought. Suck it up.

With all the strength in her, she spoke up. "Fuck, Orion, I . . . I screwed up."

Orion heaved a sigh of frustration as the drama that escalated so quickly made him feel aggravated. He lied down on the dew-gathered grass, ignoring the probability of his clothes dirtied or hair messed up. He closed his eyes, putting a hand above them and just stayed silent. He knew Artemis was watching him, but he still remained unmoving.

She sighed and nudged his shoulder. "Orion."

Nothing.

She tried again. "Orion, please, listen."

He was unresponsive.

This awful charade he was putting triggered her to speak aloud. She began to verbalize her thoughts incessantly. She didn't care anymore, she just wanted to let him know that she was there for him.

"I know you're pissed right now, when I should be the one -- Christ, okay, we both are," she corrected. "Knowing us, we both have the right to vent out our frustrations of you leaving."

Still sitting, she wrapped her arms around her knees as the wind blew past her. "I don't want to be the immature one and keep this . . . misunderstanding take a turn for the worse than it already is. That's why . . . "

Artemis caught him shift his position a little. It gave her a tiny ray of hope.

"I want to say I'm sorry."

She wanted -- no, needed -- to say it again to not only convince him, but to herself as well.

"I'll shout into the heavens, Orion, I swear. Just open your eyes and just tell me that I'm forgiven because I do . . . I forgive you."

Tears were falling down her cheeks and down to the patchy ground. Her breaths were ragged and heavy as she forced her cries not to spoil the star-spectacled atmosphere she initially came to enjoy herself with. But it was no use. Her sobs were unsteady, struggled and haunting.

She inhaled another breath and prayed, opening her mouth for the last time.

"I'm . . . sorry."

.

She buried her head in the gap between her wrapped knees and continued to sob silently.

.

You insensitive jerk, she thought to herself. You tore him apart. You tore yourself apart.

.

What's wrong with me?

.

A ring of laughter soon resounded her eardrums.

"Believe it or not, that was probably the first time -- in a long time -- I've heard you say something so genuine."