twenty-three: feeling

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Author's Note: The italicized part is Vicky's story about Tabitha, okay? I had to place this before the actual chapter, so you girls (or guys???) don't get confused. Yay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:

| emma’s pov |

After changing into the dress that ended just below my knees, I sat with Vicky at her counter. The seat I was sitting on earlier was already dry, much to my surprise.

Vicky had stacks of thin books on her lap as she started to speak. “Tabitha… was a very nice girl, Emma. Much like you, but there was only one thing different about you two.”

“What is it, Vicky?” I asked, the inquisitive side of me coming out.

“She was easily ruined by love.”

Tabitha was a quiet girl, growing up. She liked to stay in her room, and that really didn’t bother me as much as others were. That’s just how she was. 

But if there was one thing she loved doing, it was to write. She loved writing stories, creating a book from her own experiences and imagination. Maybe that was the reason why I decided to create a bookshop, but now, we’re going off topic.

One day, I found her in her room. And you know what, Emma? That was probably the happiest day she’s had. She couldn’t stop smiling. When I asked her why she was so cheerful, she told me she met a boy. A boy with the most captivating blue eyes and blonde hair. 

She told me she loved him, and as a mother, of course I supported her. She was finally growing up the way she wanted to, and that was the only thing I dreamed of seeing, after her father’s death.

Months passed, and she said they were together. I asked if I could meet him, but she refused, saying he was a very shy boy. I agreed not to see him, anyway, because that’s what she wanted. I don’t want to force her to do something she didn’t want to do.

Years passed, and she was fifteen, finally. But that’s when things went haywire. 

She stayed in her room frequently; it was rare for me to see her eat. I tried to talk to her, but she would shut me out. She wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong, and I didn’t know what to do with her.

And when I had the chance, I went in her room when she was asleep. I looked at all her works; every single one started gleefully, like she was. But then, towards the end, it drastically changed. It was probably what you saw. I… I don’t want to elaborate further.

But I’ll tell you this, she was broken. You could see it from her books. And I knew you could tell, just from her eyes. 

Oh, you have the same green eyes. I’m sorry, I’m getting emotional now. 

But do you know how she died, Emma?

She killed herself. Her last words were, “Don’t leave me, Luke.”

I never thought about it until now, but… but I have a feeling, Emma.

I have a feeling she’s back.

I have a feeling she’s here.

And I have a feeling she knows you.

placid ↦ luke hemmings {au}Where stories live. Discover now