Since He Left ✓

18: Little Bird

"Grayson? Grayson! Don't you dare hang up on me, not after all of this..." I cried into the phone, but he was gone. Too late. With a heavy sigh, I crumbled to the ground.

The world around me seemed to disappear completely, not knowing where it went. My ears began to ring strangely, I realized I was in the middle of an empty block. Friday, I kept noting to myself, it's a bright Friday. Somehow it reassured me that the conversation a moment ago wasn't a dream, no extraordinary hallucination.

I began to run, rather rapidly, reminding myself how to.

One leg in front of the other, Isla, you know how to.

And like that it continued until I was at the front door, until I ran through the empty house and into my disorganized room. An old backpack, worn flannel shirt were already on me. Sprinting, I entered my parent's room. At the corner, left drawer, tiny wooden box. That's where half of Maman's salary where hidden, and she had no clue that I knew. On the way to my room once, I had seen her hiding the box behind some clothing in the drawer. Naturally, I was beyond curious to see what my mom was so eager in hiding. I had discreetly unlocked the wooden box, that held no keyhole, and seen what was inside, though no money were taken that time. But now I had to. I knew the truth now, Grayson was alive. I felt a tinge of guilt for stealing the money, but it washed away quickly as I reminded myself the reason behind the action. For Grayson.

****

Here I was again, in the train to Marseille, reflecting the past hour. What would my parents think of me "running away", again? I felt reckless, I didn't care about the consequences following this event. Let me rephrase: I didn't know what I was expecting. Expectations that were never expected weren't exactly expectations, but more like surprises. And the event following this was a little more than a silly birthday surprise.

Suddenly this strange urge to write something down planted itself in my mind, it was weird. I took out a pen and a folded paper from my backpack and started to scribble some words down. After I had finished it seemed like a poem, and for once, I actually liked what I had written.

"One day it will surely come crashing down, shattering into a million scared pieces. And it'll feel like an impossible puzzle, because some of the pieces are missing. Gone. Soon, it won't feel impossible. It will be impossible. The puzzle will never be whole again, just like you and I. We won't ever be a whole again, never complete. But for now, I'll keep the pieces together. I'll make sure they don't break. Make sure you won't break them. But when you do, I'll be missing. Gone. Because after all I'm the missing piece of our lacking whole."

What I had written didn't necessarily reflect something that I knew about, love, but it kind of made sense to me. The narrative loved the other person, loved the person so much that he was fighting for it. Although, when the partner decided to ruin their relationship the narrative said that he'd be gone. After all I'm the missing piece of our lacking whole. I didn't know what it meant to me, how I'd relate to it. Maybe it was about me and Grayson? Platonically, of course. I didn't know what it meant, and I didn't feel like trying to figure out what it meant.

I had just realized one very important fact: I didn't know what to do when I actually got off the train. I'd go to the garage, where Nick and I had last met Sabrina, that foolish girl. What if she wasn't there, what then? I decided to think positively.

She will be there.

Six long dreading hours to go in this empty train. Each second I was closer. Closer and closer.

The need for sleep had attacked like a wolf in a dark forest, senseless and rapidly. My eyes fluttered closed to the sound of passing railways. I slept with tension, I dreamed with wild colours.