Enough | ✔️

+ 48 +

SURPRISE!!!

——————

I look behind me at an apologetic-looking Hannah.

Then back downstairs to Lucas, who scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

I can't bring my eyes to move thirty centimetres to Lucas' left, where he stands.

"I can't do this right now," I state shakily, overcome with a million emotions at once as I turn on my heel and march straight back into Hannah's room.

"Wait! Quorra!"

I clamp my hands over my ears, not caring that I'm ruining my immaculately-curled hair.

Even the sound of his voice hurts. So you can imagine how much pain erupts in my body when he races up the stairs and reaches for my bare arm.

I pull away immediately, stumbling back and nearly falling over due to the height of my heels. Hannah catches me swiftly, but I yank myself away from her too, needing space.

"Stop! Everyone just stop! What is happening? Hannah, did you plan this? Lucas?" I throw out every question in my mind hysterically, chest rising and falling erratically as I lean back against the banister of the balcony overlooking the bottom floor, hands cradling my head, "Why is he here?"

Everyone seems to take the hint, even Lucas who has followed the drama up the stairs. I feel surrounded. The three of them trap me against the banister even if they don't mean to, and I don't even know who to trust.

"I'm sorry, Quorra. I could just tell that you haven't been happy lately, even if you've been doing well at school. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Please, Quorra - I had to," Hannah explains herself, remorse dripping off her every word, "I knew you needed to see him."

Lucas adds to her words while he stays eerily silent and keeps his distance, "I'm sorry too, Quorra. And to you, D. It's just so clear when I look at you that you're not happy. You got your dream job but your love life came to a screeching halt the moment you left her."

Gesturing to me, Lucas sighs at our lack of a response. The truth is, I don't know how to respond. I'm too scared to look up at face the person in front of me, so I stay with my head bowed, hair falling around me and shielding my face from view. My heart thuds against my chest fast, but not faster than my eyes are starting to water.

I close my eyes and beg the tears not to fall, for the sake of my dignity as well as the sake of my makeup.

My heart doesn't just stampede against my ribs - it physically hurts. It aches and throbs like an open wound gushing blood. I can hardly breathe with him this close.

"Quorra," he finally speaks up quietly, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Then why did you? I don't say.

I'm torn apart by his words, the low caress of his voice, the hurt laced through his tone. I sink to the carpeted floor, hands now tightly coiled into fists as my head rests against my knees. I couldn't care less that I'm in a dress and shouldn't be sitting like this. My eyes are shut tight, as if closing them could block out the sound of him.

I hear the sound of retreating footsteps and low murmurs.

I finally start to relax but instantaneously turn rigid when someone sits down next to me. Of course he didn't leave. The same, addictive, nostalgic smell of his cologne is enough to tell me that.

The air around us is thick, almost palpable. I'm only hurting more and more the more time he spends next to me and the closer he gets to me.

"Quorra."