That Night √

3» that difference

Grace's POV
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Everything was the same.

Everything was the same, but it was all so different too. For instance, my house. Part of me hadn't expected to see the same pale cottage-like house, the same front door, the same wooden fence. Part of me had expected it to be changed after those two years.

Two years.

But it looked the same. The pale brown walls, the pale white front door. Even the lawn looked the same, save for the untamed grass. And the trees looked sad, as if they had waited too long for us to come back all those two years.

Once we all had left.

I clutched onto the smooth handle of my suitcase and dragged it along with me. The wooden fence creaked in protest as I opened it. Somehow before I could've moved towards the front door, my eyes flickered off to the house beside the one I was standing in front of. The neighbouring house. A strange, yet familiar feeling tugged inside my chest.

Not now, I told myself. I won't think about that right now.

I slowly unlocked the front door and stepped inside the house. That's pretty much when I realized how everything had really changed. That's when everything came crashing down on me.

What was I even doing?

Why did I even come back here? This wasn't my home anymore. I should've stayed back there in Manhattan. I should've begged Aunt Kiera to let me stay at her house. I should've done something rather than just leaving everything and coming here.

My eyes darted across the familiar lounge, lingering on things that were so so familiar. The familiar kitchen, familiar walls, familiar family paintings. So much so that I wanted to cry.

We hadn't taken anything to Manhattan. Everything was here. But the people, they weren't.

I closed my eyes shut and felt my legs giving up on me. Leaning back against the closed door, I slid down on the floor, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. It was like a hand, thousands of hands enveloping my heart and my lungs, squeezing and squeezing until I couldn't feel.

I was alone.

Slowly, very slowly, I felt the fear and loneliness clawing and making their way up my gut. Soon it would envelop it all. Soon I'd just be panicking and losing my shit.

I pressed my face between my pulled-up knees and tried to level my quick breaths. It was horrible--the way I felt right now.

I jumped a little in surprise when I heard a loud thud from somewhere outside. Opening up my eyes, I was almost about to stand up when the doorbell rang behind me. My doorbell.

I stood up abruptly and pushed aside my suitcase, straightening my long black coat over my brown sweater. When I opened up the door, I was a little surprised to see a girl--just about my age--standing in front of me.

She was smiling. And I was not.

"Hey!" She chirped up politely. Her long brown hair were down till her waist, and an old, vague memory ached in my temples. The old Grace who used to have her hair the same length as this girl. Now my hair barely reached past my shoulders.

"Hi." My voice lacked politeness or even a little warmth.

If she noticed the lack of enthusiasm in my voice, she didn't seem to point it out. "You're the new neighbour, right?"

Her eyes trailed down towards my luggage as I nodded slowly. That's when I realized there was a small, brown basket in her hands. It seemed to be packed with household items. And I think I saw some cookies too.

My stomach grumbled lightly as if hungry. But that wasn't hunger. I knew better.

"Oh, I'm so sorry if you just arrived. My mom saw the cab out in the street and was so insistent to go say hello to you. She's kind of persistent for me to make new friends here." She said. She did sound apologetic. "I mean, there aren't many girls my age around this neighbourhood. All I know around my age is the boy in that house--" She pointed at the house beside mine. "--but he isn't very talkative."

There it was again, the ache in my chest. I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and clenched my fists, just so that she wouldn't see. "Actually, I'm not new in this neighbourhood," I told her.

Her eyes seemed to widen at that. Maybe it was because of what I had just said or maybe it was the fact that I said something. After all, she was the only one talking here.

"Really?" She furrowed her brows in confusion.

"I lived here. I've spent my childhood here."

"Why did you leave then?" I went still at that. She seemed to realize the direct question too as a small grimace escaped her lips. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. It's just...I can't help my curiosity sometimes."

She had freckles sprayed over her nose and her pale cheeks. She was pretty.

"It's all right." I gave her a small smile. Wasn't it easier to give smiles to strangers than to the people who you knew?

"Anyway, does that mean you'd be joining The Hayward High?"

I nodded, trying to blink back the heavy exhaustion from my eyes. It had been a long trip. My insides were craving sleep. "Yeah."

She grinned and nodded. Then she motioned the brown basket towards me. "That's Mom's way of welcoming you. Even if you aren't new here." I took it with another small, tired smile. "My name's Alice by the way."

I hesitated at first to tell her my name. But it wasn't like she'd know everything about me just by my name. All the people here must only remember me as the girl who left two years ago without giving any reason.

"Grace," I said. "My name's Grace."

Her smile widened and she took a step back. "Nice meeting you, Grace. I'll hopefully see you tomorrow at school." Then with a small, friendly wave, she was gone.

I closed the door back again and went over towards the couch. I couldn't help but wince at the obvious layer of dust around everything. Still, I placed the basket on the table and sat down on the couch. I looked at the box of cookies, my stomach grumbling again.

A grumble of protest. I knew that I should be hungry, especially since I couldn't even remember the last time I ate. But I wasn't. Hungry, I mean. I'd most certainly end up puking my guts out if I even took a single bite of that cookie. Or anything else, for that matter.

Leaning my head back on the couch, I looked up at the ceiling.

I came here to look for answers.

But I didn't know how. I wasn't the old Grace who knew how to fight her emotions. I wasn't the same old Grace who had everything.

I wasn't the Grace who had her parents anymore.

Her family.

How was I to be that Grace ever again?