Always There

Chapter Fifty-Six

Songs for this chapter:
• What Am I - Why Don't We

Bryce's POV

When I wake up the next morning, I'm alone in bed.

Blossom, who had still been curled up in my arms when I fell asleep last night, is nowhere to be seen.

Truly, it looks as though she had never been in the bed with me in the first place, as when she got out of bed, she seems to have tucked me in, straightening the duvet and sheets.

I pull back the duvet and slide out of bed, straightening the clothes that I had fallen asleep in last night. Then, with a yawn, I head out of the spare bedroom and into the living room.

Cold. The entire apartment feels ice cold.

Where the hell did Blossom go?

I understand why she needed space from me. I fucked up massively, and she has every right to still be upset with and in need of space from me.

Maybe she woke up early this morning and decided to go to sleep in our bedroom instead so that she could get away from me for a little bit longer.

I cross the apartment, finding the bedroom door completely shut.

Not wanting to startle Blossom, I raise my fist, and gently knock three times on the door.

No response.

I knock again, three more times, just a little bit louder.

Still, no response.

She's an extremely heavy sleeper. Maybe she just wasn't woken up by the knocking.

So, slowly and quietly, I turn the doorknob and push the bedrooom door open.

I first notice that the bed is empty.

I then notice that all of Blossom's things are gone.

Gone.

The books on her bedside table.

The jewelry on the dresser.

Her school books on the desk.

Her stuffed unicorn on the chair in the corner.

All of it is gone.

A sound leaves me lips that is indescribable, somewhere between a sob and a choke.

For confirmation that she's really fucking gone, I head into the closet.

I switch on the lights to find that Blossom's suitcases are gone, along with the few boxes of things that she had decorated her old dorm with.

All of the hangers that her dresses were hung on are empty.

All of the shoes on the shoe rack along the wall are nowhere to be seen.

I pull open the drawer where she kept her pajamas to find it empty, too.

Another choked sob escapes my throat.

I don't think that my brain is actually able to process what I'm seeing.

I switch off the closet light, shut the door, and head back into the kitchen with an ache in my chest, as though I've just been cleaved through the heart.

She's gone. She's really gone.

My eyes are drawn to the island in the kitchen.

I don't know how I didn't notice it before, but the diary that Blossom had gifted me on my birthday is open on the counter.