The Periods of Being

Chapter XXXVII

Chapter XXXVII

The letters lay in a second hibernation in the drawer of the vanity while she waits for Julie to come up with the paper she requested after she ate breakfast. To her amazement, Julie never asked about the cold tea and untouched crackers by her bedside nor her reason to rush down to the dining room to make sure she was down there before Neil. She didn't want to make him wait, and somehow, Julie understood that.

    Breakfast went by smoothly and Olive found herself not wanting to return to her room to face her problems and her current situation. She would rather spend the day carefree with Neil and laugh with him, talk to him, and spend the day with him. But, she had to return to her room once they were finished, once all the coffee was gone from its pot and all the eggs too.

    Neil didn't question her unspoken reasons to ascend back into her room, and deep down in her dimming heart, she wishes that she had told him— or he bothered to ask— because then, he might've been able to help her.

    You need to do this by yourself, Olive, her own voice tells her.

    Her hot breath invades the window of her room as she looks out of it sadly. The sun is almost at its highest height in the sky. Its too proud, too happy, for her. She closes her eyes and rests her forehead on the glass. It's warm to the touch rather than cool like she wishes for it to be. She breathes in and out, hoping that Mark's words can come through and mediate her thoughts, but he stays silent in her mind. She prays for his voice to cool her racing heart and the burning of tears behind her eyes she resists shedding in attempts to not show her emotion.

    She doesn't know what she will write to Freya. The worry of the possible damage her words could impose further into the cut between them ran hot through her veins, burning her skin.

    What will I write?

    How will I explain it all?

    The questions beg her to answer them, but she stands by the window speechless. She wipes away the fog from the window with the end of her sleeve and leaves the outside be, feeling as if she needs to contain her world into the confinement of her bedroom to understand her thoughts clearly, to gather her thoughts in the arrangements of sentences. But the only sentence that is clear and polished are the words of I'm sorry.

    She sits at her vanity and locks eyes on the closed drawer where the letters lay. Her fingers thump on the vanity in the attempt to try to distract themselves. She can't bear to face the letters again, and she won't let any eyes stray on the letters either. This will be her and Freya's secret— these letters. Her reply.

    A knock sounds on the door, making Olive jump slightly in her chair. Her thoughts scatter away as she sits up straight and plasters a smile on her face like a painter does with paints on an empty canvas. I feel like an empty canvas, she breathes out in the sake of trying to relieve some negativity out of her system. It doesn't work.

    "Lady Olive?" Julie's voice interrupts the silence as she asks for entry into the bedroom. The door cracks a bit, but no figure enters until they are given permission.

    "I'm still here," Olive answers.

    The door cracks further and the face of Julie peers through to make sure that her invite in is still present. Olive cracks a smile in her wake. Julie enters the room with a handful of stationary to her strange delight. Her thought runs dry at the sight of it, now in the line of sight of what she is about to do.

    "I hope this enough for your letter."

    Julie walks over to the vanity where Olive sits. Olive wonders if she should tell her what she is planning to do. All she knows is that she wants to write a letter, to whom and why would only worry the friend that she wishes to keep. If Julie knew why she needed to write a letter so badly, she would only make Julie wonder if Olive's sorrows are making a return. Only if she knew that her sorrows never left her.