Empathy//D. Salvatore

1.7

Avett didn't know why she thought this time would be any different.

So she learned the town's secrets, her friends supernatural status', gave the group a stupid name. What did it fucking matter?

It didn't stop them all from ignoring her, from brushing her off because they were busy or going silent the moment she stepped in their vicinity. 

Nothing had changed, nothing was different.

Every night was the same these days. 

Avett got ready for bed, laid down, and did not sleep for even a moment. She stayed awake, cursed by the company of her loud thoughts. That particular night was no different. She remained perfectly still in bed, a corpse, until the morning finally broke. As the sun rose she seemed it an appropriate time to drag herself out of bed.

She stared in the bathroom mirror. 

It  didn't feel like she was looking at her own reflection. She examined the purple bags under the eyes, the permanent dullness of the skin and the nibbled away lips. This reflection belonged to a monster, surely not herself. She finally turned away, unable to meet the gaze in the mirror any longer. 

After fixing a large cup of coffee she settled into the parlor. Most of the things belonging to the now passed Fell's remained in there, boxed out of sight. But the last remaining Fell had the day off and it seemed as good a time as any to sort through and part with what she could.

The first box was full of books. Roger Fell was a huge bookworm, always buying more than he could read. He had the terrible tendency to write in his books too, little notes or thoughts or ideas in between the lines. It drove her mother crazy, Avett remembered fondly. The books would stay.

Another box was full of artwork. Most of it was completed, with the tiny curled initials L.F. painted in the corner. Though a view canvas' held only a few strokes, an idea from Lily Fell's imagination that would never see the light of day. The artwork, Avett decided, would also stay. Perhaps one day she would gather the courage to hang some of them up.

Then came the notes.

Growing up the Fell family always wrote each other notes. Love letters between parents, complaints between siblings, good luck messages before big events, anonymous letters of contempt about the dishes that sat in the sink for too long, etc. Mrs. Fell kept all of them, a fact Avett didn't know until after her mother's funeral. But every single note had been lovingly folded and tucked into folders Lily kept in the home office, even the most ridiculous ones.

It seemed silly then, but now Avett couldn't be more thankful.

Her hands dove into the box, a bit hesitantly. She grabbed the first folder, one of many, and tried her best to keep the tears at bay. Curling up on the parlor couch, she opened the folder. The thin and worn paper was covered in dust, spirals of which danced through the air as she leafed through the letters and notes.

Tears welled up in Avett's eyes despite her best efforts, spilling over her cheeks. The years had healed the trauma of losing her parents, but reading through these personal thoughts from them was tearing the wound back open. Sitting there, in the empty Fell house, she had never felt so alone.

She set the precious papers down, making sure they were safe and settled before finally collapsing into sobs. She would never get them back, this pain would never go away.

She would always be.....alone.

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The next day Avett found herself, unsurprisingly, working an extra shift at the Grille. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, despite spending the majority of the day crying and sulking around her house. She was practically dead on her feet at this point.