The Deal

The Magpie

*Earlyish update so make sure you read "The Tea Reading" before this one!*

Enduring things is what I do best.

Endure the teasing and mockery, endure the gossip and rumors, endure the grief of losing a mother, endure being the cause, endure not being able to move your own legs, endure the endless waiting and wishing for someone to come out of a coma.

It's an ugly process: full of cold tears and hot baths, burning herbs and lighting candles, deep breaths and heavy silence.

But, always, I endure.

And, eventually, the dust does settle.

When Niall and I decided to break up, I only cried for a few hours and it was because I worried about not having him in my life anymore. But, things were only awkward between us for about a week, and then life carried on as it always had.

This time around, Harry and I weren't even dating, but it feels as if my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

There is a hollowness now that makes time move slower, makes my pain more acute, makes the grief of a love never spoken aloud unbearable.

I am enduring, but this kind of hurt is unchartered territory and my soul is wounded and wandering.

So, I retire the grimoires with their charms and rituals on how to purge love from the heart. I give up trying to trick the universe into letting my love shrivel and die.

Instead, I sit with my heartbreak and coddle her, tend to her every whim. Though the pain is knives in my chest, my heart will not forget so easily.

After all, Harry is to me, what no one else has been before.

I burn blue candles in every room of the house: blue candles incite emotional healing and prosperity.

I pluck the lemons from my tree and devour them, even though the acid chaps my lips and dries my throat: lemons are known to cure lovesickness due to their citrus quality, they can help detox the heartache from the body.

I try to force myself to unlearn the gentle ferocity of his kiss and the grooves of his fingertips. I scrub my skin raw as if that will speed up the process, but my body remembers his all too well. When I close my eyes, I can still feel him next to me, can still hear his whispers in my ear.

I see him laughing in the kitchen, the sun making his hair glow red. I see him observing the lone photo on my fireplace, eyes sorrowful and concerned. I see him waiting for me in my bed, shirtless and smiling.

A lingering ghost I cannot exorcise, another haunting to add to my repertoire.

Harry also follows me into the dream world.

Some dreams are memories: teasing me about my beliefs, kissing me on that pier the first time, that smile when I gave him the camera, the first time I spent the night in his bed.

I wake from those with dried tears on my pillow and a familiar ache in my chest. But, they aren't the worst kinds of dreams I have.

The worst ones are the ones that could have been: confessing to Harry and him reciprocating my feelings, days spent gardening and laughing and exploring, nights spent in each other's arms on the couch and the bed and the counter.

I wake from those dreams with a throat so hoarse I know I'd been wailing in my sleep, fists tight from clenching, and a feeling in my chest so profoundly painful I'm afraid something is wrong with me.

The healing is laborious and exhausting, but I endure.

Now, it's been a few days since Harry showed up on my porch to rip my heart from my chest and crush it between his unforgiving palms.

I've barely left my bed, let alone my home, until today.

Today is one of those rare sunny, warm days in our little coastal village. They only come around a handful of times, but when they do, the whole town comes alive.

When the clouds clear and the sun graces us with her warmth and light, everyone ventures outside and acts as if they're all injected with sunshine. It's really the only time I don't expect to be mocked or glared at by the townsfolk when I stroll through the square. The general gloominess of our town means that the rare sunny day puts everyone in a good mood.

So, when the sun rose over the horizon this morning and showed the town her bright face, Niall knocked at my door with a wicker basket in hand and demanded I spend the day with him.