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I’ve come back to this moment so many times. I remember vividly how cold the morning was; I was so annoyed at myself for forgetting my scarf, but I had a lot of anger back then and blamed the entire world for my misery instead.
I’m looking into my locker, and right on cue our classmates start cheering down the corridor. I’ve scowled every time, but now all I can seem to do is purse my lips and pretend like something within me isn’t suddenly hurting.
I take a deep breath, and count every inhale until ten.
“Six more months.” It barely comes out - I don’t know why my voice is so choked up - but it’s enough.
“Counting down already?”
It takes everything within me to close my locker and look up and-
I can’t do this.
You’re leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed, hair slightly tousled, that easy, innocent smile curving up the ends of your lips; it breaks me.
How am I supposed to look at you like I don’t know you?
Like I don’t know how soft your skin is because you’re kind of obsessive about skin care, or how messy your hair is in the mornings because you spend the entire night tossing and turning and then wake up complaining it’s because I hog the blanket even though we both know it’s not?
How am I supposed to pretend like I don’t know how it is to kiss you?
“Hey, are you okay?”
That’s not how it goes.
I used to play this out exactly how I remembered it every time I revisited this moment. I loved every second too much to change anything. But for the past few months I have tried everything, everything , to make it right, to make it better. Nothing has worked. Of course it’s the one thing John’s actually honest about.
There’s no reason to change things this time, in fact I hadn’t planned to at all. But I can’t do this.
“No.”
Your eyebrows furrow in the exact same way they do whenever I silently reach for a hug, or sit on the balcony for hours on end, or wake up not complaining about mornings. You know I’ve done all those things so much lately?
“Can- can I do something? How can I make it better?”
I want to laugh. You always do this; try to find a way to help without even asking what’s wrong.
I didn’t plan to change anything, but I don’t care anymore.
“Let’s leave.”
“What?” You laugh, shocked.
“I need to get out of here. Will you come with me?”
You look me straight in the eyes and I know you’re trying to figure out how serious I’m being.
“Okay.”
It’s not hard to sneak out. Classes are just about to start and we stop by your locker so that you can tell your friend you’re skiving. She doesn’t like me much here, but you once made her promise to never let me feel lonely while you were gone on trips for work and Cytherea hasn’t broken that promise yet. I was so mad when you told me about the promise. You got me to forgive you though, you always do.
We walk straight out the front gates, your stride confident, skirt brushing against the back of your knees with every step. We’ll be at a party somewhere between the fifth and sixth date and you’ll tell me, drunk and giggling after every second word, about how you and Cytherea sneak out early every Friday to go to her cousin Valancy’s flat for a party. I was shocked that night, but I’ve since gotten to know your troublemaker side. I’ll always tell you I don’t like it, but I really, really do.
“I’m Cristabel, by the way.”
“Mercymorn.”
“I know.” You bite your lip, suddenly shy. “Not in like, a weird way or anything. I do fencing with Pyrrha and I’ve met Gideon a couple of times. He’s your brother right?”
I nod. You’ll tell me later that you would ask Gideon about me a lot, that your crush started with the stories he would tell, and I love my brother for that so much more than he’ll ever realise.
“So where should we go?”
“We could get coffee.”
You wince and offer me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I don’t really like coffee. I have a major sweet tooth.”
Oh I know you do. You wake me up every Christmas morning with chocolate smeared across your lips (it’s the only time you’ll ever wake up before me) and you always have to step into the student union bakery on the way to class for an almond croissant - even when you’re running late.
“I bet I could find a coffee you’d like.”
You’ve never backed down from a challenge, so I know we’re gonna go to the coffee shop. And I’m sorry for the advantage I have here, you’d be so affronted if you knew, but you’d forgive me because I’m apologising and I never apologise.
You narrow your eyes, playful, excited, competitive. “We’ll see.”
I order you a cinnamon cappuccino and pile it with sugar. It’s far too sweet for me, but it’s the only thing I’ve ordered for weeks.
You order me a slice of carrot cake with a smug smile, and you know what? I take back my apology because you have an advantage too. You already know from Gideon that carrot cake is the only cake I’ll eat.
You take a dubious sip of your coffee and roll your eyes, grinning sheepishly. “Okay so actually it turns out I do like coffee. Dammit.”
It’s my turn to be smug and I make no effort in hiding it. You scoff and toss the napkin at my face but you’re laughing and I’m grinning and it’s been so long since I’ve even smiled. You don’t mention it when a tear leaks out of the corner of my eye, but I know you saw it. You always see everything when it comes to me, always have.
We start talking in earnest; you ask me about my family and I would have hated the question back then but me now is just happy to be talking to you. You tell me about your friends, about fencing and how it makes you feel like you can be more than this ‘good-girl’ label you’ve been branded with. You’re the only person I’ve ever met that can truly be called ‘good’, but you are also more. You don’t need me to tell you that, you’ll figure it out on your own soon enough, but I tell you anyway.
You make me laugh until my jaw aches, and everytime I get to see that one freckle on your left cheek disappear into a dimple the weight in my chest lifts a little.
We’re there for hours, and by the time we leave the sky has become a lot darker. I’ve never particularly liked winter, but there’s a certain otherness to the shade of blue the clouds become at 4 in the afternoon.
We make our way towards the park. The sand-gravel slips under my shoes and suddenly your palm is sliding against mine, fingers wrapping around my knuckles. You don’t say anything, but your smile is softer than usual, more content. My heart flutters like we’ve never held hands before, and I guess this one technically hasn’t.
There’s an old-fashioned street lamp casting low, orange light every two trees on either side of the path, and with every halo we step through a ball of cotton lodges itself in my throat.
“So, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like a total stalker all day,” you pause to laugh, scratching awkwardly at the place where your jaw meets your ear. I remember you did when you had to ask the pharmacist for dental dams in our first year of uni, and that time you had to explain to your dad why your bed had been creaking so much after I slept over for the first time.
“So I’m just gonna say it. Happy birthday.”
I stop walking.
“I- Pyrrha told me. I know, it’s totally weird-”
Your other hand gestures so much as you start rambling and, fuck, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to live without you. I’m so angry , you know? I’m so mad at you. Why do you have to leave me? How is it fair? I never asked you to come into my life. I never asked you to show me how to love someone more than anything else in the universe. I never asked you to make me happy after I spent so many years in misery. I never asked you to show me this whole other world. Your world. I never asked. But you did it anyway. You did it anyway.
I want to tell you that you’re the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I want to tell you that I love the way you laugh, I love your joy and sadness and anger. I love the parts of yourself you hate and I love the parts of yourself you like. I love how it makes absolutely zero sense to shower before your morning jog but you do it anyway. How Christmas is your favourite holiday and you hate Lent, how you prefer sad movies to happy ones because “it’s nice to feel sad sometimes”. How you love that I can and will complain about everything because the world has too many optimists and not enough realists in it.
I want to tell you that you’re not going to get into your first choice university but you’re never going to regret going to the one I’m going to. I want to tell you that yes, you can chop off all your hair because when your very soul is so beautiful every style is stunning. I want to tell you that the way you’ll propose to me is absolutely perfect and I promise it’s the best birthday gift you’ve ever given me because what could be better than a lifetime with you?
You’ve stopped rambling and now we’re just looking at each other, you worrying, me in tears. I want to kiss you but every atom in my body is frozen.
Luckily, you’ve always known what I need.
Your hands come up to rest against my jaw and you bend your head and press your lips to mine.
You’re so soft and so gentle and I know I’m crying and I’m sorry. My hands are gripping your jumper so tightly but you don’t mind. You breathe against my mouth as you move away for a second to shift your head, and your nose bumps into mine. You huff an apology, a giggle bubbling at the back of your throat, and I’m sorry I can’t save you. I’m so, so sorry.
I press into you, press the history you haven’t lived yet into your lips, as though for even a second you might suddenly be my you again. I know you feel self-conscious and I promise we get better at this kissing thing, but out of the millions of kisses we’ve had over the past three years, this one’s still my favourite. It’s clumsy and a little awkward and you can’t stop giggling and I can’t stop crying but it’s still my favourite. Because it’s the beginning of everything .
Everything that’s over now.
Because you’re gone.
You’ve left me.
And not even time travel can stop death.