Haunted

An Ashley Kerwin story, by Juliet.

I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away.

"Whisper" by Evanescence

I find myself staring at the girl in the mirror, as I've done every morning since the moment I'd arrived. The weather outside is continuously morose and beclouded, just as the bundle of emotions within my head and nothing seems to become any easier, any less difficult.

His first letter spoke words of endless sorrow, endless sorrow that I'd created with my own lingering words. "I need to get away. From you." I'd said, and the words seemed to ring inside of my ears for days to come. His countenance faltered into a pained expression and I'd wanted to collapse and tell him things would be all right, that everything between us would stand strong and patched when I returned.

But the last letter had caused the first to become long forgotten.

"Ashley," the letter had said, "I've finally come to the conclusion that I . . . agree. I agree with everything you said about us, about me. We do need time apart. But I can't – won't – guarantee that when you leave London, I'll be waiting with open arms." And a silent tear cascaded like a forgotten forest stream down the fair skin of my cheek; it burned rancid.

"You broke my heart, Ashley Kerwin, and for the longest time, you'd been the only one who knew just what to say, just what to do to mend it. But you're not here to hold my hand, anymore, and though it's taken me a while, I've realized that . . . I was grasping for something – someone – that wasn't there." The paper felt heavy within my clutch and the room surrounding me faded into nothingness.

"You've haunted my thoughts, my dreams for too long, and it's time to let go; to cut loose the final string. You let go before Summer began, and I'll do my part before it ends." Signed, simply, "Craig." And I'd wanted to melt into the floor beneath me, a pile of broken entity, lifeless and drained.

And as I gaze at the girl in the mirror, I cannot help but want to thrust a bristled comb in her direction; to scream and rant, and crash my tightened fists on to the smooth, untouched surface of the glass. I should have seen it coming, though. It was almost at my command that this happened. "I need to get away. From you."

"Damn it, Craig," I sputter into the thick air. The drapery decorating the windows are shut and fall free against the transparent glass; the room is dark and drained of all light, but a lone candle with a flickering flame of bright orange and yellow. Damn you, Craig, for finding your independence. "I was supposed to find mine first."

And I wonder what you're doing; who's hand you might be holding, who's love you might be gaining, who's affection you might be receiving. I wonder this, and then force myself to stop – it's too painful, to realize, I guess, because it wasn't supposed to be this way.

I may have needed a break from you, but I'd never imagined you'd need one from me too.

And this is where our story ends, and mine begins.

My chest seems to expand and a new breath of fresh air consumes me. I can see the light, I can see the stars; and I'm not okay, but I will be.

Without you.