Accepted: Berkely, Olin, and Cornell. I will be attending Olin! Despite this, I give you...Angst, Yayyyyy:
They shuffled on the train silently, Lucy and Edmund still awkwardly glancing at Susan. Susan – who had been quiet the car ride there – acted as if she did not notice anything. Her face was dry, emotionless, and her eyes were glazed over as if she wasn't even there. The doors of the train held open for a while, and soon the announcer called the last boarding.
Ethereally, Susan stepped forward to embrace her three siblings. Edmund, first caught in surprise, roughly patted the back of his older sister, as if unsure and unbelieving of the situation. Lucy, now expecting, almost jumped into her sisters arms squeezing as if she couldn't bear to let go.
But she did.
Peter last, opened him arms. Only with him, did Susan break concentration for a second. She hesitated, before quickly pulling him into an embrace. She crushed him, pushing herself as close to his chest as possibly. Something about her shook his heart, but he was vaguely distracted as he noted she put something in his pocket.
Then, she was gone.
It all blurred together, but the doors were closed and her figure was growing smaller with the distance – a combination he noticed of the train moving and her running. Only a short "trip to the bathroom" would provide him with a pitiful, temporary reprieve.
…
When I learned that it was wrong, I could never understand why I couldn't stop loving you. When I learned you loved me too, I could never understand why you did. But when you forgot about me, I understood immediately, Peter, that that was the end of us.
I actually never hated you, any of you for Narnia – never even truly hated Narnia. I loved that you still idealized that home above all homes – envied that Edmund and Lucy could go back. But I didn't know what to do. If I told you I remembered, then I would have to tell you what I remembered – and those things were now taboo.
I guess I was always the weakest out of the four of us, and it was simply easier to pretend it never happened. I'm sorry for being emotional, too, but…it was hard for me to deal with. The fact that your looks towards me were now completely brotherly.
One day, I hope that you'll remember me and what we had – sometimes I think I made it all up, and that's it's just some fantasy in my head. If you ever do remember, I suppose we'll both be different people by then. And maybe that's what Aslan intended.
I don't know what to do with myself. I never had my own character; I was gentle and beautiful, both of which are vague, relative, and indistinct descriptions, which may or may not be fitting of me.
I guess I'm able to leave this note for you without a guilty conscience, because I know you won't understand anything I'm writing here Peter. You'll be confused – you'll get that look, the one where your eyebrows scrunch together – don't worry, Peter, it's adorable.
I guess my last words should be what I mean most, but bear in mind, that these are words you won't understand, not completely, not fully. But it's all right Peter, I just want you to know them.
I love you.
After the crash, she wondered if he had ever read it. Finding herself in a wooden wardrobe once more, her once perfect fingernails clawing with desperation at the back board, she lost herself sound in the stifling, masochistic sound.
That sound would serve as a never ending hum in the background of the rest of her life. That pain would, oddly enough, serve as the core drive and power of her being.
Had he read it? Had he read it? – was the rhythm of each thought for every aching moment after.
(He had, of course, she didn't know.)
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