Christmas that year at 35 Portland Row was a subdued affair, despite its inhabitants' effort to do the contrary. In fact, anyone who'd have peeked in would have thought that the whitewashed, four-story house belonged to cheery people, not teenagers secretly nursing freshly acquired wounds.
Lockwood joked a lot, George made several rude comments over cocoa and crisps, and Holly watched the two with a small smile—her laugh frozen in her face. But they were far from happy. They were incomplete. They were haunted by the ghost of a still-living girl, and that made it worse. Iron chains won't heal a broken heart, sprigs of lavender wouldn't fill the empty space that Lucy Carlyle had left behind.
Holly had took it upon herself to decorate the house. Under her supervision, the house nearly disappeared under leaves of hollies and poinsettia flowers. It made the house look like a dump site for rejected Christmas decors, but Lockwood and George didn't have the heart to tell her.
A year ago, Lucy had undertook the same role, hanging ornaments of gold in the windows alongside the iron charms and drawing comical pictures of Lockwood and George as Santa's elves. Maybe she'd have done it this year too, if she was still around.
At dinner, Lockwood was quiet. He barely heard what the other two was talking about. He kept expecting the doorbell to ring, for his former colleague to barge in, wearing a wide grin on her face.
He lingered after dinner. He even volunteered to do the dishes, just to have an excuse to stay out of bed. He kept hoping that Lucy would come, but he wouldn't voice those wishes aloud. Not when he knew George and Holly were talking behind his back, stopping guiltily whenever he walks in. Not when they probably already thought he was a moping fool, unable to deal with guilt. Still, from the look that George gave him before retiring to his room, Lockwood gathered that his friend knew. And understood.
Despite George's reassurances, Lockwood couldn't stop blaming himself, for everything and it didn't make him feel better to know that it was a normal way to act. Lucy said her reasons for leaving clearly enough, but Lockwood thought that if he hadn't been so standoffish—if he just told her the bloody truth instead of treating Lucy so terribly—then she would have thought twice of leaving.
Maybe she wouldn't have left at all.
A/N: Hullo, guys. This is my first fanfic, so it's probably not as good as other's works yet. I think that Lockwood would blame himself for Lucy leaving, but won't admit it, and Christmas is coming... Naturally, I thought it's the perfect time to try and write.
If there are any errors, please forgive me. I wrote it on mobile while on a family dinner. (Bursts of inspiration, you know?)
Please leave an honest review, or just fav it. Both of them will mean a lot!
*kiss/punch*
🌻 Ellievator (kessyoctavia on Tumblr)