AN: Get the tissues. I'm sorry. Don't hate me.
The AMAZING poem 'by Sara' in the italics was written by the lovely fourteendeepbreaths over on Tumblr. Check her out!
It was the first time Tegan could bring herself to enter her guest bedroom since that day. Stacy had helped delicately place each item into the boxes in which they still resided. Lindsey had helped delicately place each box into the room in which the boxes would remain.
No one had dared question Tegan. No one asked her if she had gone through the boxes yet. No one tried to tell her that it would be cathartic. No one pestered or nagged her about getting it over with or moving on. No one wanted to disturb the careful balance of denial and distraction that everyone knew now laid the foundation for her mental and emotional stability.
So Tegan had never opened this door. She had never dusted off the boxes. She had never brought herself back to these memories.
Until now.
The knob stuck and the hinges whined as the door slowly presented the neglected space. Tegan shook her head and grinned sadly as she likened it to the wardrobe leading to Narnia. This room with these things and these memories were her Narnia. She escaped into the past, where her current reality was absent. She let emotions long avoided wash over her and take her breath away.
Tegan's fingers gripped the door frame to steady herself. The room had somehow gained the scent of the objects and their previous owner. It was almost too much for her to process; she had prepared for the memories, but this was completely unexpected. The first of what she assumed would be many tears broke free from her eyelashes, and she was thankful that Lindsey would be gone for another few days on a job. This gave her time to glue herself back together if she fell apart, which was looking more and more probable.
Although months had passed, every memory was fresh and always would be. Tegan knew which items were in which box and where each specific box was placed. The clothes and other personal effects weren't her mission for the day. She knew that sorting those was still something she couldn't handle. Today she had decided to look through some of the papers. There were still unanswered questions, as always in these situations, and she hoped that just maybe some line in an unfinished song or abandoned mail had some knowledge she did not yet possess.
The box with papers in it was near the middle of the room. The others were stacked and grouped by contents along the walls and beside the bed. This box was the only one of its kind, so it was put on the rug past the foot of the bed to avoid being lost in the mix. Tegan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, sitting down on the floor in front of the box. Her moist eyelashes broke apart revealing the cardboard, and her hands trembled as they lifted apart the flaps. She knew that she had to do this with as much detachment as possible, otherwise she wasn't going to be able to do it at all.
Tegan began to remove the contents according to the arrangement that they had been placed in the box. The stack of unopened and opened mail was placed to her far left. The manila folders with business documents went next to the mail. Then she started to lift out the notebooks. These held everything. Each song, journal entry, personal thought, it was all here. With the stack of notebooks being several deep, she cautiously removed a few at a time. These became three stacks to her right. A few other random bits of paper, including old magazines and newspapers, were placed behind her. She would go through these last, as they were less likely to aid her mission. If she found herself unable to continue at some point, she decided that she would regret it less if she missed sorting through those.
She moved the box out of the way to give herself the area in front of her as workspace. The notebooks were the most precious. She lifted each notebook individually, scanned the front for any labeling or indication of its contents, and then placed it in a new stack in front of her. About halfway through this process, she lifted a dark red notebook. The front only had one letter in permanent marker: 'T'. Tegan thought this was curious, as the others were meticulously categorized and titled.
She placed her thumb on the fore edge and started to leaf through it. Her name appeared a number of times on most pages. It was about her. Her chest hurt as breathing became more difficult. Tegan couldn't believe that there was an entire journal dedicated to her. More tears stung in her eyes as more pages flipped and revealed her name again and again.
Suddenly, an envelope feel into her lap. Tegan set down the notebook to examine the new item. Her sleeves quickly wiped her wet cheeks in fear of staining any of the priceless items. The envelope in her hands had just one word on it, "Tegan". It was not sealed, so she slowly removed the single sheet of paper inside it. She carefully unfolded it and read the top.
It was dated just two days before the accident.
A pained sob escaped Tegan's throat. This letter was written to her less than 48 hours before her world collapsed in upon her. She pressed her face into her arm, hoping for her shirt to somehow stop her eyes and nose from running. After a few moments, her shuddered breathing steadied, and her attention returned to the letter, although her eyes stung more with each word she read.
Dear Tegan,
I rub my hands against my hips,
the skin on my sides,
to imagine how they would feel to you
to know what a loving hand on my naked flesh
would do to my heart.
Is this what your skin feels like too?
I cannot wait to understand
every in and out of your domain.
I want your pulse to kiss my ear while I listen to you breathe
And your soft hands to tickle my back as you pull me in.
I pine to discover how your breathe hitches
when a finger runs over your soft, pale breast.
Will your legs shake when my fingers pulse
between them
into the warm sweetness
that is you?
I touch myself to know what you will feel
when you discover the soft casing
of my softer soul.
It aches for you, you know.
My soul responds to your voice,
the way your lips shape the quiet "hello."
I shiver.
I've discovered how I want you to say my name
when I devour your core:
followed by "I love you"
Reality crumbled. The room was silent, but the ringing in Tegan's ears did not fade. This was it. This was what she wanted to find, but it was also something she didn't want to know.
It all clicked in Tegan's head. Everything from that day made sense. The reason for her impromptu trip to Vancouver. The reason she had kept it a secret, even from Tegan herself. The reason she had chosen the Capilano Suspension Bridge. That bridge had meant so much to them.
Sara had been in love with Tegan. She had come to Vancouver to tell Tegan but then assumed that she would be rejected, so she went to the spot that meant the most to them.
If only Tegan had known, she could have prevented the last five months. Sara would be with her right now, sitting in her apartment. It was Tegan's fault. If she had known that this was going to be the result, she would have professed her own emotions years before. She had reciprocated the feelings, but she never told anyone. She had also assumed that she would be rejected, and the fear of losing Sara completely was greater than the pain of what she thought was unrequited love.
Now, because Tegan had been such a coward, she not only lost Sara and was completely to blame, but the lingering 'what if' was going to eat at whatever was left of her soul. What if she had told Sara? Would they have been able to make it work? Would they have kept their career? Would they have kept it a secret from everyone or told close friends? There were so many questions that bombarded her mind, but none of them mattered.
Sara was gone, and it was Tegan's fault.
Tegan folded the letter up and placed it back in its envelope. She looked around and noticed that she was on the bridge just above the spot that they found Sara. She didn't remember how she had gotten there, but she knew why she was there. She placed a gentle kiss to the letter and tucked it back in her pocket. The location was secluded enough; it was one of the park's less busy days, so there weren't any other visitors in her line of sight. Her sleeve wiped the last tears she would cry over Sara.
"See you soon," her lips spoke into the distance, and a contented smile graced her lips for the first time since the day that Sara had last visited this park. Her leg lifted to the railing, and she hoisted herself up. Her arms stretched to either side like wings, and she flew.
