They say that there is a cause for every mishap you encounter, every tragedy you suffer. In concept, it's meant to build up your immunity to emotional pain, make you stronger than you once were. But there was absolutely no explanation for the despair that Clay Jensen felt at that moment, the moment when the tapes were over and he was still without the woman that had been so lost for so long, the moment when he realized that, despite her assumptions that her death-her suicide-would have occurred without him leaving that room, he was still very much at fault, still very much the cause of his own heartache and her death.
She had been so full of light the first time he saw her, a smile lighting up her face as she tapped her pen casually against the desk, her eyes flashing to his for just a moment before she glanced away, a blush darkening her fair cheeks. And from that first moment, he had known that she had the ability to save him. She also possessed the ability to destroy him, and knowing his part in her death changed him, destroyed what he possessed that resembled sanity and made him want to know why she had done it, why she had allowed those people to destroy her when he happily would have saved her again and again, happily would've listened to her heartache and her pain until she no longer felt either. Then again, they also say that the saddest leave behind no marks.
Hannah had left behind marks, though, on her community, her family, and, most importantly, on him. She had made him wonder about how short life could be, about how much pain someone could handle before they were forced to break, and about how much love would have to be provided to protect her from that pain. He wondered if, had he known, would he have been able to save her from herself. He wondered about a lot of things, and he had no answers. The only person able to provide them had killed herself and left behind no trace of why she thought she didn't matter to him.
He had loved her. God, had he loved her. She had been happiness and sunshine in a world of complete blackness. She had been just as lost as he was, though, and he had ignored her. He had been unaware of her pain by being trapped within his own, and he had lost her. He had lost her.
He walked down the streets of his hometown. It wasn't his anymore, though. Every corner he turned, every building he hurried past, they all reminded him of Hannah. Hannah, who had been so lost that she had caused them to lose her. Hannah, who told her story in a voice that was haunted and in love and so utterly beautiful when she spoke of a love story they had never had the opportunity to truly experience. Hannah, whom he had loved fiercely for so long and didn't know why she hadn't told him what had happened to her again and again, how she was haunted by her thoughts and her memories, how he was the only one who had ever been capable of saving her.
As he turned into the park and sat on a swing that faced the rocket, though, he buried his face in his hands and stared at the ground. He was unable to cope with anything. He had lost the only thing that truly mattered, and, in some small way, it had been his fault.
A sudden flash of silvery-blonde locks alerted him to his company, and he turned quickly. The image was gone within moments, but he knew that hair. It was impossible, though. She was dead.
That didn't stop hope from causing his heart to begin to rush faster than it ever had before. That didn't stop him from standing and running down the nearly-empty street. And it sure as hell didn't stop Hannah Baker, the girl who had been dead for nearly a month, from spinning around and staring at him, her eyes wide in shock as she approached him, her hand reaching for his cheek for only a moment before tears ran down her own and she turned away.
But she wasn't getting away that easy again, and he grabbed her hand, causing her to gasp, turn around, and smile.
"Look at that," she whispered, hope obvious despite the lost expression she wore. "Clay Jensen missed me."
And as they stood there, two lost souls in a world moving insanely fast, he knew that this was the moment that he had lived for, fought for, yearned for, loved for, and known would, in time, happen.
She was here, and she was the love of his life.
And that sure as hell was worth chasing her for.
A/N: So I read a book this weekend, and it was absolutely amazing! There was emotion and passion and heartache and this beautiful tragedy that was Hannah Baker and her emotions were so misunderstood that she ended her life and that is the saddest thing I have ever read, but it is also one of the most beautiful. Because, when you really think about it, do you think suicide is caused more by what people know and what they say, or what they think of you, what they whisper behind your back? I think it's the latter myself, but please feel free to have your own opinion and leave it in a review!
THIS STORY WILL BE CONTINUED!