Title: Holding On (And Letting Go)
Author: RichelleBrinkley
Word Count: 2,057
Rating: T
AN: I worked on this for about a week (I'm a slow writer, I know). I had a lot of trouble establishing the premise of this story at first, and had to restart it three times (the first draft of this involved them being trapped in a basement, and the second had Richelle as a sobbing mess and Nick as the "just friends" guy. Thank god I finally wrote this version.)
Story title taken from Ross Copperman's song "Holding On And Letting Go". This story doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the song, I just took the name as a prompt and ran with it. Listen to it if you want because it's a nice song, but it doesn't really have anything to do with the story.
Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Holding On And Letting Go", all rights go to Ross Copperman. I also do not own Raven Hill Mysteries/Teen Power Inc., it belongs to Emily Rodda.
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Nick Kontellis has never been one for sentimentality, nor has he ever been inclined to hold onto the past. To him, matters of long ago have no bearings with the going-ons of the present, and not letting go of former mistakes or relationships is not how one should hope to function with a clear state of mind.
Nick Kontellis always focuses on the present, and occasionally the future. Nothing more, nothing less.
At least, this is the case unless Richelle Brinkley is concerned.
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Not being able to forget about the twisted, failed relationship they'd had was a certain weakness Nick never liked to shed light on. Because being his arrogant, smug self, Nick never wanted to appear weak or vulnerable in any manner. But with every passing day without the blonde-haired beauty by his side, the cracks begin to run deeper and deeper in his psyche, slowly shattering and crumbling at his resolve. Six months after their fiery breakup, Nick finds himself having to swallow down the pain that throbs in his chest when a grim-faced Richelle turns bright, icy eyes on him when he accidentally bumps into her on his way to the library.
There might have been a time – some point in the obscure, indistinct past – when Nick would never have believed that a girl could have such an effect on him, an unbreakable hold on his heart.
But as the days continue to pass by in a meaningless blur, flashes of pale golden hair seek to remind him painfully that this is no ordinary girl. This is Richelle Brinkley.
And think what he might about keeping the past in the past, but Nick cannot help himself when his first instinct when triggered with memories of his former girlfriend is to hold on.
But holding on is always inexplicably tied to letting go.
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Richelle has never been fond of holding on to past relationships. With the few boyfriends she has had, it has come to her knowledge that crying over what was now in the past had no bearing to the present or future. When her relationships ended, she always moped around for the first fortnight or so, cried a bit and perhaps had a drink or two, but after that she never had a problem with putting the past in the past and moving on.
At least, not until she'd happened to date and break up with Nick Kontellis.
It has been eight months now since their breakup, and Richelle cannot even remember why they'd parted ways in the first place, the matter of their falling out being so trivial.
Every time she passes him in the hallways of Raven Hill High, the air seems to drop in temperature, or maybe it is just the icy glares they shoot at each other. Richelle glares because she hates how even after eight months, she cannot seem to move on from her ex-boyfriend. She glares because every time their eyes meet, she feels her heart skip a beat and a painful lump form in the back of her throat.
She glares, but all the whilst unconsciously etching his handsome features into her memory time and time again.
Holding on.
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There is one time, exactly nine months, three days after their initial breakup, that Nick and Richelle find themselves being partnered together during a school excursion to the local television-broadcasting station. They are all handed worksheets and sent off towards different corners of the building, students dragging their feet in obvious reluctance to complete the given work.
Richelle and Nick are let into a room containing what looks to be all the filing cabinets in Raven Hill, and told to investigate and write a report on the financial and contractual dealings of the station.
Richelle barely even understands what those words mean, let alone in correlation to the television station.
Not even bothering to pull open a filing cabinet, she curls up in front of the only window in the room, basking in the sun's rays. The floor is hardwood and rather uncomfortable, but it is thankfully clean, and Richelle would much rather sit on the uncomfortable floor than at the single armchair located far too close to her ex-boyfriend for comfort.
Casting a wary look across the room, Richelle pulls her knees up to her chest, resting her head on her folded arms. She does not want to be in this musty, slightly claustrophobic room, least of all with her former boyfriend.
Nick seems no more enthusiastic than she, although he at least makes an effort to look through a few of the filing cabinets. Richelle watches him inconspicuously from the corner of her vision – her eyes definitely don't linger on his nonchalant expression, nor do they occasionally flicker to his dark eyelashes or beautifully pressed school uniform. Nick has always looked impeccable.
She doesn't realise she is staring until he turns and catches her eye, a slight smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth.
He steps over to her.
"Well, Brinkley, what are you staring for?" Nick's eyes are dark and his tone slightly mocking. He is jeering at her, Richelle realises.
The air is buzzing with a certain tension, and for the first time in nine months and three days, Richelle can feel it, a particular underlying current in the air – a palpable tension between the two of them. The same tension that had served to bring the two of them together in the first place.
There was a special chemistry the two of them shared, a bond neither had felt with any other.
Richelle feels goosebumps erupt across her exposed skin, and a slight sheen of sweat form on her palms.
She is good with words, she knows that. Between her and Nick, it was hard to tell who had charmed their way out of more sticky situations, both possessing the inane ability to manipulate the wills of others' with their words.
But Richelle has never had to fight a battle of the charms with her former boyfriend before, and going up against him now, Richelle is not sure she'll be the one to come out on top. Especially when she is still undeniably in love with him.
Sometimes, the things we hold on to serve nothing but to weaken our defences.
Richelle replies with a feeble, "Nothing".
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Holding on is the easy part. It is letting go that Nick has always found himself struggling with, where his past relationship with Richelle was concerned.
There is something about her – not the blonde hair or blue eyes, not anything superficial or on the surface. Maybe it is her confidence in herself, her blunt words or ability to make him smile.
It stings when she turns and walks away from him now, the sunlight still caught upon her figure, painting a dazzling picture of honeyed locks and fair skin.
She leaves him standing in the middle of the room, closing the door behind her with a flick of her wrist. Nick stares after her the whole time she steps further and further away from him, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists by his side. He misses her, a lot more than he is willing to admit.
After nine months and three days, he is still holding on.
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There is a single fiery kiss, over a year and a half after they end their relationship.
It happens at a party, as a lot of unplanned and unintentional kisses usually do. Richelle is dating another boy at the time, and she supposes that if one were to be technical, they'd most likely classify the kiss between her and Nick as cheating.
She doesn't call it cheating. She calls it closure.
They kiss nowhere special or particularly romantic, just in a bedroom upstairs from the party. Maybe it might have been romantic if it had not been trashed by a previous couple putting it to use; Richelle wrinkles her nose at a condom wrapper on the floor.
When he'd come to her earlier that night, eyes burning with perhaps a tad too much emotion than he'd usually be happy to reveal to her (this was explained by the drink in his hand), she'd pushed him away initially, only stopping to pull him back when she saw the unguarded flash of hurt across his face.
Nick is slightly too inebriated, and Richelle pours him glass after glass of water before leading him to a bedroom upstairs to sleep in off. Seeing him in his vulnerable state brings back not-entirely-unwanted memories of their past relationship, where he'd been a little less stoic and cool with her.
Richelle kisses him gently on the forehead, barely a brush of her lips against his skin.
She is about to turn away and go back downstairs to the party when she feels a firm hand latch onto her wrist, fingers wrapping around her pulse point.
There is a quick movement, Nick sitting up in the bed, before Richelle feels herself being pulled closer almost a little too roughly and warm lips pressing against her own.
It is perhaps too sad the kiss, tinged slightly with a desperate edge that seeps into Richelle's bones and has her trembling slightly in Nick's embrace.
Kissing him is not like coming home, nor is it like an electric shock. It is not cliché, nor is it wholly unique in any way.
The kiss is just Nick and his unspoken pain, and Richelle almost wishes it was like fireworks and butterflies because those things would've been a lot less heartbreaking to stomach than raw, undisguised pain.
When Nick pulls away, there is a wetness on her cheek, and a glance into his dry eyes tells her that it is her own tears sliding down her face.
"Sorry," Nick has the decency to look ashamed, "It's just... After all this time, I just needed..."
"Closure," she chokes out, swallowing hard at the lump in her throat.
Smiling wanly at him, Richelle wipes her eyes before blinking up at him through tear-sodden lashes. Her mascara is probably streaming down her face. "Yeah, I needed it too."
That night is the first night they both begin to let go.
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Days and months pass. A year, two.
Richelle and Nick let go through stolen kisses, each one a little less sad and painful than the last.
For the two of them, letting go is heated exchanges behind closed doors, clashing teeth and dragging lips. Letting go is when every kiss tugs a little less at their heartstrings, and when pain suddenly starts to blur the line between pleasure.
Letting go is slow and arduous, a heart-wrenching cacophony of muffled sobs and quiet gasps.
Letting go hurts almost as much and holding on.
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Somewhere in-between the stolen kisses, there is a change, an unexpected rediscovering in their relationship. One day Richelle suddenly finds herself kissing Nick not to help the both of them let go, but because she wants to, because there is something that stirs in the pit of her stomach when she is pouring herself into him, breaths mingling and hands tangling.
It is strange, but after all this time spent pained over their breakup, when the time comes to finally let go, she finds herself wishing she'd held on just a little bit harder.
She doesn't know it, but Nick wishes the exact same thing.
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They finally let go completely a sunny afternoon in the summer, over ice-cream in the park to the sounds of birds chirping and the wind whistling. There is no pain or sadness left, no need to steal any more kisses.
So they part ways.
Letting go always inexplicably tied to moving on.
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The next spring, Nick finds himself thinking of the two of them; their relationship, the holding on and the letting go.
He figures that in time, they will both find someone else to hold on to.
But as he collects his order of two dozen roses from the florist, straightening his shirt and driving over to her house, he thinks discordantly that he'd rather Richelle hold on to no one else but he.
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The roses look beautiful in a vase in her bedroom.
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AN: Sorry this is kinda short and choppy. What can I say, I tried my best.
This was actually supposed to have a sad ending originally, and I kinda struggled with whether or not to include that last bit that turned it into a kinda happier ending. In the end I liked the last line so much I included the happier ending. I've just said end about five times. I'm sorry.
Thank-you for reading as always.
Much love,
RichelleBrinkley xx