Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter and the new chapter of wishful nothings! Your reviews really do mean a lot to me!
There's some angst ahead, so this has gone up to a T rating because it's kind of dark. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the wonderful Moonbike; happy (late) birthday! :D (And sorry I'm dedicating such a depressing chapter to you lol). Thanks for reading! :)
Hello stranger
I've found myself thinking of you often. Of bright pencil skirts in green and yellow; of matching blouses and cardigans with shiny brooches and polished heels that click importantly when you walk. You radiate innocence and light wherever you go, and it is with thoughts of such sweetness, that the darkness is given a rare kind of clarity that only the most particular of lights can bring.
I think of your gentle smile and your wide eyes a lot; it's not often I meet a child with eyes shining with such purity; and you're a grown woman.
When my teachers start to shout, and when Emma seems more mysterious than usual, I think of you then; because I know you're not like them; you're open and honest; you don't have secrets and you most certainly aren't scared of the ghosts of your past, because you know they can't hurt you from so far away.
Do you even have any ghosts to run from? I bet your parents are loving and kind and so proud of their lovely daughter...
Were you popular at school? That's probably a silly question; I can't imagine why you wouldn't be. I bet you have so many friends that you barely have the time to sit and read this, perhaps that's why you do so over breakfast: because it's the only alone time you get...
The perfect life, a flawless past, and you still take the time to listen to people like me... Why is that?
I wouldn't listen to me. Not if I had the chance. If I could, I'd run; like everyone else does, maybe I'd even run alongside then.
... You know how when you're young there's a person you know, or don't, more than less likely, whose every movement is performed with such grace that it's captivating to watch them simply walk, whose every word is heard poetic and sweet and whose appearance though blemished is flawed to perfection...
And then, one day, something horrible happens; something that changes everything: you see them cry. Your hero; untouchable and oh so strong, will not change, will not break, but the cracks that've always been are suddenly visible. In a second you realise they trip when they walk and stutter words that only seemed magic to a child who doesn't understand it's all an illusion.
Emma was not; is not, perfect. Her makeup isn't mild and mature like yours; her eyes are lined with a thick rim of black and her hair's untamed, her clothes never match and even the words "flawed to perfection" don't quite fit her mismatched wardrobe and unreadable expression when a smile is offered in return for friendship.
She's quiet and isolated, alone when she's by my side; you're everything she's not and she's nothing you aren't. But Emma isn't naive; she knows pain like a friend she hates to greet. Maybe that's the only difference, such a vast, weightless difference. Yet somehow, she's the darkness if you're the light, but right now; in the real world, her grey dimness is a whole lot brighter than the complete darkness that's cast its shadow over everything I can't find. I fear I'd be blinded by the light you bring anyway; that the innocence that glows around you in an aura of gold would in contrast make mine shine darker than before.
And I've never felt so safe.
You may think it's a little strange. The funny thing is I do too.
But I've got used to not understanding. Emma after all does a lot of things I don't understand; when she speaks, she does so in a whisper as if no one should hear, and her eyes drift from mine when I smile kindly in response. When her words are spoken loud enough to hear, which is less often than a lot, they come across rehearsed and, if anything, pained; as if every utterance is made of broken glass.
She told me once she feels safest far away; in the land of fantasy and words, but honestly I wish she'd read less if it would mean she's happy to be in this world, with me. If words are our disguise, then why should we need them when we're not afraid? Sometimes I know magic phrases are the only way to reach someone so far away; the perfect shield and the most common form of communication, but sometimes I wish she'd hear my pleas before they're voiced.
... Yesterday at school there was a new girl in our class, tall and broad with short messy hair and kind eyes, Emma was just wonderful with her; sweet and welcoming and interested... I think that maybe she's just great with people with general, well, when she wants to be; there's a little boy called Jimmy who used to live with her and the family she stayed with before she came here who follows her around like a lost puppy; it's not hard to see he absolutely dotes on her... I guess I'm just more reserved when it comes to new people.
The new girl is called Shannon. She seems... nice... But I don't understand most of the things she says no matter how hard I search my thesaurus... And she ate an entire chicken at lunch and Emma looked like she was about to pass out...
The more I get to know Emma the more I notice the strange things in way she acts. The other day in biology we were looking at insects from the school field and Emma looked so scared when she whispered that they "might have a family", (I initially thought she was kidding but the solemn expression that accompanied her words told me otherwise), that I suggested we freed the poor creatures into the greenery. She grinned thankfully at this and happily distracted the teacher while I took the jar of assorted bugs outside... Unfortunately, Mr. Mc Hansh realised what had happened and didn't find my heroic act quite as noble as Emma did, (she shared her PB&J sandwich with me at lunch as a thanks for my efforts, all the while eyeing Shannon as if she was in the midst of murder). Mr. Mc Hansh gave me a half hour detention at the end of the day as opposed to a well deserved thanks for all my hard work. But I didn't care too much; the sandwich was the best I'd ever had.
The whole experience did, if anything, make me realise she has a lot of... quirks. I mean I know a lot of people hate smoking but her reaction was a little over the top... And of course there's the clothes... I think it's fair to say I've given up on being surprised by her shocking choice of attire, (still reading that thesaurus), yesterday she came into school in an huge knitted jumper so long it dragged on the ground like the train of a wedding dress... a wedding dress which bears the words "Merry Christmas!" and the picture of a snowman... And it's April.
And then there's the smudge of black on her tiny wrist which I can never seem to distinguish... Well, could never seem to distinguish...
But I guess if you really care about someone you don't need to understand every little detail to be their friend... Because when you deserve the trust that comes so fearfully they'll answer every leering question you were afraid to ask, and maybe you'll wish you never knew, because they can't be that untouchable hero if they're broken, and although you respond bravely, deep down you're scared, and you know it means you can't be their light in the darkness, either. But you'll never give up shining.
I think of you a lot.
I think of you when I'm more scared than usual. When I smile like I'm fine because the teachers don't listen like you do, and when and I play prince for a girl in a dress that isn't white like it should be.
I know it's wrong, but sometimes I wish she were more like you. Sometimes I wish she dressed like everyone else and listened to an iPod instead of a cassette. Sometimes I wish I hadn't found out what that black smudge on her wrist means; sometimes I wish I hadn't seen the details of her past engraved into her pale flesh so definitively. Sometimes I wish there were no ghosts to run from and no secrets to hide and to tell.
Sometimes I wish I were the vest-wearing, stranger-loving gentleman whose only problems are exceptionally ordinary.
But sometimes I don't.
*** But this time was different. It was dark outside; the kind of darkness that takes over everything until there's nothing left, or at least it feels like that at the time; but in the morning light again, the whole haunting experience is forgotten like a lost dream. I lay in my bed for a while, waiting for sleep to wash over me once again, but realising that wasn't going to happen any time soon I decided to get a drink, as if somehow the short journey downstairs would earn the tiredness I desired. Fumbling in the darkness I found my way to the colourless corridor. I'd just made it out of my door when I stumbled, a loud squeak caused me to freeze, whisper a hushed "hello?" and sigh dramatically when Emma's soft voice responded with a gentle, "hi...", my extended sigh was cut off by the sound of a muffled sob. I tilted my head slightly to watch her expression, but I couldn't see anything behind the think veil of darkness that separated us, slowly I crouched until our eyes were level. "are you okay..?" I asked softly, a quiet "yes." reached me but I shook my head slowly, eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, "no you're not..." I muttered. Emma raised her head uncertainly until her gaze was level with mine. "What, are you scared of the dark?" I joked with a small grin I hoped she could see. She considered my words thoughtfully before responding carefully, "not of the dark... More of what's hiding in the darkness..." her tone showed no hint of a smile; her voice was flat, dead. She continued when my silence was too loud to bear. "How can you not be frightened of something so uncertain?" Surprised by the sudden seriousness of the conversation I thought for a moment before responding, "... The night is like a blank canvas; you can paint whatever you want, there are a thousand shining stars if you can see them. If not, well, if darkness is all you see in nothing than you better throw out your sunglasses..." Emma smiled lightly, and I finished with a small grin of my own "If not tomorrow's just around the corner, and that, is one thing we can be certain of." "Author?" She asked softly, "Will Schuester" I winked cheekily, not that I could imagine she'd see. Emma nodded slowly, and I imagined her red curls bobbing in the darkness with a smile, "walk me back to my room?" She asked gently, I replied wordlessly, rising to my feet and offering my hand to pull her to her feet, smiling when I looked down at her smaller form, her outline just visible, and if I looked hard enough, her wide eyes glittering back at mine shyly. We made our way back to her door in silence, my hand brushing against her smaller one, reminding her that I was there, taking those uncertain steps with her in the darkness. The moment the door opened an air of swirling cinnamon and cherries floated from the doorway. I followed Emma into the room when she gestured for me to join her inside, affording myself the moment to take in the place she called her own. The entire room was lit with a thousand flickering candles of varying shapes and sizes, with unique glass bowls and the most heavenly of smells, placed strategically around the room; resting on the floor in large, colourful vases; on the windowsill in mismatched rows, scattered carefully over stacks and stacks of books that lay in piles on the carpet and even in between them on crowded shelves that threatened to fall. The only other light shone from a string of sparkling fairy lights that draped over the blue walls thoughtlessly, until the entire room was left seemingly endless, glittering and glowing with a mystical kind of beauty. "It seems like you've got a galaxy of stars in here at least..." I murmured, motioning to the glittering room, Emma smiled meekly, glancing down at her bare feet, her toenails painted black to match the dark varnish on her fingernails. It watched her swaying form in silence; the fluttering material of her delicate purple night gown and the contrasting green swimming trunks that reached just past her knees, a combination pretty strange even for Emma. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then..?" I asked, turning to leave, but her silky voice begging me to stay had me obediently frozen and nodding. "Please, sit?" Emma offered, having made her way towards the small bed in the corner of the room, and patting the soft velvet material by her side. Hesitantly, I journeyed through the sea of light until I had reached her, sinking into the soft sheets of her bed with a grateful sigh of relief that I hadn't disrupted any of the balancing flames. We sat in silence, the patchwork sheets dipping under our weight, and looked back at Emma. In that moment she felt so far from me, eyes hidden behind a curtain of red curls; but when she brushed the hair from her vision, and offered a small smile, I realised that maybe it was a barrier that could be broken. For the first time, she looked... young. Her ageless features were free of makeup, sweet and gentle and glowing with youth. And it was like, for the first time, I could really see her. "I'm glad you found me..." She spoke out to the darkness depths of the room; the shadows unreached by the discontinuous light, and I wondered if she meant just tonight. "I have trouble with those things... The- the uncertain things..." She nodded, as if convincing herself to carry on, and I stared back out at the spot her eyes were so focused on, "sometimes... I get scared something's out there... Lurking in the shadows... Just waiting to pounce... But by the morning it's all a distant memory... One that's not totally mine; but I remember, like a forgotten dream; like a nightmare you can't wake up from... Even though you know it's not real it's still terrifying; sometimes it feels more real than this moment..." Emma finished, finally casting her gaze back to mine, "crazy right?" I thought carefully before responding, "no, and even if it were there's nothing wrong with being a little crazy..." I grinned, trying to lighten the mood with a bright smile. "Sometimes I wish I was more like everyone else." she whispered darkly. "Have you ever thought that maybe it's not that you're different; maybe them who are all the same?" I smiled warmly, eyes trained so purposefully on hers, holding her gaze until it was torn from mine with a shadow of a smile lining her features hopefully. "I have." she laughed lightheartedly, one small hand moving to press against her lips when the sound escaped. A sudden silence struck the air when my eyes fixed upon the mysterious mark on her wrist... Was that... a tattoo? She fought with the flimsy, delicate material of her nighty to cover the blemish to her pale skin. "Emma..." I murmured softly when she started to recoil, "hey..." I soothed sweetly, reaching out to reveal the mark, after a moment she relaxed, wide eyes pleading when I grasped her tiny wrist so softly. "It's okay..." I nodded with a facade of calmness, and allowed my eyes to drift downwards. My eyes widened when they took in the image before me; her soft flesh, so fragile it threatened to tear like the discarded paper it resembled, scarred so thoughtlessly with the image of a bird flying free from its cage, sketched almost childishly in black, and hidden behind the blackness that fought to cover were the unmistakable remains of deep, raging wounds. A sudden wave of sadness crashed around me, sadness for the friend I thought I knew; who I suddenly realised was a total stranger. I subconsciously ran my thumb over the aged skin of her pale wrist, soothing her scars with my soft touch. "What happened?" I asked softly, my eyes lifting to meet her averted ones, until they rose to mine and I realised with a choked breath that they glistened with unshed tears, I offered a watery smile, clutching her tiny hand like it was all I had. "It was a few years ago... B-before I came here... I was living with a foster family... but... The lady who looked after us... Mrs. Treamon... She started to get really sick... She had lung cancer... She used to smoke a lot... It was pretty stressful looking after all of us kids..." A harsh sob crashed and fell, echoing in the dark silence, Emma rushed unsuccessfully to catch it. Allowing the rivers of tears to wash over her for a moment. "Everyone leaves me, that's why I'm here... because no one's ever stayed... They moved all of us here after she died; her husband was too heartbroken to keep looking after us on his own..." She shrugged as if somehow, she was okay; as if her experiences were ordinary and accepted, a jagged stream of silver ran over her pink cheeks deceivingly. I found myself wondering how it was possible to look so young and so aged at the same time... As if, so immediately, time had torn at the shield of youth until all that was left was neither young nor grown, but simply timelessly broken. I felt the sudden need to hold her close; to protect her from any kind of harm that might come her way, wondering if I'd met her sooner I'd have been strong enough to hold the crumbling pieces of her heart without faltering, left gazing helplessly at the heartbroken girl who'd taught me how to live; who I relied upon so deeply, without realising even heroes cry. Suddenly I felt heartless, or at least undeserving of its disjointed beating. Emma grasped the silence I offered, "The first time... I didn't mean for it to happen... I was washing my hands... maybe, a little too vigorously... I had been for a long time... As if somehow... the soap would wash away the pain. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't until I saw the blood that I realised what I'd done... But that feeling, that searing, burning, pain and the scarlet blood that rolled in rivets over the pearly-white porcelain of the bathroom sink... It said I was alive." "Emma..." I knew I couldn't reach her now, she was too far gone, living a memory; although my hands gripped her shoulders desperately; although my eyes searched endlessly for hers, her whole body shook with the memory, eyes so far from mine they were lost, clouded with a nightmare's haze. "Once I started I couldn't stop... I died every day without escape... And when I felt I'd never be clean again; when the heart of my pain was buried so far into my flesh that it had become a part of me, the only way to feel... anything; anything other than that unforgettable fear, and the only way to be clean again, was to shed the skin that'd been touched by impurity, until all that was left was so far buried it was almost clean... almost... but never quite... But at least I felt something... Something that hurt so much it had to be real..." In that moment I knew her. Really knew her; the first person who'd trusted me enough to let me see past her painted features, to the child who'd simply got too good at playing with make-up. And for the first time in a long time, I was glad to be who I am; the screw up, the disappointment, the guy everyone runs from. The hero. The one to remind someone when she's scared of the dark that all she has to do is turn on a light to realise there's nothing to be afraid of... and when she can't reach; stranded fumbling in uncertainty, the one to offer a candle, burning just for her. I'd tell her everyday just how special she is; I'd promise to hold her hand when she can't feel a thing. For the first time I squeezed her fragile hand in my own, and I thought of Emma; of black tipped nails and windswept curls; of vintage jumpers worn as characteristic dresses, and of wide, honey-brown eyes, knowing just how strong she really was; how broken and how beautiful, and knowing I wouldn't rather be anywhere else than right there, with Emma, and everything she is. "You'll never be alone again, I promise."
It was a raining that night. That's why I woke I'm sure of it. The droplets fell harshly against my window like angry silver pellets to their target. I wouldn't normally wake at that time; every night I'd remain awake for a long as possible; until exhaustion would render me lifeless, and I'd collapse in a heap onto my pillow, where I'd remain until I woke, never earlier than sunrise; not for any reason.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Guest review is always on if you're shy, I just can't reply to you, which is a shame because I love talking to you guys. :) I may disappear for a little while as my exams are coming up very soon, (*internal screaming*), but I will update as soon as I can. I was also wondering if you guys would like to read a chapter from Emma's point of view? And do you prefer reading the letters or the story? You can let me know in a review or by messaging me on my tumblr, which is on my profile. Your opinions help me be a better writer. :) Sorry for the angst in this chapter, I've never written anything like this before. I'd love to hear what you think! :)
