Author's note: I had a long weekend with the 4th of July holiday which only added fuel to my fire in writing this. As stated in the first chap's note, this is semi-autobiographical. When I say that, it's with a sort of "foreseeing" into my future, rather than a recollection of my past. Everyday as I write, my personal"moving day" deadline is approaching and relationships with friends/family/lovers are an emotional roller coaster.
With that being said, I hope this chapter clears up the who-done-wrong for you all. There's been a bit of speculation on the character's actions and here's my justification.
Thank you for all the great reviews and as always your input is wildly appreciated! Enjoy!
There's a moment in life when you realize you will never be this young again but this is the first time you have ever been this old. It won't be like a movie, you won't be sitting in a field of daisies or star-gazing off a roof in London. You're standing in your kitchen at 2am on a Tuesday and you understand. You understand that what was your world at sixteen, isn't your world at twenty-two.
At sixteen, your biggest concern was passing school, partying with friends, finding someone to love you. You did all of those things.
At twenty-two, your priorities have changed. You have academic achievement, an appreciation for alcohol in moderation, and a six year long relationship. But it's not enough, because those were the goals of a teenager and you're an adult now and you have no idea who you are, or what you're meant to be.
So it's in your kitchen you understand that Emily did love you, that Emily did want to marry you, spend her life with you. But Emily had her realization. She was no longer sixteen and she needed more. And it was nothing that you could give her because you didn't have that 'moment' yet. She needed to give it to herself.
After one year, one month, and seventeen days, you finally understand why Emily left.
It's with reluctance that you call her. Swallowing down your stubborn pride (whether you were wrong or not) and in such short time (two days to be exact) has never been your strongest suit.
"Can we go somewhere?" Whether she deleted your number or not, you know damn well she's aware who's calling.
She only asks you where.
"Anywhere."
You know Effy put your small, but oh so significant box in the linen closet. Second shelf, third item from the wall. For once you're grateful of your height because you wouldn't trust your shaky frame if you needed to stand on a chair to retrieve it. Despite the small size, the heaviness is surprising. Maybe it's your reluctance to go anywhere near, let alone pick up, the box. Maybe it's weighed by the intimacy of the contents inside.
You check your phone for Emily's confirmation. She agreed to meet at your place, since she knows your address already and is more familiar with the area. The address you were given when she left so many months ago was a partial lease and you know she has not lived there for a while. You learnt the hard way when after six months, your letters started coming back to you. And you're not entirely sure you're ready to know where she resides now.
She gives you an ETA of 30-40 minutes, and with Cook and Effy out for a '"night on the town" (they know very well your plans for this evening and have attempted to give you as much privacy as humanly possible), the only thing left to do is open it. Open the box.
Open the box. You command yourself. Open. The. Box. You retreat to the head of your bed. Open the box, Campbell. With trepidation, you manage to switch on your reading lamp and now there is truly nothing left to do but open the box.
But you now notice in your voyage from cabinet to bed you're sweating like a whore in church and Jesus Christ, it took an hour and a half to pick out one shirt, there's less than a half hour before Emily is on your doorstep and you need to change again. Like your hands are on fire, you scramble off the bed and sling the box haphazardly back to it's resting place, your shirt already off one arm and halfway over your head. Cursing under your breath you fumble through the piles of clothes, some Cook's, some yours, some Effy's; Mostly Effy's. Groaning at the wreckage, you make a mental note to properly organize your belongings soon. Once a jumper with no significance to you or Emily is found, you throw it over your head and race to the bathroom, checking your phone. Ten minutes left (you assume Emily will be on the earlier side, she always was) and after fixing a few loose curls of your hair you huff in acceptance and head back into the living space.
Your legs grew tired from pacing so much and a few deep breathing exercises later, you feel substantially more calm. From what Effy has told you, Emily is still yours. Well she's not yours, not really, but she's no one else's, per say. For now, that's enough.
With slight guilt you glance at your box, crooked where it sits. That pulls at you wrong so you cross the room to readjust it, a mild compassion for the memories it holds inside. And then the door knocks and all your calm and cool is out the fucking window.
Forcing your feet in place and literally counting, "One, two, three, four," to stop yourself from practically lunging at the door, you finally walk, painstakingly, at the speed of snail to the entrance. Your hand is on the door knob and you have no time for hesitation because you're trembling so bad you're almost positive she can see the handle shaking through the opposing side.
You open it and find Emily looks just as, if not more, nervous than you. She's in her casual hoodie and jeans but you can tell. The stray hair that always sticks up (unless purposefully groomed down) is combed in place. She tried to look like she didn't try - but you know. And from her footing you can tell she was about to walk away. Wouldn't be the first, you push aside the troubling thought. Not now, not tonight. You need to be open.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself," Her crooked smile momentarily replaces the floating nerves and you find yourself smirking at the familiar phrase you've heard so many times in your life.
"Well, come in," You move out of the doorway and can sense her hesitation. But she obliges, taking a few steps and waiting until you've closed the door behind her.
"It's a tad smaller than the old flat," Your attempt at polite host-talk is rubbish and you didn't plan on mentioning something you both shared, literally, so quick upon her arrival. "But I'm sure you're accustomed to New York's small living quarters."
It came out with a hint of sass and you didn't mean to, but Emily brushed it off, stopping her wandering eyes only to look back at you and smile a polite smile.
"Anyways, me and Effy sleep on that bed and Cook crashes on the couch," You feel the need to gesture to the heap of clothes, "As you can see we haven't done much organizing, sorry," She looks back and gives you the same acknowledgement.
It strikes you as cold and wrong and your mindless rambling isn't getting you anywhere.
"Emily."
"Yes, Naomi." So cold and calm and closed off. You hate it. Not now, not tonight. Stay open.
"I'm not a stranger. Please, talk to me?" You hope she feels the plead in your voice. You know she's only doing what you told her to do, she's pretending you never existed. She's pretending there was never an "us".
Her fake grin and empty eyes falter and you know the game is over.
"Why did you call me, Naomi? I thought you said to lose your number," You've always crumbled at the sheer ferocity the tiny girl could produce.
"I did. I did say that. But I've said a lot of things, Emily, a lot of things that I didn't mean," She's still and unreadable, a security wall built so high you can't see over.
"I've also said a lot of things I did mean. And a few things I never said, that I should have," Brown eyes soften and you can feel a crack in the wall appear, swelling you with confidence. Your final step in taking the plunge.
"I never told you how absolutely proud of you I was; I am. Or how every one of your photos strikes a new emotion in me that I didn't know existed before. I never told you that I would follow you to the end of the Earth," You have to pause to compose yourself. Emily is crying and all that stands between you now is the rubble of the broken barricade you finally penetrated.
"I couldn't tell you that then because I didn't understand. You didn't want me to follow you, you wanted me to join you," You hear her sob but it's not time to comfort her yet. You're not finished saying what you need to say.
"I didn't understand back then, Em, but I do now. I get that you needed to be all that you possibly can be and Bristol wasn't giving that. I wasn't ready." She's nodding, unable to speak, and you can see the relief in her eyes knowing you finally see. "Now I've felt it, that need for more. I meant what I said when I said I didn't come here for you. Please don't take that wrong, I can't try and pretend you aren't a part of it. But I had my moment, Ems. I needed more. And here it is." You're sighing like you've just dropped a ton, the weight of everything off your shoulders. The tears flow freely, and then slow, and you both stare into each other's faces - A face you've spent so many nights memorizing, then dreaming of, then missing.
"So, where do we go from here?" The unsure quaver in Emily's voice brings you back to the matter at hand, "I'm so sorry for everything I did, and I know I can't expect your forgiveness. I'm just so grateful you understand, at least a bit, where I was coming from. But I get it if you don't want me in your life still..." She looks so small and vulnerable and the positive energy you'd released onto yourself only makes her look more weak.
And although you've played this scene in your head time and time again, your anger fueling your words as you tell her to fuck right off, slamming the door in her face and brushing your hands off as you walk away humming a tune, you know that is not what you want. It never was.
A smirk forms as you rock back on your heels. "Well," She looks a little confused, a little scared, and a little annoyed at your cocky change of attitude.
"You have a lot of explaining to do. Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" You plop on your bed and motion for her to follow, wiping her tears as she chuckles and agrees. Things aren't perfect and you don't know if they ever will be again. And everything is far from fixed. But having Emily so close you could touch her (though you won't) and finally hearing what happened in that year that you've missed will suffice. For now.