I know I said I wouldn't post until I'd reached my chapter targets (which I haven't) but my boyfriend just dumped me over the phone. So I'm cheering myself up :)
What gets me is five days ago I meant the world to him.
Today he phoned me up to tell me he couldn't deal with my depression, or the fact he still texts his exes in 'secret', or me asking why he's with me because for years I've been made to feel like shit - so obviously I've wondered why anyone would want to be with me.
He phoned me up to dump me thus proved my point.
But screw him! If he loved me as much as he let on he did, then he'd at least try to help me past my insecurities! If I meant the world then he wouldn't just give up on us.
If that's what he thinks then fine, I'll leave him to it, because I'm worth millions of him, and I'm going to find someone who is so utterly amazing, loves me for me and can handle me at my worst, so he'll deserve me at my best.
If anything, him dumping me has made me stronger. He's actually done me a huge favour :)
and now I've ranted, enjoy the chapter :D
Bondi always made her smile. Everyone seemed so happy, and here on the coast of Australia on one of the most popular beaches, people seemed to let their troubles slip away. The worst thing that could happen was that you would nose dive and take a tumble in the surf. She'd warmed the currents so the ocean churned a little, not too much though, and it provided the surfers with the waves they so desired.
She spent a long while watching them, and though she longed to smile and be happy, her heart weighed heavy... she couldn't tear her thoughts away from the blitz on Manchester, and she stood, sighing, and burst into the air, taking herself over to the city she'd only left the day before.
As she soared over it, drinking in the sight of boxing day, where children should have been out on the streets laughing and playing on their new bicycles or hitting the hoops down the street, chasing them as fast as they could, or throwing balls to one another, or enjoying snowball fights...
It was quiet. Deathly so.
As she dropped through the air, she changed again and landed gently on the path before a news agents, looking at the papers to try and determine how badly the city had been affected.
Six-hundred and eighty four people were dead. Over two thousand injured, and more still being brought forward... Her mind conjured up the images of the dead children, of the girl no older than herself... she'd died in a building, exactly as Eleanor had done. Would that girl get a second chance too? Why would she not be chosen? And she wondered briefly about God... seeing as she'd been reborn as a spirit, does that mean she'd been forsaken by God? She'd always been a strong believer, always went to church and sat through the services and sang the hymns. She'd always prayed and been good. Why hadn't she been chosen to go to heaven? The only reason she could think of was that she had unfinished business on this earth, but if that was so, then why had she died? Surely being alive and being able to influence people more strongly would have been the better option?
How was being invisible to the masses going to help anyone?
Gritting her teeth, she crumpled the paper she'd taken hold of in her hands and tossed it to the floor, storming away angrily.
All her life people had told her to have faith in God, to believe in him, but then they had thought her a loon for believing in her Guardians! What was the difference? Her parents hadn't ever seen either of the beings, not God nor the Guardians, but she had. What made God so special that he could demand people believe in him without significant proof, whereas Aster and North and Tooth merely hoped people would believe, and did their best by those who did. Gave them physical evidence that they were there and watching over them.
She'd never been sure how one man in the sky could be so omnipotent, omniscient and omni-benevolent that he could demand belief just like that. Whereas the ones she'd grown up knowing, and trusting and believing were flawed in their own ways, weren't perfect and possibly couldn't fix everything, but they always tried their hardest.
Her stomach clenched as she realised she'd lost her faith in God a long time ago, she just hadn't realised it...
"Internal conflict is always too dramatic," came a drawling voice, and she turned to see Pitch staring at her, leaning on a half destroyed brick wall , and he had the smallest smirk on his face.
"Will you just shove off?" she muttered, turning on her heel and walking away, through the streets trying to ignore the destruction around her, the families out on the street trying to light fires in old steel barrels. She took pity on one young woman with a small child and walked to the barrel, blowing slightly on the dying embers so the flames rose and flickered again, heat washing through them all.
"You're definitely not as polite as you used to be. I remember the first time you saw me, you called me 'sir'" he laughed, still behind her, following her down the street. She seethed and tried to ignore him, but she could feel his eyes fixed on her, and she whirled around, glaring daggers.
"Pitch, what do you want?" she asked, her voice hissing through her teeth as she spoke to him, but he didn't answer, his eyes only closed slowly, and he seemed to savour the moment. She could feel herself getting worked up, because in all honesty she wanted to leave and go home, but she wondered if he would follow. "Why are you so fixated on me?" she asked, her voice now low and pleading, and at this his eyes snapped open and he fixed her with one long gaze.
"You have been the only child in the last hundred years that didn't pass my existence off as nothing more than a bad dream. Your sister may have been the first to see me, but she thought she was in a nightmare that day, not consciousness. You saw me, knew me, and you believed..."
"So I'm your first believer?" she asked, her golden-brown eyes narrowing in confusion. "What about it?"
"You wouldn't understand, as nobody believes in you," he muttered, and she felt his words stick daggers through her heart, and she winced visibly. His eyes softened at this and he reached forward, his long cold fingers tracing the line of her jaw, sending terrible chills through her and making her shudder. Her eyes stayed open though and fixed on his bright orbs. She was staring coldly at him, hurt coursing through her as his fingers trailed then down her neck, brushing across her collar bone before sliding sideways and resting on her shoulder.
She understood what he meant though. It seemed different now she was a spirit. She'd gone from people seeing her and talking to her and everything being normal to not being seen or heard, people passing through her like she was a breath of wind. She could only imagine actually being seen by someone, how she would probably develop a fondness for them. Pitch must have felt the same.
But it didn't excuse his behaviour, or the way he treated her. She understood that he had helped her many times before, understood her in a way she supposed Aster wouldn't, because he was the Easter Bunny, and he had been believed in for centuries. She wasn't even half a century into being a spirit, and she already felt lonely. She was glad she had Jack, because she honestly didn't know how she'd have coped if he wasn't there. She felt a pang of sadness for the Winter spirit, because she'd known he'd been around just over two hundred years now, and he'd not even been thought of as existing before her. She didn't really know if anyone else had believed in him, but he'd certainly taken a shining to her.
Just as Pitch had.
With a frustrated sigh she pushed Pitch's hand off her shoulder and went to walk away, but the Nightmare King was faster, and he had caught her by the wrist before she could even take two steps. Shutting her eyes tight she tried to keep her calm, breathing deeply as she turned and looked into those sad golden eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle and calm, and his grip around her wrist loosened a little.
"I don't understand why you care so much about these people, when they care so little for you," he told her, his voice low and curious, like it had been all those years ago when she's first met him in the woods, when he'd caught her and stopped her falling from the tree as she'd gone to rescue Mary. It unnerved her, how interested he seemed in her, but she couldn't stop his curiosity. It was an innate thing she was going to feel.
"They do care for me," she told him, slipping out of his grasp and turned to face him properly. "They care about Summer, wait for it all year because then they get to spend more time with their families, having fun, being together. Summer symbolises unity and family... so they really do care for me, although it's indirect."
The look on Pitch's face was one of scepticism and mild confusion, although to her it made perfect sense. It was a bit disheartening when she heard people say that they couldn't wait for Summer to come, but they always thought it just happened, it was just there... they never realised she worked tirelessly to make it just the right temperature, to bring a balance between hot days and colder days, or when the sun should shine brilliantly, or when the skies should pour a warm rain down on the people below. It was a lot of work, and she was still getting used to it, but nobody ever considered that there was somebody working hard to bring the happiness, and it made her sad.
"You give people too much credit," Pitch said quietly, and Eleanor noticed how his eyes had narrowed into slits. "You get upset at people not noticing the work you do? Well they're never going to notice, and you realised that a long time ago, but you're scared to admit it. You're scared that people will never see you again and you'll spend the rest of eternity wandering, tying to make people happy so that they may see you. You're scared that all of your efforts will go to waste, and you'll be left to stand invisible in the shadows like me. You're scared that you'll never find out what made you so special, so that you would come back and non of the other thousands of children that die every day."
Eleanor found herself backing away from the Nightmare King, wanting to shut his words out and turn and run, but she couldn't... because they were her words. Her thoughts and feelings... she couldn't escape herself. Pitch grabbed her arm and pushed her into the wall behind her, her back flat against the bricks, his chest barely an inch from hers, his hands holding her arms back so she physically couldn't move, and her staff dropped from her hand, clattering against the pavement.
"If there's one thing I know, it's fear. And you have many of them... so let me put some of them to rest. Like me, and your precious Jack Frost, nobody will ever see you. Oh, they'll imagine there may be some higher being controlling everything, they'll say things such as 'Jack Frost will nip at your nose', and 'the boogeyman hides under your bed', but they strike you off as nothing more than a myth, a wives tale. You'll never be seen, never be heard, never be appreciated... you'll be just like me."
"I'll never be like you," the brunette hissed, shoving her bodyweight against Pitch, leaving him to take a step backwards but he held on tightly to her, glaring down, until he felt something jab in his back.
"Come on, let the girl go," said a cocky voice, and both pairs of golden eyes turned to look into cool blue ones, and Eleanor grinned because Jack was there.
"Oh, if it isn't Frost! Are we having a mothers' meet on those who feel inferior to other beings?"
"Just let her go, she's done nothing to you," Jack said, shaking his head in mild frustration. He couldn't be bothered dealing with Pitch's rambling today, he wanted to make sure Eleanor was okay. He'd heard half the conversation and it seemed like he was bullying the girl into believing something that he hoped wasn't true. He'd not been seen in so long, and he knew how it felt, but he really wanted Eleanor to be seen.
"Fine," Pitch said, and he let her arms go then and there, and she stooped quickly to grab her staff, holding it close to her. "I'll be going then."
The man seemed to melt into the shadows, just disappear, and he was gone, leaving the two season spirits stood there pondering things over. Eleanor was staring at the ground, her mind reeling as she tried to think of everything Pitch had said, trying to make sense of it all and wonder if he was right... would she never be seen? Would she be ignored for eternity?
"Was he right?" she whispered, looking up at Jack who was stood there awkwardly. He sighed, cocking his head as he tried to think of any way he could put the words that wouldn't reinforce what Pitch had just said, but he couldn't.
"I don't know," he replied honestly, before he reached forward and touched her arm gently. "I really don't." She smiled bitterly at him, her hand reaching up and touching his, returning the comforting gesture.
"Least I have you," she said with a hint of a chuckle, and he rolled his eyes.
"Poor you!" the silver haired boy cried, and the pair of them burst out laughing before Eleanor moved in and hugged him, her head pressed against the crook of his neck. They both went very serious then, and he touched her back gently, his fingers tracing invisible patterns.
"I hate not being seen," she muttered. "How do you cope?"
"I... I just have fun," the boy replied, hugging the girl he considered a sister in earnest before pushing her away gently so he could get a look at her face. "Now, we can either get you home to your kangaroo, or you can stay here and have a snowball fight?"
"To be honest," she grinned, a mischievous look glinting in her eye, "I've always wanted to see it snow in the Warren."