She needed to get away from it all.
The therapists, the reporters, her parents —all of it was suffocating her; each word like a noose slowly tightening around her neck.
So she ran.
Ran to where she thought things would be safe. Secure. She needed it right now.
Before she knew it, she was pulling up in front of the all too familiar coffee shop and climbing up the stairs, reaching underneath the welcome mat to pull out the key he always kept there just in case.
When the door swings open she thinks it was all going to be okay, that she could escape the chaos that currently seemed to be her life. But when she's hit with the familiar smell she's somehow able to recognize after all those years mixed in with Ezra's, it all comes crashing down.
The first time she sees the shirt is relatively early on in their relationship. She's spending the night at his place for the third time, and he's pulling out a shirt of his for her to sleep in for the time being. She watches as he carefully picks one out from her place on the bed, admiring the sight of him clad in only a pair of boxers, hair mussed up from being run through with her fingers, and lips plump and red from being kissed so heavily.
He mustn't feel his eyes on her, because when she sees him come across an old, faded yellow t-shirt with Hollis College branded on the front, he freezes, as if a wave of memories had made its way to the forefront of his mind. He stares at it for a few seconds, and she can see his grin fall and eyes —previously a bright, sea blue— darken with sorrow.
She watches him shrug, as if getting rid of the memories that were flashing before him; folding the shirt with such delicacy; as if wrapping an antique plate, before carefully placing it into the back of his drawer. He pulls out another shirt, one that's far less faded and a dark green, and tosses it to her before announcing that he's going to take a shower.
She tugs the shirt over her head before creeping up from her spot on the bed and opening that drawer back up, taking out the faded yellow t-shirt.
The scent coming from it is pungent, the smell so strong that if she didn't know better she would say that it had been worn the night before. But it's Ezra she's talking about, and that guy was more loyal than a man's best friend.
Rose, vanilla, and a faint hint of orange.
It shouldn't go together so well, for what an odd combination it was, but it did.
It was more than well worn, loose at the neckline and has a small hole located by the right shoulder. It belongs to an ex —she doesn't need to be a genius to figure that out; and from the look in his eyes she knows it's someone he's not completely over.
She puts the shirt back inside the drawer, making sure it was in the same place as before, snuggling into the sheets that smell just like him and not the girl who was no longer in his life.
It doesn't bother her that there's another woman that's still special to him, she has someone similar in her past. Besides, they're still relatively new; it'd be ridiculous of her to be jealous of someone who wasn't there when she was.
When he exits the bathroom, towel draped low on his waist, and hair dripping wet, all thoughts of the girl before are gone. He slides in next to her, wearing only a pair of pajama pants, and pulls her close to him before turning off the light and wishing her a good night.
She doesn't know how she remembers that scent; it's been more than five years; but somehow, the smell of rose, vanilla, and faint hint of orange was never able to escape her.
If she thought that the smell on the shirt was strong, the aroma surrounding the air was stronger.
It was delicate, not too heavy, but more than noticeable. Ezra's smell of scotch, cinnamon and sweat is still present, and the two go together so well it startles her.
…
The apartment has a feminine touch. Colorful throw pillows line the couch, candles are placed on shelves, and mirrors are strategically hung on the walls to make the already spacious apartment seem larger. Her and Ezra had never had enough time to fully move into the place, and the lack of decor previously showed for it.
He has his hands covering her eyes, making sure that there was no possible way for her to see what he's surprising her with. His voice has a teasing lilt to it as he giggles like a little boy, and she can't help but grin underneath his palms.
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"Open"
He takes his hands off her eyes and she does what he says. She's met with a wide, spacious apartment. Two stories, dark woods floors, and a beautiful, all brick wall off to the side.
She smiles so wide her cheeks hurt, turning to face him and his adorable little boy smile.
"Is this…"
"I did get a new apartment, yes." He pulls out a key from his pocket, dangling it in front of her joyful eyes that were as wide as a kid in the candy store. "But I think it's just a bit too big for me all by my lonesome. So…"
She snatches the key out of his hand and pulls him in to kiss her like he never has before.
She's curious. Her fingers run along the pillows, she sniffs the abundance of candles, admires the detailing on the antique mirrors.
So, she lives here.
Saving the bedroom for later, she pushes open the door for the bathroom. Feminine products cover the vanity's surface. Makeup brushes have their own holder, along with various products and skincare regimens. She doesn't think before she opens up the medicine cabinet, too stuck in a trance-like state to acknowledge that it's an invasion of privacy.
A couple bottles of nail polish, chapsticks, hair ties, Buspirone, Temazepam, Sertraline…
An anxiety, sleep, and PTSD medication, she notes. She knows because she has two of them at home. She wants to know what she's been through to cause the need for the medication, but her guess is as good as any.
She closes the cabinet, taking a last look around the bathroom before clicking the light off.
Sometimes he acts so below his age she had to make sure that she wasn't dating a teenager. From behind her, she can see him in the mirror making faces in an attempt to make her laugh, toothpaste foaming at his chin, eyes crinkled up with genuine heartfelt joy.
She laughs, because the sight of him, Ezra, so un-put-together for the guy he was is more than enough to make a smile come across her face.
The brush that was going through her hair gets put down, and she makes eye contact with him through the mirror.
"I love you."
He grins, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
"I love you too."
Before she can move he's placing his toothpaste covered lips in her hair, and she's screeching, trying to push him off, but all he does is laugh and pull her closer.
She doesn't mind. She supposes she needed a shower after all.
...
She saved the bedroom for last.
It's almost exactly as she pictured it to be after walking through the front door.
The bed is unmade, but has the comforter pulled up to have it look decently done. The dresser is lined with candles, jewelry, a vase of roses, and various knick-knacks, some that she recognizes, and some that she doesn't. The TV is shut off, but she can see the movies that are stacked underneath it clear as day.
Classic movies, black and whites, some of them she's seen, but most of them she hasn't. Her and Ezra had agreed on a lot of things, but movies had never been one of them. She wasn't a fan of the dramatics brought on by the films he loved and adored.
A photo sits on each of their bedside tables. His is newer, she can tell. She picks up the frame, studying the photo so intricately it would be concerning if it was anybody else.
She's gorgeous.
Short, wavy brown hair, wide hazel eyes, and the most perfect smile she's ever seen. Her skin fails to have blemish, and her lips are so full she finds herself running her finger across her own to compare. The girl is so short, shorter than herself— and the flats she's wearing don't add anything to her height. He looks so happy too, eyes crinkling up in the corners from his wide smile.
She places the picture down, picking up the one on the girl's side as she walks around the bed.
It's older.
Ezra looks even younger in it than the time she met him, and the girl's hair is longer, styled in loose curls. It's caught mid-laugh, Ezra's eyes are creased from trying to keep them open, while part of his face is obscured in her hair. She has her smile on full display, and it's easy to see that she's laughing from her core, the same place where his arms wrap around her from behind.
They look so happy.
But the girl looks young —it's something she can't help but notice. She decides not to question it, though the possibilities of just how old this girl could've been are sneaking into her brain. She sets down the picture, picking up an old, tattered book in its place.
On the very first page is a sticker, like the ones children got at the school's book fairs.
Hi! I belong to Aria Montgomery!
She's forgotten what they're fighting about at this point. They're both not listening to each other; just yelling whatever words come to mind.
"No Ezra! You don't think—"
"Jesus Aria for once can you just—"
He catches his mistake midway through. He closes his eyes in defeat, running his hands through his hair and muttering a 'crap' under his breath.
Her temper's even hotter than it was before. Who the hell was Aria?
"Aria? Aria!" she yells, walking towards him with a deadly fire in her eyes that he'd yet to see before.
"Who the fuck is Aria?"
He lets out a sigh, "She's—"
"Are you cheating on me?"
He looks repulsed at the mere idea, shaking his head violently. "You know I would never—"
"Then who the hell is she!"
"My ex!" he yells, sighing slowly at the end.
Her interest is piqued. She's always known that he had an ex, one who left more than just a mark on him. He'd never mentioned her before —no slip in a conversation that led him to accidentally reveal some detail about her. Never; until now.
But no matter how badly she wants to pry, she wants to know why in the hell he called his ex-girlfriend's name.
She waits for him to explain, and when it doesn't come she takes it into her own hands, digging a knife where she knows it'll hurt.
"You used to scream at Aria often?" She knows he didn't, but bringing up memories from his own parents' failed marriage was the way to cause him pain.
Whatever trance he was in before, he was out of now. He's making his way towards her, grabbing her hands and holding them in his own. "I'm sorry," he apologies, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her skin. "It was heat of the moment. We almost never argue so I guess it just… came out."
It's not good enough. She feels like a bear who's just got it's first taste of honey, starving for more of the divine treat. Information about Aria seems necessary, because alas! she has a name! She exists! She finally knows something about the woman who had such a lasting impact on him.
"You fight with Aria frequently then? Because that's the only thing I can think of when it's been at least a year since you last saw her, or I'm assuming so, at least. Tell me Ezra. Tell me all about her. Because I'm sick and tired of seeing you—"
He drops their intertwined hands, turning around and running them through his hair. "God," he sighs. "Can we please just drop this?" He looks like a kicked puppy, sea blue eyes filled with so much pain she feels it in her chest. She regrets trying to hurt him in that instant, and all the anger she felt before seems to release from her.
"I'm sorry."
He shakes his head. "No I am. I love you, and I'm really, really sorry. It won't ever happen again. Promise."
They meet in the middle, and she tucks herself into his frame. "Okay. Let's just try not to argue anymore. Deal?"
"Deal."
She feels like she did when she first heard Aria's name, hungry and eager for more. She finds herself looking through the books on the shelves, examining the shoes on the rack, running her fingers over little rocks with inspirational quotes carved in.
The closet door is open just a sliver, and she can't help but swing the door open, thinking that she'll see a variety of colorful clothes with unique patterns. And she does.
But the big white bag hanging right in the middle takes her breath away, and the situation really seems to dawn on her.
"Have you ever been in love?" she asks him one night. They're drunk, not only on wine but also with each other. Lips coated in alcohol and her lipstick, tongues tasting of grapes and vanilla.
He's about to answer, but she stops him before he can. "Not with me. With someone else. I know you love me." It's true. She's able to see how his eyes turn a sapphire blue whenever she enters the room, and how when she laughs, a smile can never be kept off his face. She knows because he's whispered it into her skin, carving his words deeper than ink ever would.
"Yeah," he says at last.
"What was it like?" He's more far gone than her, and she knows that taking advantage of him like this isn't right, but she doesn't even know if she'll remember this conversation tomorrow.
He thinks for a moment. Ponders. "Loving her was the easiest and hardest thing I've ever done."
She's confused. He made her so. "How?"
"Being in love with her was like breathing. I did it without thinking. But being with her… the circumstances, that was the hard part."
She's had too much wine to let his words make her question, so all she says is, "Tell me more."
So he does.
"I loved her with everything in me. She made me feel things I thought only existed in the books. She made me want to argue, cry, hate, forget, manipulate. I tried to stop myself from loving her. But it was impossible. She was in me. Etched deep into my bones, carved into my skin. I loved every part of her. I could never find a part of her I wasn't completely enraptured with. If she said jump, I would've said 'how high?'. If she asked for the moon, I would've found a way to get it for her. She was beauty, inside and out. She was ashes and embers, broken down so many times, only to rise up again from the dust. I admired her. I found her in my dreams, and there'd be days when I'd wake up thinking that she was too good —too perfect to be true. Too perfect to be mine. She was a whisper I heard in the morning and the hush I felt at night. She was my everything."
"Did she not feel the same?"
"No. She did. Maybe even more so than me."
"What happened then?"
"Time was never on our side."
She only remembers it now, the next day had been a foggy blur, filled with teasing grins and cups of coffee. Books read softly in hopes to lure her back to a dreamless sleep, and chicken noodle soup to aid him in his healing.
Nicole chuckles bitterly, first closing the white bag that held the wedding dress, and then the closet door, finding a seat on the downstairs couch, only able to think one thing as she hears the front door open and a whiff of rose, vanilla, and a faint hint of orange flows through the room.
She never stood a chance.