Chapter 7: Tears

Dear all, I must apologize for the one year of absence I took from this story. It took me quite awhile to get myself together again and finally find the much needed (and well deserved) free time to update. I hope you all will like it and a special thanks to all of you who have been patient with my disappearance from this little story of mine :)

Anyway this chapter is to celebrate the latest of the Tri series" A shoutout to Sora special!

You and I are meant to be together, til' the end of times. We bind ourselves in thorns, unwilling to let each other go

Sora was tired, huffing at the strands of hair poking her eyes, wanted nothing more than a relaxing bath to soothe her tired limbs. She was sweaty, soaked to the bones, having a full day of tennis practice to keep her mind off reality. Off him.

Click. She made her way inside her apartment, switching the lights on, dumping her racquet and bag to the side, her eyes glued to the refrigerator. Her salvation. Rummaging through the content of her neatly organized beverages, she quenched her thirst greedily, happy to gulp down the much needed liquid.

Clunk. Her ears recognized the sound of her washing machine, remembering their laundry, and she let out a sigh. He wouldn't remember to do it, not in a million years.

"Matty can you put the clothes in the dryer? I wanna take a-"

Oh.

Silence. She had expected that. How could she have forgotten? It has been a full season after all, since their breakup. She was so used to his presence, to his scent, the soft hum that always came from their (her) living room, that she had failed to properly register they were not together anymore.

Drip. The sound of the all-too familiar leaky faucet, it took her a full minute to get her heart to start beating again, to rub her eyes off the tears that escaped, to stop (forcefully) her small sniffles. He was no more, they were no longer exclusive.

Huff. She calmed herself. No more tears, she had promised herself yet she knew. He was worth it, that he meant something in her life, that she was allowed to break down whenever she thought of them together again. Of the past, despite all the arguments and fights. Please come back.

Squeak. She let the water pour onto her from the running shower, the bath had been forgotten, and she needed this. She tapped the tiles, remembering their steamy moments, of her body pressed onto the walls, of his fingers in her hair, of them being one. She shivered at the memory, despite the warm water and she cursed as she bled, cutting herself slightly with her own nails. It felt better.

Whirr. The fan cooled her down, as she lay on the sofa, feeling like all her energy had left her and in dire need of a recharge. Was it always this quiet around here? Of course not. There was always something, be it the sound of his guitar, or his voice, or of his best friend that crashed here at odd moments (he was her best friend too), of laughter, of anger, of furniture and kitchenware shattering into pieces. Stop. She does not want to remember any more of it, so she muffled her screams, beating down on the cushion.

Strrng. She froze, her eyes darting wildly around, and she saw the guitar (or what's left of it), that she had knocked it over from her fit. She wondered why she had left it there, maybe on purpose, to serve as a reminder, to mock (him or her, she wasn't sure anymore), of something that was once there. She gently picked it up, on the base was left, and she delicately strum the chords. She played some, if only that she was insistent to know the basics, to get closer to him, to understand him.

Bzzt. The television sprung to life, remote in hand, guitar on her lap, hugging close for fear of losing it (for what purpose? He was gone). She flipped through the channels and her breath hitched, seeing him on the local news, covered for his latest album, and she let out a mortified laugh. His songs, she knew, the lyrics, ones they wrote together, once upon a time in a happier setting, that it was their only connection now. She looked to her radio and saw the cd cover, remembering the tune of the songs, they weren't meant to be sad songs, not when they had envisioned it together, once before.

Crack. She threw the guitar, where the cd was, and she screamed deeper into the tiny pillow. She was angry. At him, even more so at herself, for letting him get to her, for pushing him (her) away, and on impulse she ran into her room, knocking away the heavy set of boxes underneath her bed. She rummaged through the memorabilia, of the funny smell of wilted flowers.

Sniff. If only he knew, how much it meant to her, how much it broke her, whenever he got her those damned (those darling) flowers. She knew she must have a few screws loose, keeping them even after they had died. Perhaps it was symbolic, that she wanted to desperately hang onto what was once there, even after it was way beyond past its expiry. The flowers were dead, so was she, so were they. She swatted away the dead roses and poppies (like her), and her hands trembled. The pressed flower, her Ambrosia, one she had taped back together, his gift. She embraced it tightly, so tight that it hurts.

Boom. Came the sound of thunder, of a summer rain, and her lights flicker on and off. She stored them back, as neatly as possible, and they remain hidden until she breaks down again, and she surely will. She dragged herself back to the sofa, plummeting herself into it, her eyes closed, slowly trying to catch his scent (why was she doing this? She's over him…).

It wasn't worth the heartache (it was worth it).

It wasn't worth the tears (it was worth it).

It wasn't worth the depression (it was worth it).

He was worth it.

Sora let out a huge sigh, shaking her head. Her emotions were a mess, even after all this while, his departure left a huge mark on her life. She needed to get over it, over him. It wasn't healthy, pining over him like this, falling over and hurting herself. She doesn't deserve this, not for him. She'll learn, slowly, to move on. For all she knows he has probably shagged up with a bimbo or whoever that pleases his eyes (she frowned at the thought).

Ding. The doorbell. She looked at the door, wondering who it could be. She racked her brain, could it be Tai? Or was it Mimi? She didn't make any plans to hang out, surely she would have remembered.

Ding. That sound again. She sighed, and yelped a second later, at the loud booming sound of thunder, and the lights went off. She was in disarray, hands on her ears, hugging herself on the floor.

Knock. It was manual this time, and she let out a growl. She was haywire, her emotions everywhere and anywhere at the same time. She flailed around and walked to the door by memory alone, knocking on a few chairs along the way.

Knock.

"I'm here damn it, I'm here! Now what's so important that you-"

Oh.

He stood in front of her, like a ghost, drenched from head to toe (a beautiful ghost). She caught a whiff of that all-too familiar scent of cigarettes, missing that ungodly smell, and he was still there. Matt was there.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if unsure of what to say, looking at her hesitantly. His eyes, his sweet, mesmerizing, baby blue eyes, locked into hers. He ruffled his hair rather violently, letting a small growl of frustration, at himself, surely, for he must have realized where he was and he wasn't supposed to be here. He turned to leave, but Sora caught his sleeve.

He wasn't worth it.

Their eyes were once again locked to one another.

This isn't worth it.

Their lips quivered, inching closer together.

To hell with what's worth it or not.

She threw herself at him, her lips hungering for his flavour. They can think of the consequences tomorrow.