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I forgot I still had this.
I’ve been sorting through my things. He left me in such a tizzy that I’ve less unpacked and more just lived out of boxes, with stuff flung everywhere and falling out of the cardboard.
August’s pocket square from weeks ago was one of those things.
I found it when I went digging around for one of my older sketchbooks, hoping to recover some of my ancient ideas from high school. No matter what happens to Little Key, I’d like to round out Kiki’s friends with an owl named Gruffykins before I try to do something with these characters instead of just flailing around.
The pocket square goes tumbling to the floor.
Just like that, I’m demolished all over again.
Yes, it’s been a few days.
Brutally long days where I’ve dehydrated myself crying, now and then checking my phone and hoping.
But of course there’s nothing from the real Gruffykins.
I won’t mortify myself by texting him first.
I’m so not begging.
I can only be so bold before I get the message, and he made his message loud and clear.
I feel stupid, really.
One moment I’ll be fine; the next I’ll try to force a smile because it’s what I always do. I’ll remember how August was one of the only people who could tell when it wasn’t real.
He cared enough to notice, and that breaks me again.
Usually, the tears don’t stop until the migraine hits. Then I just hide in my room, pressing a cold cloth to my face and sulking until I feel like Ophelia, wasting away.
I pick up the little silk square, running my thumb over it.
My mouth tries to do that quivery pucker that warns more tears are imminent.
God, I’m confused.
He’s a walking contradiction.
The man shut me out, let me in, pulled me close, pushed me away, until I think even he didn’t know what he wanted, so there was no hope for me.
But if he doesn’t want me, that’s the end of it.
I’ll just have to let it hurt until it doesn’t, and then eventually I’ll—
Ugh.
One day, I’ll fall out of love with August Marshall.
That shouldn’t feel so soul crushing.
But real-life love stories don’t work like they do in movies.
I set the pocket square aside and go back to rummaging around in the box.
When I hear the doorbell ring, I don’t think much of it. Probably just a delivery person wanting Gran to sign for one of her special-order heirloom seed packets or something similar.
So I’m surprised when I hear the door creak open, followed by a familiar voice.
