This is just a short, kind of sucky one-shot in anticipation of Animal March. I'm weird like that. Anyways, it's bad, because all of my creativity and decent writing is being funneled into my novel, but I wanted to put this somewhere, even though it's really bad. You can tell me so if you agree. ^^
The silent ripples on the water spoke more than words ever could. She leaned over the bridge, propping her elbows against the wooden rail and letting tears drip off of her face to the ground below. She was alone, just as she always was, just as she always would be.
“I can’t be with you when you’re like this,” Luke had scoffed, disgusted by her aloofness and unwillingness to open up to him. Even as her heart ached for him, she didn’t turn his way. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to open herself up again, wasn’t ready to be hurt again. “Call me when you can handle a mature relationship, Angela.”
What a turnaround. Wasn’t she the one saying those same words to him what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was a mere year and a half ago? Back then, he was just the cute, funny guy that was good for a laugh. But as their relationship got more serious, Luke seemed to have a hard time transitioning. She had always thought of him as the commitment-phobic in their affair.
Somewhere over the course of their days of hand-holding, stolen kisses in the dimly lit streets in Harmonica Town as the sun fell behind the Garmoni Mountain, the first time Luke had told her he loved her, and the first time she responded, the fire had just burned out. She couldn’t look at him, because all she could see was the anger in his normally affable face, and it killed her.
What had changed? What had made him stop adoring her?
What if she was to blame for everything wrong in their love?
Just as it had every day, the sun sank, slowly at first, and then as the minutes, seconds dragged on, but still Angela remained, staring out at the water. Everything around her was moving, orbiting still, but her life remained at a standstill. The stream trickled on, falling over a small cliff and then draining into the ocean. The sun settled into the heavens, but it never stood at a halt. Even Luke was moving on; she had seen him laughing with Selena, the beautiful, exotic dancer who had been rumored as lusting after Luke since before anyone could remember. The very thought made her sick, but the nausea was a welcome sensation. It reminded her that she was still alive.
But how could she live, really live, without him?
Not only did her heart ache, but also her limbs hurt, her head hurt, her throat hurt. It was a physical sensation, so shattering to her entire body that she almost felt like she was dying. Could people die of a broken heart? She wanted to.
She loved him, obviously. She was attached to him, so much so that she wasn’t whole without him. When had she become the kind of girl that couldn’t function without a boy to define her? But Luke wasn’t a boy, he was the boy. He understood her, made her laugh, let her cry, held her hand, showed her off, shared his secrets, opened himself fully, trusted wholly. Why couldn’t she do the same?
The night found her still rooted in place, not willing to crawl into bed alone. She was sure she would have nightmares. She didn’t want to wake up in the morning and feel the way that she did at that moment. She wasn’t sure how much of that she could take.
She sniffled on the overpass, unable to cry anymore. She was exhausted. So she simply crumpled on the bridge, folding her legs beneath her and pressing her face against the support beams.
Another shadow fell over her, one not natural, one she didn’t recognize. She looked up.
His face wasn’t as friendly as it once was; he looked almost as tired as she felt. But after a single, lingering glance at her undoubtedly puffy and blotchy, tear-streaked face, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he opened his arms, a familiar and much-needed peace treaty that she was more than willing to run into and burst into tears.
“I’m sorry,” she bawled. “I’m sorry.”
Luke simply rubbed her back, saying, “Angela, you’ll be the death of me.” He released her and stood back. “Angela, I want that death to be a long, long-lasting one. I want you to be at my side always, forever. I want to be rocking on a freaking front porch with me when I’m eighty years old, and I would do anything, anything for you.” He hesitated for barely a second, and then pulled something out of his pocket. Her breath caught.
It was a blue feather.
