A dagger pierced my heart seeing her with him, fawning over him like she had fawned over me. She warned me she might run, and disappear, but I had hoped. Every day I prayed to a God that didn't exist because she would. She would pray to see me again, hold me again, kiss me again, right?
But she told me this would happen. And yet, as painful as the dagger was, pouring blood from my chest and across innocent land, limbs scattered across the floor, gazing at the sky with eyes of betrayal, I couldn't blame her.
She was lost to me now, a simple stranger that would remain separate to my life.
I longed for her company; her humour, her intelligence, her patience, her beauty, anything. But she is gone. That girl, with that boy, wasn't her; not the Evangeline that had stolen my heart so swiftly that I didn't recognise what she'd done.
Mama and Papa didn't notice a thing as they continued their conversation with the Belles, Evangeline's mother raving about her daughter's new boyfriend as Mama remarked about how she wished I would follow in her footsteps.
So I wandered off, nobody blinking an eye as my legs carried me through the tree line, walking through the gentle light and soft wind. The end of winter left the air chilly, the wind biting at my face with a fondness that was entirely foreign. The cold comforted me, just as lost and lonely as the world had left me.
Wandering through the trees, savouring the bite at my cheeks and nips at my fingers, breathing in the soft frost that thinly coated the leaves and grass. Tree bark pulled at the back of my dress, this tree holding too many emotions to bear, memories of her arms wrapped around my neck and lips pressed against mine leaving me drunk. Leaves were growing all around me, fresh green finding its way into the world after the great death of all.
"Un poignard ma chérie, oh mon cœur," I muttered, wishing everything was different. What if I asked the question? What if I leaned in first? What if I made her stay?
What if…
What if…
What if…
"If I kiss you," Her apprehension scares me, but the words let the hope in my heart grow, even when her hands ball up the back of my dress and tears drip from her cheeks and onto mine. They are warm and gentle, strangely comforting. "I'm not sure I'll be able to stay, but if I disappear, I promise it is only because I am so fucking scared." I nodded. I understood what she's saying, and what she's feeling, and there is nothing I can do to fix it.
She never promised to stay and hold me, she never promised to wipe my tears or give me everything her heart could give. She just promised her fear, a fear that must have hurt much more than mine.
"I don't believe in heaven or hell," The words were so quiet. I am alone here, free to speak and scream and cry and release. "But if I ever meet God, the man who has brought us together and ripped us apart," My hands pulled the cardigan across my waist, body curling into itself as tears burned my cheeks again. "Then I will be left with no choice but to turn on him and walk away. Because my dear, he should feel every sliver of pain that he brought to me with your departure."
I shouldn't blame someone who likely doesn't exist, some omnipotent being who could just be the hallucination of the human race. What will he do to save me from my suffering? He has never held the hand of someone like me; someone who is so shunned and repulsed by society that their life becomes that of fantasy, lost in words scribbled on paper and memories that will fade like scars on skin. He will see my suffering, he will hear it, and we will weep with regret.
I yelled.
I screamed, I begged.
I curled into myself like a baby dear and released everything I had held in me for the last year. He will regret everything he allowed to happen. He will regret designing creatures that were capable of such love and such hatred.
My screams and screeches faded into shallow sobs and withered whimpers, my eyes burning from the flames that blessed my cheeks.
Trial through fire? Trial through pain and suffering. Trial through destruction and torment.
Yes, he must regret it.
The weaving roots of the tree cradled my weeping body, dress and cardigan keeping me warm from the chilling wind. My breath mellowed out slowly, eyes closing as the tears dribbled to a stop. There was silence surrounding me, the rustle of leaves above and beneath me accompanied by the soft sound of cicadas and crickets, the filtered light resting against my face with a tenderness that only a mother could manage.
And then a finger brushed against my cheek, eyes opening to my Mama's tearful eyes. Tenderness only a mother could manage.
"Ma fille… Oh dear, come here." Her arms opened, her small frame welcoming the warmth that I needed. She held me, something she hadn't done for years. We were never close, always distracted with other things that never interested the other. But I could see how much she loved me.
I didn't shed any tears as she held me, each of her wet droplets gracing my messy hair as she squeezed me tightly, a hug which meant to tell me everything she'd forgotten the words for.
"I'll never understand how you feel, my heart could never hold such a weight," Her voice was smaller than usual, the words scratchy, as happens after crying. "But you are stronger than me, you always will be. You hold emotions no one has heard of, and cradle them through the world. I am your Mama, and a Mama is meant to love, so I will." She struggled for the words, but she didn't need them.
She held me tighter, Mama's tears leaving a gloss over the hazel irises we share. Her eyes searched mine, as they did when she searched for something. Small hands reached to cup my face, wiping at the tear trails that had raced down my cheeks. Tears bubbled in Mum's eyes, the urge to return the favour surging through me, hands cupping her face like a child's.
"Would you like to grab some coffee from the bar and sit in the library? You don't need to tell me anything, but I don't think I could talk to Ella at the moment." I nodded at the offer, leaning back, grating away the tears and snot with my hands. Mum cleaned her face more gracefully, but we were more than respectable enough to return to the country club without earning too many strange looks.
We walked arm in arm, our height difference clear, but understanding finally level. She gave a random excuse to Papa and the Belles, her face falling rock hard as she passed Evangeline and Andrew with his friends, the both of us turning away stubbornly. Her eyes bore into me in search of answers, her list of questions empty of any resolution.
Mama picked up two cups from the bar, requesting them to be sweet and hot – just the way we liked them. With a cup in each of our hands – Mama's cup lavender and mine azure – we found the corner where Evangeline and I had met. Neither of us had a book, but Mama was never fond of books and I wasn't in the mood. Instead, we sipped our coffee, her spare hand resting on my forearm in support and mine resting on her knee in thanks.
"Evangeline?" She offered inquisitively, eyes softer. I nodded and silence fell over us again, the cogs in Mama's brain turning wildly as she pieced together everything she had missed till now.
Maybe she was remembering the flush on my face every time we talked about her; or the hurry in which I wrote letters to Marie after our time together. Every puzzle piece finally snapping together, every question finding an answer.
"You love so easy, it makes me jealous," Mama joked, hoping her silly words would lighten my mood before taking another long sip of her coffee. A smile cracked along my face, fingers tapping idly against the smooth ceramic of the cup. I need to get over myself.
"Would you like to go swimming when we get home Mama? I think we all need a good way to relax before Papa gets too busy with work." Tiredness creased my eyes, dulling the light in her's, our minds in desperate need of a rest. We all need a pick-me-up, and, sometimes, all you need is a swim in the cold, fresh water of a pool to make you feel alive. Mama nodded knowingly.
The cold was comforting, and being submerged in water was like being left to float aimlessly in a void, with no direction or reason; just pure uselessness surrounded by the cold of a world long forgotten.
Papa simply enjoyed the water, but Mama and I were allowed to feel meaningful about meaningless tasks such as this. When you're a woman you aren't left with many meaningful things to do, so things that are pointless to men become more meaningful than anything else to women; an example being swimming.
After we managed to convince Papa that it was most certainly time for us to leave – it's past noon, and we are supposed to leave at high noon – we returned home, pool ready for us the moment we opened the door. The light shimmered off the gentle ripples and waves of the water, glimmering like Mama's jade earrings did on a summer's morning. Mama's jade was nowhere near as gentle as the water, however, the cut was smooth but harsh, never a match for the world's silkiest element. But, the colour was the same, a soft aqua; no match against Evangeline's beautiful irises. They were the same colour, but no gem or liquid could match the piercing life in her eyes, nor reflect the same excitement as her's did.
We rested in the cold water, savouring the harsh bite which matched the wind. The clouds hid across the country, the open blue sky a void that drew me into a world of my own. The expanse of the endless blue left me feeling ill, my head spinning as I delved deeper into the rabbit hole. My world is spinning, vertigo leaving me struggling my way to the surface. Breaking the water, breaths lugged their way in and out of my lungs.
My mind hadn't recognised I'd fallen below the surface, eyes continuing fixed on the deepening blue of the sky as my body drifted through the water like a feather falling through the air. My ears rang and popped as the water bubbled its way out of the canal, nostrils burning from the small bits of water I must have breathed in and my throat burning from the lack of oxygen.
"Fille idiote," Papa mumbled as I struggled to the edge of the pool, still coughing and spluttering like Papa's old car. Mama's hand wrapped his arm swiftly, a stern look on her face. Papa may be the man of the house but Mama is everything else; if someone broke into the house at night, I would expect Mama to fight the intruder whilst Papa called the police.
"Are you okay, ma fille?" She hummed in a gentle tone, patting my back to help get any of the water that was in my lungs out. I nodded, eyes clenched as deep breaths filled my lungs and swallowing any phlegm that had come up during the aggressive coughing fit.
Pushing off the edge, my arms and legs starfished out across the water, eyes closed, breathing rhythmically to keep focus. My fingers dipped in and out of the water, the small drip drop singing. Water pulled at my hair, the locks spidered out, waxing and waning like seaweed through the currents. The water was so inviting, so caring. I was being cradled by the Earth, her soul and mine crying over sorrows neither of us would admit to anyone else. Instead, my body was drifting through the element of her harsh sobs. The love I have for Evangeline isn't all that different; cradled by a comfort that no one will understand, just a fleeting moment of ignorance or arrogance to shatter everything we had built. It sounds so poetic when I say it that way, but love is not poetic.
Poems are written by the sorrowful, the dejected, the poor, and the lost. Never the loved. If you were loved, if you felt loved and gave love and knew love then you would never need poetry. Poetry is a replacement for love which we weave from words we've never received.
That is why I write poetry.
The crown of my head barely bumped against the edge of the pool, turning me away and towards a direction lost to my mind. My eyes remained closed, the orange-tinted darkness reminding me of the soft candlelight that would light my room at night. Candles are quite a lovely creation, the dripping wax and flickering flame providing just enough light for my letters.
My eyes opened in a flash, my body turning itself right-side-up in the water. I was right near the steps, Mama and Papa sitting on one each, their rounded sunglasses across their faces and heads tilted towards the sun. They were prestigious, the highest quality of human available in todays social climate. I slipped past them both, making my way out of the pool, towel wrapped around my waist through the doors and into the house. Making my way to my room, towel patting the dampness from my hair, ideas rushed all around me, images of the spring ahead thrusting themselves upon me. Now it's March, which meant Papa would be busy preparing his show for the next month and a half, so just Mama and I would visit the country club until the weekends or May, when he finished his collection. Next month Mama will get busy adjusting her wardrobe for the new spring fashion, buying a few of Papa's pieces for support before moving to other designers. And I would be left alone to figure out how to entertain myself in a country where I am an outsider.
Lovely.
I laid the towel over the back of my door, slipping out of my soaked swimmers and into a short sundress. Something comfortable to pour my heart out on paper yet again. I'm sure Marie was growing tired of my letters, but she was the only person who I trusted to tell my feelings to.
The pen weighed down my hand, as it always did, the ink sliding across the paper, dark as night against the soft sunset. My heart ripped from my chest, blood mixing with the ink and writing a letter no one could remember nor copy.
It read:
Marie, I am pain.
She has lost me, forgotten me, memories gone in the wind, pulling her further and further away from me.
Evangeline has started to love another. His normality is comforting to her, much unlike our unusual love. His name is Andrew, and I now understand envy.
Before, envy was just jealousy, wishing for something you didn't have yourself. But envy, Marie, is like jealousy, only controlling. I need to be him, have her, and not worry about the opinions of others. They hug, they joke, they kiss, and a dagger finds its way into my heart every time.
She sees me, and just as quickly as she finds me, she is lost in the world's forever judgmental mind.
I knew she would do this, from the moment we met I knew it. But I prayed, oh Marie, I prayed and prayed until my knees were bruised and sore. I have never believed in a God, but I prayed to whoever would listen for just one chance with her.
A chance no God would bless a sinner such as myself with. A sinner of such magnitude among an angel; she is so blessed God will kiss her hand and request a dance once she returns to her home.
An angel I tainted.
Did she leave because of anger? Will I cause her to fall or be the reason she leans backward? Does she date Andrew just for peace of mind, avoiding the injury of embracing her true desire?
You know how a girl's heart works, as do I.
Le cœur désire l'acceptation, non seulement dans l'amour, mais dans l'opinion
There is no way to ignore such facts.
Sincerely,
Your favourite cousin,
Anastasia
Letters must remain short in our instances, the avoidance of any intrigue or curiosity keeping my sorrows silent to the world. One can only bear so much vulnerability, and mine is directed towards the only person who hasn't left me thus far. I gently placed some wax dots into the small ladle and rested it over the glowing flame. As the metal heated and melted the wax, the paper folded crisply in my hands, measuring the thirds equally and sliding swiftly into the snug envelope. Marie's name and address scrawled across the front, pulling a stamp off the roll and placing it on the top right corner haphazardly. The ladels gold bottom glowed orange with the continued heat exposure, and the mix of white, blue, and azure beads melted together into a perfect marble of the ocean that separates me from my home. Pulling the ladle off the flame, I waited a moment to cool down, before the wax poured along the apex of the envelope's opening. It pooled in circles, keeping the seeping colour contained to one spot and swiftly pressing down my seal stamp.
Mama had let me carve my seal myself, the large cursive 'A' surrounded by twisting vines and berries. When it was partnered with my oceanic wax, it was utterly magnifique. Although the contents of the letter were heart-wrenching, the package in which they were delivered was still beautiful.
I wandered down the halls of this vaguely familiar house, slipping the envelope into the postal box just outside the door. The wind bit at my exposed skin angrily, the sun caressing the burning bumps lovingly, a balance of pleasure and pain toying with me yet again. Oh, the nymphs who spun my fate truly were angry when they twisted my string, but who could blame them for their displeasure?
Weaving fate for eternity, controlling the very threads of humanity as they twist and turn strings of gold, a break never opening for their rest; I too would force displeasure and pain upon those whose fate laid in my hands.
Laying down across the soft purple sheets of my bed, fan twisting and turning on the roof just above my head, wind brushing up and down the trees that blossomed outside my windows, my brain rested. Today had every cog spinning, each part of my brain working like the weavers of fate, never ending and never resting. Silence and sleep beckoned for me to lay my brain into gentle relaxation. No more grieving my heart or whining about my loneliness. I needed to rest, and even though it's so much easier to ignore all of my problems, sometimes you just need to care for yourself in times like this.
My pillow sat perfectly against my chest, holding the bunch of feathers against my heart and under my chin, the plush texture identical to the plush mattress beneath me. Curls of hair tickled my nose, forcing me to brush them away and leaving a dark mass sitting behind my ear, sprawling along my pillow like twisted twigs. The calming lavender oil that Louise had so kindly used to wash all of my sheets and clothes filled my nose; she learnt it helped to soothe the mind, and wanted to help me sleep however she could. My mother and father may not appreciate them to their fullest, but Gabriel and Louise deserve respect for their work.
They raise Lillian, Annita, Juárez, and July all by themselves, and deal with the "rich people" bullshit of our society.
I could visit Lillian. Hang out again, distract myself.
She hadn't been visiting with Louise and Gabriel as often, so maybe we share the need for distraction these days. She should be on spring break now, so we can waste one another's time.
Only if she can, of course. I may be lonely but Lillian focuses a lot on her studies and interfering with her schooling just because a girl I fell for is replacing me with a boy is simply ridiculous.
Wow, that sounds pathetic when you say it outloud.
It'll be fine, surely Gabriel wouldn't mind taking me home to see her after the country club. He's usually uncomfortable taking me places without my parents, but he never refuses me when I want to see Lillian – maybe it's because he and Louise worry about her social life a bit.
My face softened, thinking about everything Lillian had missed in my life and everything I'd missed in her's. I haven't seen her since she got her scholarship for the National Acadamy of Music, which was about two or three years ago. Much will have changed, but I'm sure our bond will be the same.
Pessimism is part of my personality, but I need to start thinking more optimistically. That may help with the overwhelming sense of loneliness I feel in England.
At least I now had something to look forward to this spring. She only has a two-week break, but I'm sure we can have some fun during that time. And, hopefully – see, there's that optimism I needed – that will be enough for me to not feel isolated from society for three whole months.
As a bonus, Easter at the Navarro house is always fun, so maybe I could convince Mama and Papa to let me spend a few days with them over Easter. They never celebrate anyway, and Papa will be starting to plan his show, so they will both be out of the house most of the day. Me being at the Navarro house means they don't have to worry about any messes when they get back, which I'm sure they will appreciate.
I'll ask in the morning.
For now, the weight of the day is enough to replace a blanket and encourage my excited brain to relax into slumber and recharge from life's utter chaos.
And I couldn't argue with such mercy.