Reads: 495  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 10

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: 'The Odd Ones'
How far can the limits of love stretch until the stitches holding the heart together begin to break?

This is my entry for RaeBlair's Speak with Sound Contest. My song was 'Believe' by Mumford & Sons.

Submitted: May 26, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 26, 2016



Everyone comes to a point when they start losing hope. Every once in a while, a stone is thrown into the beautiful lake of life that disrupts the everlasting flow that once existed. The waves start to simmer down and the ripples cease. There have been times where I’ve felt like giving up but I’ve kept going, just like I was raised to do.

Years and years of breakups have left me worn; torn, even, after the relationships I’ve had. I was a flirt in high school and an even better one in college until I became devoted to my associates in nursing. That’s my job now, at a local hospital. It pays more than enough, plenty to sustain me, but I want it to sustain more than just me. I want someone else in my life. I want more than what I have.

As a 25-year-old woman in a small suburban home, I need more in my life. It isn’t a desire anymore. A want has evolved into a requirement.

Last week on a cold night, I was feeling restless. I lit my fireplace after putting some logs on the hearth and brought out the matches. It only took one small flame to set the wood ablaze, creating a distinct contrast to the frigid cold of the night. December was reaching it’s coldest climax. I sat in the cushioned chair next to the fire, wearing my fuzziest socks and my coziest pajamas. A wool blanket covered my body, making it quite possibly the best night ever. Only a book would make it better. I felt such glee when I realized I had one on the table next to me; Deliria, one of my favorites at that moment. Despite only having gotten through the first few pages, I had already known that it was a fantasy book to not take lightly.

Before reading, I took in the beauty of my living room: the peak of the fire casted shadows against the furnishings and tablecloths that rested on my cabinets and cases lining the walls. The brown wallpaper appeared only slightly brighter than normal, and the red rug was darker than normal. I loved the look it was creating. The crackling of the flame and the scrumptious scent it was giving off gave me chills that shook the bones in my body in an oddly pleasant way. My room felt so warm; magnificently warm, even, and ever so comfortable. Introversion has its benefits when it comes to enjoyment, in my opinion.

Deliria had some brilliant description already, with Abi escaping the ever-so-daunting shadow chasing her about the attic. I was prepared to jump into her adventures in the fantasy world the author so cleverly would create as his previous stories had. One of my favorite authors, no doubt.

I got as comfortable as can be, twisting my legs into a comfortable position, and pulled the book towards me. Conveniently, my reading glasses were also set on the table beside me, putting the hassle to rest. The words seemed to instantly suck me in. The reading environment was perfect, unflawed, brilliantly peaceful, and I didn’t want it to ever go away. If I could’ve, I would have read that whole novel on that night.

A knock at my door interrupted me.

I was thrown completely off guard. It was midnight. Why would someone come to my house at midnight? What kind of person would do that? I remember those thoughts clearly. I remember hating that I had to put the book down, got up, threw on a jacket to conceal some of my pajamas, and went over to the front door.

I opened it forcefully, saying, “Who-“.

“Hey, Ali,” the man at the door said, cutting me off. I instantly recognized him and slammed the door shut.

Back in high school, I had a boyfriend. I really, really loved him. I saw him as the world. I became a teenager who was lost in love, just as everyone was. I was that girl, you could say, the girl with her prince charming. Completely cliche and stereotypical, but it didn’t feel like that when we were together. I thought that’s what he was, anyway, my perfect man. It was like I could smell affection, I could taste those little candy hearts you get during Valentine’s day, I could feel the warmth that came with being loved; it was all so real. He enveloped me. We went to prom together and stayed together into college.

His name was Beck. By the end of college, we split up.

He said he wasn’t ready to commit. I think he was scared, maybe even worried about our relationship, but that’s just what I think. Maybe he truly wasn’t ready. Maybe the inklings that led to the potential of cheating were just my imagination. He wouldn’t do that. I remember thinking that he wouldn’t do that.

I still think he wouldn’t cheat on me.

My heart felt broken, more broken than it had ever been. The devastation haunted me and ate me from the inside out, tearing at my skin and soul. I felt the weight of the past few years come crashing back down on me: every comment, every kiss, every hug, every time we held hands, every walk in the park, every “I love you”, every moment together; it pushed me farther and farther down until I couldn’t see the light anymore.

That’s when I retreated, when I became more introverted, and when I was shy at work rather than my outgoing, usually peppy self. I started losing hope that I could be that person. I didn’t believe that I could. I didn’t think that I could be myself without him.

Behind the door I had just slammed was Beck. I hadn’t seen him in years, since college ended. There was no reason for him to come back. I took some deep breaths and opened the door again, ready to talk to him.

“Why’d you come back?” I asked.

He stared directly into my eyes, allowing all of those feelings to return. I could taste the candy hearts and smell the affection again. It was coming back all too fast.

“I wasn’t lying, Ali.”

I crossed my arms. “Lying about what?”

He sat down on the wooden decorative swing on my porch and lightly glided back and forth, into the snow and then out. I had to catch myself when I found him attractive. I didn’t want to fall back down that rabbit hole.

A small smile stretched across his face. He closed his eyes and sighed, still smiling, then opened them back up at me.

“I wasn’t ready to commit. I’ve grown, I think.”

I blinked a few times and shook my head a little. “I can’t tell right now.”

“That’s okay,” he said, still-

“Smiling. You’re always smiling,” I said, “and it’s really starting to annoy me. It feels fake, like you’re doing it to try to get me back.”

“I want you back, yeah, but-“

“There’s not a ‘but’ in this situation, Beck. You either want me back or you don’t.”

“That’s true.”

“I know,” I said, a bit flustered.

Beck never made me feel uncomfortable. I had always loved him too much and was so infatuated that I looked past any discomfort. He tried grabbing for my hand, which I would have graciously accepted before. I couldn’t this time.

He looked at me, without anger, just confusion. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” I said, with a tinge of anger in my voice.

“I told you, I’m ready to commit.”

He wasn’t understanding. He wasn’t thinking about what I wanted, just about what he wanted. For some reason that I can’t explain, that was the spark that started the fire in me. It made me want to hurt something, or someone, or myself, and I knew that wasn’t me. It wasn’t me that was thinking those things. It was my emotions, my feelings, the built up pressure inside of me; it was making me angry. To defuse it, there was only one thing I could do and only one thing I could say.

“You might be ready, but I’m not.”

I stomped inside and slammed the door, paying no mind to Beck shouting my name. I rested my back against the door, clenching my fists, closing my eyes, scrunching them up, hoping that maybe it’d keep me from seeing that I was probably wrong in shutting him out. I slid down, feeling my legs give out on me, feeling my eyes release tension, allowing them to relax, sensing tears forming in them, and feeling the sadness start to build up.

I couldn’t shut him out. It wasn’t like me. It’s not me. I’m not me anymore.

I need to fix this, I thought.

Chase him.

I felt sane again when I stood up and stumbled a little. My hand struggled to grasp the knob, and when the door opened again I was met with a familiar, unsettling sound.


Howling wind, screaming through the trees: only wind.

Beck had left.

I collapsed again, this time on the wooden swing. It didn’t matter anymore. I had made another mistake. My life had been so full of them that new mistakes didn’t phase me. All they did was push me down further. I felt like I was drowning, again in the kisses, the hugs, the compliments, the moments we spent together, and I knew I wasn’t coming back up for air.

My hands began to prune from excessive crying. I knew I had to stop. The book was waiting for me, where I could read another story of another girl who created problems just because she got lost. I needed to relate. I needed to feel for someone else again.

I get up and head towards the door but stop in my tracks when I see a small note taped to the front. I walk up to it and peel it off. To make sure I was reading the words correctly, I said it out loud, in the silence of the night with the wind to accompany my words.


When you can, come talk to me. Make sure you believe before you do.


I went back inside. The book never got read.

It took me a week.

It took a week for me to not only believe in myself but to realize that he believed in me, too.

I can taste the candy hearts, smell the attraction; I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore.


I’m going to see him today.

© Copyright 2019 Hanorbi. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:


















More Romance Short Stories