Worlds Collide

Chapter 14

 *Adapted from awarewolves.*

She didn't know where to begin. She was gasping for air even if she's not barely breathing which is practically a thing to be happy about since she was always barely breathing. She's fine. She told everyone a million times yet she sat on the window pane like the pane was spelled with pain. It was a sunny day, it could've been a good shopping day or a good tan in the beach but all felt gloomy as if the sun never rose and all remains is a dark silhouette of the echoing voice of helplessness. 

In a second there will be a knock on the door, and she knows it, knows that it will not be you, but she still feels a sharp pang in her chest, as if it were you just in her doorstep. And so it happens: it isn’t you, never will it be you, but she tells herself she's lying even though she knows she's not.

The walls tremble and even they do not dare speak, yet there is a whisper or two from somewhere indistinguishable, saying, don’t open the door, don’t open it yet. She listens, and obeys, as the wind hums its songs to her ears, dry and distasteful in her hearing, like a rotten fruit left on the kitchen table for weeks. Then, there are murmurs. There are silent mutterings. There are exchange of conversations, but she's not part of any of it. She keeps mum, and keeps her lips close. She only listens to her breathing, and the drumroll of thunder evanescing so, so quickly in the overhead sky.

Again, not-you, knocking on the door, and she doesn't open, and doesn't even look, because she convinces herself that she's good at lying. She persuades herself that it’s still you, dressed in apologies, handful of stuttering extemporaneity, a tiny boombox in your backpack, a CD of their songs inside, never played, never listened to, never, never, sweet and bitter never.

This is how the story ends, then, inside a room where she's alone, and there’s a knock on the door, a third batch of hard yet delicate pounds on wood. It’s not you, but maybe it is you, and she's not lying after all, but it’s hard to tell when there’s nothing left to do but not open the door and surrender to sleep.

That's how the days swept by - fragile lonely days of lurking over the edges of her seat badly wishing to herself that it is you. Dj. You telling her that you want to make it up to her. You. 

"Kath, Lester's calling." 

She heard but she doesn't care. She knew it was rude to act like that but she's not in the mood and she doesn't know when will she be on the mood. 

"Tell him I'm asleep." she murmured. 

Kath mounted back to her bed, at least it felt comforting for her to lay down and drown all her thoughts in a deep slumber. 

"What happened?" 

Kendall joined her in the bed. She doesn't know what the hell happened. Kath doesn't want her to know. It's stupid, embarrasing for her bestfriend to know. 

"Now, you don't want me to know. Gaahd, I'm your best friend. I know you. Tell me. Promise I won't laugh." Kendall held out her pinky and Kath felt a gush of relief that she's there, Kendall's always been there. 

And she narrated what happened - the text, the drive to the football field, the field, the comforting happiness while talking to him, the food, how she found out the reason why he was there in the shop, the running across the field, the kiss on the forehead and him leaving. 

It was deep. She knew it was deep. 

"Mate, I think you're having a nightmare. GOSH! I should call, call the doctor of love." 

That silly thing made Kath laugh though. It was enough to make her laugh. 

It was all I can do for now. Kendall thought as she watch her smile. 

There she goes again. 

Saving everyone when she can't even save herself. 

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