Prideland

Chapter 11- Ian

Why did grieving have to be so hard? Ian's chest ached as he sobbed through dry tears, clutching the bed spread under him. It had been over a month since he had found that letter and the empty void inside his heart was still as tender and painful as ever. Curling his right fist, he slammed his face into the array of feathered pillows and let out a pained scream, letting it be muffled by the fabric. His breathing slowly became shudders as he pulled his face out slowly, propping out his elbows and wiping his face that burned with salt. His body was shaking both from the cold and grief and he had a headache from crying so much, even his eyes were starting to puff up and swell. The moonlight didn't seem so clear anymore.

A stack of uneaten meal trays were forming by his bedroom door, infesting with buzzing flies who would probably enjoy the meal more than Ian's hollow appetite. So badly he wished that Ophelia, Oliver, even his mother would come knocking on the door and sweep into the room at this hour, not saying a word and just comforting him, letting him know that it's going to be okay, letting him know that someone was there for him and that he wasn't going through this by himself. He wasn't ready to accept the fact that Cale had parents shittier that he had and that Ian was his only friend, he wasn't ready to wake up tomorrow and see the townspeople crying over the freshly built headstones from the fallen soldiers, knowing that Cale wouldn't even get a flower. Ian wasn't ready to be alone, So he kept looking at his silent door, waiting. But he was. Because nobody came.

The only thing that brought joy to him now was the existence of his memorial that Ian made. A small patch of flowers and candles, located in the woods where no one would disturb it. When he wasn't in his room crying his eyes out, he was outside visiting it, building it on however he could with twigs and flower crowns he weaved himself. Missing the memory and needing the cool, fresh air of the night, Ian slowly slid off of his bed, nearly tearing his nightgown and wiped his eyes with the palm of his hands. Walking towards his wardrobe with bare, veiny feet, blinking to adjust to the darkness, he felt around for the knob and slowly let it creak open. Hearing the small clatter of wooden hangers, he held his breath and shoved his arm to the right, reaching for the very back and blowing a relieved sigh when he pulled out a light pink robe. It was a forgotten birthday gift given by his mother that he never wore. It was fluffy with dark pink string that outlined the collar and pockets, threading his initials near the front.

Throwing the bathrobe over his body, he crossed the folds and brought the belt into a small knot that could easily be unfolded if necessary. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he crouched down and pulled out the matching pair of pink slippers and slid them on, almost snorting at how much of a grandparent he imagined he looked. All he needed was an old pipe and some crooked circular glasses and he would be all set.

Finally closing his wardrobe as quietly as he could, he shuffled over to his door that illuminated light from underneath. Pressing his ear to the door, and awaiting any movement, he felt the air go still as his senses heightened in the quiet atmosphere. He didn't want to think about what his mother would do if he snuck out this late, his neck burned slightly as a warning about what happened the last time he tried wandering off outside. But his heart and the painful memories it contained was enough to block out the strand of doubt that still lingered in his head and force his hand to twist the doorknob, thrusting it open with courage and impatience. He didn't have enough time to tell Cale he loved him one last time, he didn't have enough time to spin around that day in the barn and forgive those nasty comments despite how much it broke his heart. He didn't have enough time- so now he was going to use however much time he had left to make sure that never happened again.

Closing his bedroom door softly behind him, his slippers shuffled softly against the familiar floor that he walked a thousand times and yet- this time was different. His feet slowly picked up the pace and before he knew it- he was sprinting down the empty hallway, turning corners and corridors, tears flying past his ears as his feet thumped rhythmically with his heart. He finally slowed down upon reaching the front gate, his breathing now shaking and his throat tasting the cold air, making his lungs suffocate. His hand slowly cupped the metal latch that held the black iron wall gently, sliding it out and letting it fall without a single sound. The iron bars felt cool under Ian's palms as his fingers latched around them, pushing the right door open with a small grunt as it pulled with rusty hinges. He squeezed through the small opening, sucking in his stomach as he shifted and wiggled through the gap. Fully opening and closing the gate would trigger the security system, or as Ian knew them; Jerry, the plump, bald, snoring man that sat atop in the tower above, 'protecting' the royal family and its residents from any form of harm, Like a prince sneaking off into the night to visit his dead boyfriend's empty grave.