Define: BITTERSWEET (Define #1) ✓

Bittersweet: Thirteen

"Maybe this is wishful thinking
Probably mindless dreaming
But if we loved again
I swear I'd love you right."
- "Back To December," Taylor Swift

~*~

MARCH came in after two days. I was stuck at home because it was a weekend. Hera gave me a call earlier and told me it was okay if I couldn't do my paperworks during the weekend. She said I should focus on myself for now. I apologized to Vincent for not attending his party and he assured that it was fine.

Here I was, lying on my bed. Once again and for many mornings since that day, the first one to greet me was the emptiness of the ceiling. It was comfortable again where I was sleeping at, but it didn't help remembering that despite my numerous efforts of changing the bedsheet, somehow, it still felt like he's in the same room as me. It didn't change the fact that for a few days, he was in here.

I slowly sat up. I suddenly felt a pulsating feeling in my head. I massaged my temples in an attempt to soothe it. I thought of getting coffee but, again, I ignored the idea. The last time I drank coffee was the night he made me my last coffee.

I could still taste it. There was the right amount of bitterness emanating from the coffee.

Hesitantly, I stood up. I stumbled as I walked towards the door. I turned the doorknob and left the bedroom. I stayed standing in front of the door, taking in the view that I was supposed to get used to.

The pillows on the sofa were untouched. The TV was never on anymore. The kitchen table had my laptop and my other work materials resting on top of it. There were few plates that needed washing on the sink. The cupboards were empty, begging me to fill them up.

The sun's rays seeped through the window. It was too bright for it to be still 8 A.M. Judging from the headache I had been feeling since I woke up and the grumbling sensation inside my stomach, I knew that maybe it was almost 12 P.M. now.

I went to one of the cupboards and hoped there would still be even just a snack bar in it. I didn't want to go to the supermarket, I was so sure that I would be seeing his face again, just like any other days that had passed.

I felt nothing. It meant that there really wasn't any food left. I settled for a glass of water for now. As I was pouring water, I heard my phone ring from a distance. I sighed. I left it inside the bedroom. I gulped down the water first before slowly walking back inside of the bedroom.

My phone was loudly resting on top of my bed side table beside a stack of books I had yet to read. I sat on my bed and was about to answer the unknown caller when it suddenly stopped. I groaned. I wasted the energy I had left just to get here. I had the idea of getting food delivered to me and was already at the process of dialing a fastfood joint, when I noticed something. It was a paper sticking out on one of the books' pages. I had not seen this before at all.

I immediately grabbed it, curious as to what it may contain. Upon taking it, I immediately smelled a familiar scent. My brain scanned my memory and realized it was the same paper where Charles had written his poetry. I opened it. In his handwriting was a letter. A long letter.

"Dearest Iris,

You're probably tired of hearing me say sorry for God knows how many. But it's one of the only things I can say. I'm sorry for hurting you from before until now. It was ungrateful of me to hurt someone who did nothing but help me during my worst. I could still remember how you introduced yourself as the Grim Reaper when you found me drunk on that street one night. You were such an angel, one I didn't deserve having.

I'm sorry for hurting you a lot. From before, I'm sorry for having issues that I felt like I couldn't keep you. You were considerate enough to let me leave even though it would hurt you. I'm sorry it took me a long while to show up even if it was for the most unfortunate of reasons too. You didn't deserve that. I should've told you what was on my mind and let you help me. I should've known better that you of all people wouldn't think of me as someone who was a burden. You've told me that over and over throughout the course of our friendship. I was enough. I was dumb enough not to believe it. But hey, I guess the "dummy" nickname you gave me now fits eh?