Guarded Hearts and Broken Wings || S.R.

19 - The Break

The rain never stopped. It drowned the night, turned the streets into raging rivers, and fashioned the morning into one that made the warmth of your bed a refuge. This is why Amelia found it particularly odd that an itching desire to move was crawling up her legs, causing her toes to flex and hips to squirm.

Usually, a genuine desire to move after so many sluggish weeks would fill one with uncontrollable joy, but it only made Amelia more miserable. Her muscles screamed to move but her heart could find no reason to steer them. At least when her body was immovable, she could lie in peace. Now, there was an incessant gnaw to do something with nothing to do.

In an attempt to quell her legs, Amelia sat up in bed and stared through the window into the dreary day. Again, an urge from deep in her bones seized her, and she was suddenly on her feet moving towards the glass. She could not explain it but every part of her was screaming to touch the rain. When she reached the window, she fumbled with the opening latches with the urgency of someone being poisoned with a gas every ticking moment. She yanked it with vigor like it was going to swing open at her touch only to slam into the glass. A pained grunt escaped her lips then she began fidgeting and pulling with a madness until it burst open. Amelia lurched out the window headfirst and gasped as if she had been underwater. Cold trails of rain worked their way through her curls then down her scalp and unto her cheeks.

It was incredibly uncomfortable. A stark contrast to the warmth she had left in the bed. Yet, she eagerly reached out her palm and caught the drops in hand precisely because they stung. A relieved breath of air escaped her lungs as her lips pulled over her clenched teeth. She stayed like that for a very long time until her bladder made other demands.

Leaving the window open, she turned and limped her way to the bathroom, shivering with a trail of water following her. There, the mirror gave her an unfortunate view. Her typically well-cared for curls were a stringy, matted mess. It was enough to nearly make her cry. Her hair had always been a precious thing to her. It was the first thing she had worked hard to improve in her life when she had started to recover from Mark. Since then, it had been a symbol of pride and overcoming hardships. Now it was a disaster again, and so was she. She took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. She had no energy to do anything about it now. Soon, she told herself. But it still nestled into her heart like a thorn.

When she returned to her room, she crawled back into her bed, too exhausted and upset to care that she was soaking wet from the waist up. She fell back asleep until her stomach woke her again. Yet another unusual occurrence to add to the day. But again she listened and began to limp down the hallway. When she entered the living room, she could see that the rain had only become more aggressive as she slept.

The living room was strange. The eyes of the paintings were less intimidating and the scattered paints that promised a past life seemed less disheartening. She gave it a nod like you would an acquaintance you pass on the street and turned to the kitchen. Marcie's radio sat on the counter, and after a staredown, Amelia hesitantly reached out and pushed the 'on' button down with a clunk.

"SITTIN' DRUNK ON A WAGON IN MEXICO

HER HAIR WHAT A CHUMP"

Mel jumped and nearly knocked the radio off the counter as she scrambled to turn down the maxed-out volume.

"Geez, Marcie," she laughed as The White Stripes now quietly ripped out a guitar riff in the kitchen. "Since when?" It sounded more like Andrew's shop than Marcie's kitchen. Even at the low volume, it was still too much energy. She pushed down the next saved radio station and soft, jazzy classics replaced the hard rock. It crackled in protest of change, so Mel adjusted the antenna until it was clear. She released a sigh and turned to Marcie's clean and organized domain. After rifling through the cabinets for easy snacks and coming up empty-handed, she swung open the fridge. Front and center was a box of Indian takeout with a sticky note that read: