a chuisle mo chroí ♡ JFK ✔️

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈; 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ☁️

Everything was pointless. That was why Alice didn't bother to eat or get out of bed.

It was the middle of June. The middle of summer joy. For anyone but her.

Everyone thought she was ill, because that's how she played it off. If they saw her so upset over not working at the House anymore, it might have come off as suspicious. Or maybe not-they all knew how much she loved the place. They all knew it was her favorite place in the entire world. But Alice wanted to make it seem as though it had been her decision to leave. The only excuse that made that plausible was her 'desire' to pursue college that year once and for all.

Truth couldn't be farther apart. But she was out of options.

What helped Alice look ill was the fact that she actually felt physically sick. And since she hadn't eaten, her cheeks stopped being round, cheekbones becoming more prominent in turn. The too few hours of sleep also contributed to the pale, apathetic appearance of her lifeless face. The lack of sleep had nothing to do with nightmares. In fact, she hadn't had one at all. It was because she lied in bed staring at the ceiling, overthinking. Overthinking her worth, her flaws, her broken heart.

The first night she cried, cried, and cried in silence so much that she could barely breathe.

As far as Alice could see, her life was over.

She knew that if Francy was there, and aware of the situation, she'd be scolding her by saying something like 'you don't need a man to define your life'.

Under different and normal circumstances, Alice would accept that. But it was Jack.

Jack.

The love of her life.

No, they hadn't been together for long. But how relevant was the length of time compared to how that time was spent? Every minute that they spent, whether next to each or apart, was a minute that they spent being together, in one way or another. Because even if they were in different places, Jack was on her mind as much as she was on his.

Playing ill could only last for so long. So when the end of the first week without Jack came around and Alice was still shut out from the world, abuela started suspecting something else was up. Not saying anything at all, little by little, she did small things to help Alice regain at least some of that willpower that made her who she was.

But the girl kept lying on her side, staring straight ahead toward the wall. The wall that was now empty, rid of everything that was remotely related to the President. A move that maybe was not so wise, because it could only leave the door open to conjecture.

"Mi amor, habla. Cuéntame qué te pasa." [My love, speak. Tell me what's wrong.] Teresa tempted Alice with the scent of her favorite food to get her to speak.

Alice's stomach grumbled, but Teresa's question only managed to make her dizzy. Knowing she couldn't answer, at least not sincerely, each time she was asked that question was killing her.

"Venga, levántate. Es domingo. Hay que ir a misa." [Come on, get up. It's Sunday. We have to go to Mass.] Said Teresa, now impatient, getting up to go to Alice's closet and pick one of her church outfits.

Alice felt so far away from God. It was dreadful to think about sitting there and not feeling anything. To be numb during Mass was counterproductive.

Seeing the photo of her abuelo Francisco out of the corner of her eye made her feel guilty, though. Church largely reminded her of him and some of the happiest moments of her life.

Abuela insisted, dragging Alice by the arm until she fell out of bed and onto the floor.

"Ow!"

The impact really managed to slap Alice around the head.