Buttercup [H.S]

Chapter Twenty Five

"She left? Riley left? Where did she go?"

The woman grimaces, and I swear I see a flash of remorse before it vanished back into a harsh, crude glare. "Apparently you already know all about where she's ran off to. You're the one that convinced her to ruin her life with that pathetic little school."

She goes to slam the door in my face again, but I hold it back once more.

"Do you...do you know if she's okay?"

The woman doesn't say anything, and I let her close the door this time, already knowing that she didn't have an answer for me.

Riley was gone.

That was such a long time ago now, or at least as long as fifteen months can feel.

It's mid Mid November.

I've been at University for over a month. Classes are going okay. A few of my friends had managed to get on the same degree as me, and we'd moved into a little flat together. It wasn't much; but I'd managed to get the room at the front of the building that had a large window looking out onto the busy street below.

I don't know how often I'd glance out of the window, searching.

I knew where her campus was, but not her dorm room. Sometimes I'd drive through that area, eyes reaching out to find her. Every now and again I'd spot someone - a head of long brunette locks - so sure that it was her, that I'd stop my van and get out, calling after her. But when eventually, whoever it was turned around and I'd come to realise it wasn't her, it's like my heart crumbled to my feet.

I'd tried calling her phone. Of course I had. But the number I had for her had been disconnected.

I'd even opened a Facebook account, after Mitch told me I'd easily find her on there. But she wasn't there.

Like she was a ghost. A spirit I'd dreamed up.

I eased into University life. Made new friends; even kissed a girl one night at a club. Tried to move on. But I was always looking. Always had one eye looking out for her.

Until I wasn't.

Until I was working at the music shop one day, stacking books of music notes on the shelves - when I saw her.

Browsing the records by the front window.

I wasn't sure at first, I thought maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. Maybe the sun from the window causing her figure to blur around the edges was creating a mirage of her.

I stepped closer - one careful, terrified step, and I knew it was her.

She looked different. Her hair was shorter, the top of it pulled into a messy bun, little pieces hanging around her face.

I couldn't help the grin exploding on my face at what she was wearing. A black, baggy Beatles T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts and a bright yellow pair of Doc Martens.

She'd never looked more like herself.

I'm struggling to catch my breath, watching as she flips idly through the records. She's got a set of headphones in her ears. I wonder what she's listening to. If she was listening to one of our songs.