[completed] Nova Carter knows exactly what the next few years of her life will look like: she will work harder than anyone else (as she didn't get into New York University to slack off); she'll be keeping her head down and prioritizing getting her a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter Thirty-four | Heart-Shaped Bruise ♫Heart-Shaped Bruise by Etta Marcus
It seems my words of encouragement helped Milo.
I won't lie: I'd kind of hoped he would somehow, for some reason other than me, come to decide against going to Italy, but I know how unfair that is to hope for. Especially considering how I've been seeing him sprout up these past few weeks, like the flowers that used to sit in my mother's windowsill when the sun made an appearance. I finally know what that means, tosprout up. The days got darker. Milo Macarevich got livelier.
In any way, perhaps I shouldn't care about it as much as I do. The day he's leaving is the same day I'm going back home. Both of us are missing out on the final week before the big holiday break late december, going our separate directions, like we would've done even if he stayed.
But this sensation of impending doom remains— a deep pit in my stomach, swirling and plunging and howling, and spiky boulders in my throat. I can only come to the conclusion that oceans are heavier than state lines, and it's a heaviness that has latched itself onto me.
I've packed my bags without telling Olivia. Doctor Hyde's number is in my phone. If this would've happened years ago, and I had Claire's number instead of his, I'm sure it would've meant something far worse. Claire loved space, though. I'm not entirely sure why she made such an impression on me at all. Our relationship was confined to the four walls of her office at the rehabilitation center, to the grey, linen two-seater couch, to the lipstick that clung to her front teeth.
Hyde is not like that at all. During one of the first meetings, he'd written his Instagram handle on the whiteboard and reminded us to follow him multiple times (he wouldn't follow us back, though, because 'we aren't that close'). And while the reason of the meetings is our physical disabilities, he never centers the topics of the conversations on that fact unless he can tell one of us needs him to.
It's a strange type of comfort. It might be safety in numbers, or something. Talking about the villainous being your body houses is a lot less strange when everyone you're talking to has their own.
Claire wasn't about comfort, nor small talk. She was all about results. Identifying issues and tackling them immediately, so that we could quickly move onto the next. Sometimes being with her felt performative. I quickly figured out what she wanted to hear and I had to try my best to not just say it and be done with it all.
Having to suppress that urge made time stretch out like an elastic band. I feel as though I spent my entire high school career with Claire, but I started seeing her around the same time I met Logan, maybe two-and-a-half years ago. Looking back on that time is strange. You seem to lose weeks in a single blink when you're depressed, but my memories of being in her office are so detailed that it feels like each session lasted a day, at the least.
Time is moving fast again. It can't really help it.
It's my first time at JFK. The others wanted to scour the airport for smoothies and New York trinkets to send Milo off with, but I stayed somewhere near his terminal using my tired legs as an excuse. In truth, I don't want them to notice how off I feel, how sending off my best friend isn't joyous and exciting, but something I'm doing reluctantly. I wonder if there's any way they know, regardless. If the only people who were unaware of my feelings before were Milo and myself.
