Neon Lights

FOUR

There is a part of the movie/story when the heroine realizes the hero isn't what he seems. There's usually a traumatic backstory that causes some level of assery or aloofness in him, something that the heroine uncovers. She decides to help him fix it, therefore being the only one who tried to fix it and thus setting in motion the process of falling in love. The part of the story that taught us to associate love and salvation.

This would be that part of the story. The part where I walked into the blind boys room and realized how hard his life was, the part where his room being a shell of a room with nothing but a bed , a table and a water dispenser would be pitiful. Then I'd look at the pictures on the walls and see a younger version of him, a laughing little boy with his siblings staring into the lens, laughing. I'd smile and dramatically touch the glass frames, ask myself what happened to that little boy that made him want to hide from the world so much. I'd find new things for his room. Take him outside. Show him the world. Show him to live. This would be that part.

It wasn't .

I'm no heroine. That's the thing with this story. There is no heroine. No hero. No honorable thing is commemorated within these pages- this is a recollection of pieces of ruin. This is the remnant of a fallen land.

This isn't a story, dispel all notions from you. This is a record. One for the history books.

Here, we existed in a mass of ruins.

In this chapter I looked through the boys room with an aloofness to it. A degree of separation. This was a job, I did it to my best. Wiped spilled water from hardwood floors. Placed an order for a new dispenser. Made the bed. Did some cleaning. Left for the room upstairs. Realized I need my shower products.

This. This is where it gets interesting.

Alexander Moon Ga was in my sweater. In my bathroom. At three in the morning.

It was a weird thing to witness, Alexander Moon Ga was not particularly muscular and tettered the edges of lean easily but he was taller than me, and as such a sweater that was easily oversize on me fit him somehow. He was staring into his reflection, or at least appeared to be when I stepped in. It was, quite the sight to behold. A lot levels of confusing.

"Getting cozy are we?"

He didn't move, fingers flat over the marble surface, eyes glazed over the mirror surface like he could actually see. There was no tangible reaction to him, so robotic he could've passed for sleepwalking.

"I splashed on my shirt. Found this sweater"

I nodded a quick hm and excused myself, hurrying back up to the extra room.

This was that night. The beginning of the end, the end of the beginning. This was the point at which the countdown began, the clock started ticking and Clara May and Alexander Moon Ga became Ara and Alex. It was this night. Every single second from when I walked into that kitchen to when I jumped into the dark blue sheets of the bed upstairs, brown eyes finding me in my dreams. It was this night.

Day forty six.