Whispers

Eight

Belle looked across from her yard to the pond of the neighborhood. She had been struggling for hours to figure out what to say to Blake, but everything seemed wrong. She felt like she had had a right to be angry, but then Blake burned it down. Belle was just being selfish, and she couldn't even say sorry for it.

The rippled on the lake became more and more pronounced, as if it were raining, but it didn't look like it. The wind wasn't blowing hard enough either. Belle got up, ready to see what the cause was instead of sitting around moping. The sky had fallen in the past five minutes, and rain was pouring. However, it was silent and the droplets weren't big enough to see in the distance.

Belle couldn't help but to think of Blake at that thought. Her eyes were always dark and unforgiving when she was upset, but she never cried out in the pain. She always stuck to her guns, not speaking a word unless spoken to. The rain never made a sound, only on the small pond, who asked for it to nourish it with sweet water. The tears of rainfall made no sound anywhere else.

And then she got it. Belle didn't even have to apologize; Blake had said just text. Blake would know that Belle was sorry without her uttering a single apology. Hey doll. She hit the send button, and starred at the screen. It went to delivered, but not read. "Maybe she's busy," she said aloud, wishing it to be true. Belle checked the time. It wasn't five yet. "She should be home," she said, looking around. Are you okay? She sent the message without even thinking. "Maybe she is okay, but just ignoring me. I mean, I couldn't blame her."

Belle looked around her neighborhood one more time. She looked at Blake's house, and at her window. "The light's not on. Maybe she isn't ignoring me. Maybe she's sleeping." Belle walked slowly towards her front door, trying to keep the tears in, like Blake had for all those years.