Now, though, I don't know what to write, neither do I want this conversation to end. Luckily, another text comes through from him.
It's really late. My heart drops, I don't want him to say goodnight.
But do you want to meet up? It's dark out so I can pick you up if you want? His next message comes to allay my heart, while simultaneously causing it to somersault.
Like with all his other messages, I reread it to make sure I understand everything. I even consider pinching myself to see whether this is real or the workings of deception of my brain because I've reached the tipping point. But no, these messages are real and I'm still sane, I think. It's quarter past three in the morning, I'm as awake as an owl, and I've never been afraid of the night-time world. I've been through hell and back, the darkness of the night doesn't scare me like it used to.
No need, where should I meet you?
My parent's house, do you remember the way? I'll be stood outside.
Of course, I remember the way, how could I forget. Yes, I'll be there in half an hour.
Unforgettable, everything about him.
As if I haven't left for what feels like an eternity as I wander these now unfamiliar streetlamp-lit roads leading to a destination, which I used to be all too familiar with.
Jake's house used to be my second home.
Whenever anything was stressing me out - which makes me laugh now thinking about all the petty little things that used to cause me stress - it was the first place I would seek refuge. The breakage of my family meant I was around there a lot before I left, so I saw Jake every day, slept at his place almost every night, spending almost all my time with him. He was my nightingale when I needed him the most.
But then the snowball came, which consisted of kissing River with Jake and Georgia finding out, then being taken advantage of. The snowball gathered so much snow that it eventually turned into something that would resemble a stampede, and it was crashing down on me.
When it did, I stayed at home, tied to my bed and too afraid to get out of the house. Until, of course, the morning my father told me he was going to Australia, it was my perfect escape. Never had I said yes to anything so quickly before in my life, but never had I cried that much either. I remember it, as if it was yesterday, how the tears never ceased to end as I packed my things. It was about the people I was going to leave behind more than anything else – especially Jake.
I don't blame him for being so mad at me for leaving without a goodbye, or anything for that matter. Still, I couldn't face him. I simply could not see his face before I left. If I did, I knew I wouldn't have been able to go.
Turning into his road, I notice a figure ahead, leaning against the sharply pointed poles of the tall steel gate which stand to shield his house. Instantly, I remember a conversation we had a few years ago, regarding this very gate.
"You want me to climb up this thing?" I spoke harshly into the phone, my facial expression asking 'what the fuck are you on?'. Obviously, he couldn't see it from across the receiver.
YOU ARE READING
The Boxer and ITeen Fiction
"You save yourself or you remain unsaved." - Alice Sebold. °°° Florence Rosa Brine - this is her story. It's a sad one, to be honest. Her version of events is one that would surprise even those who think they knew everything about her. After a s...