Princes & I

Chapter 22: Clarity & I

Packing away my textbooks neatly onto my desk shelf, I grin—looking back at the memories I'd had just a little over a month at this very desk.

I'd been cold, distant. In fact, those two adjectives probably haven't changed. But the fact that I've noticed and have accepted those descriptions only makes me prouder.

Feelingless, emotionless, task orientated.

That was what I was. I didn't want friends, I didn't want family, I didn't want a relationship. I didn't want to get hurt by others, and I didn't want a life I couldn't completely control—but I ended up with all of these things. Even my speech has slackened, and as much as I don't want to admit it—so have my manners. Although, I couldn't be more content with how my life is now—minus a few things—but as I finish setting the last book on the shelf I find myself with a slight smile on my face.

The best thing about being able to feel?

Smiling.

It feels good to smile, and it feels even better when the people you care about are smiling too.

Pulling off my socks and untying my hair, I place my white scrunchie on top of a basket of dirty laundry—hoping that it's catch Kenna's eye and she'd hand wash it. Fortunately, she always does. Dressing myself into a white singlet and a pair of black sweatpants, I walk towards the porch and open up the glass doors, letting a gentle breeze waft into my room. Letting the wind tickle the sides of my cheeks, the warm night air lets me know that for now, everything is okay.

Moving into this life wasn't easy.

It took spending real time with real people, and experiencing the worst of the worst to adapt to the world I'd missed out on.

Digging my hand into my pocket, I clasp my phone in my hand shakily. I open up the home screen, swallowing nervously as I dial in a number I never thought I would again.

Stepping further onto the balcony, I lean on the railing with the phone to my ear, letting it ring out. Voicemail—as I'd expected—is what I'm greeted with, earning a heavy sigh from the bottom of my heart.

The 'leave-a-message' cue finishes, and I take in a shaky breath as I prepare what to say.

"Uh..." My brain slowing to a halt, I stumble as soon as the beep sounds. "Uh... I..." Trailing off, I let out a groan before hanging up. Letting my arm slump over the cold metal of the rail, I hang my head in shame.

Good going, Leighton...

I turn away from the garden view, scratching the back of my head to hide my self-disappointment from God knows what. I look towards the floor as my feet hit the cool tiles, but bring my head up when I spot a second pair of feet in front of me.

Met by a pair of round, innocent eyes—damn I hate those puppy eyes—I stop dead in my tracks. Ezekiel stands there, some sort of action figure in hand, with a curious look on his face directed at the phone I'm holding. He looks back up at me with a sympathetic smile much too sad for a child his age.

"Are you calling her?"

"I'm trying." I shrug depressively. "She doesn't want to talk to me."

"Leigh." His footsteps sound like a pitter-patter as he moves towards me, taking my phone holding hand in his. "Even if she doesn't wanna' talk to you..." He trails off. "You should still try. You still have a chance."

Something about the little boy in front of me sets off a light in my heart, it warms me all over and gives me strength. Ezekiel is so very brave. Much braver than me. And I don't think this is the first time I've realised it.