"What happened?" Charlotte asked in a whisper as she went to stand beside her best friend.
Paulina patted Charlotte's back, "Don't worry, it's okay. They will figure it out."
"Lina."
Paulina sighed sadly before she fessed up, "Henry was found dead."
Charlotte's eyes widened as her hands reached up to her mouth, tears already falling down her cheeks, "No...where's Angelina...Does she know..?"
Paulina shook her head, hugging Charlotte, "We will get to her in the morning, don't worry but we can't go now. It's a great risk."
Charlotte pulled away, "But I need to go out tonight."
"What? No, the Vampires are in their best at night, I am not allowing you to put yourself in such danger, Charlotte," Paulina frowned, shaking her head vigorously.
"Stefan is waiting for me, Lina..."
✵ ✵ ✵
Highly sensitive people were too often perceived as weaklings or damaged goods. To feel intensely was not a symptom of weakness, it was the trademark of the truly alive and compassionate. It was not the empath who was broken, it was the society that had become dysfunctional and emotionally disabled.
Charlotte was quite the sensitive one, from her first days in life and probably to her last ones. Everyone close to her knew that. They usually chose their wordings around the cute brunette, carefully.
Stefan, though, he knew that the most. He had been with her through thick and thin, when her father passed away, he was there to help her move on and past the pain. When her older sister, Emmeline, got married; he was there to comfort her as she felt empty with one of her favorite sibling's disappearance.
She had always trusted him more than anything, even more than herself sometimes. He knew her like the back of his hand and she never questioned that.
Which was why the heartbreak stroke her like lighting.
Charlotte had hardly convinced Paulina to help her sneak out, but she just had to see Stefan. They never bailed on a meet up with one another, and then wouldn't be any different.
"Charlotte," She turned around, hearing Stefan's smooth voice, consequently a beaming smile reappeared on her face.
"Stefan," She ran up to him with open arms, and as she wrapped her arms around him in a sweet embrace, he stiffened. Charlotte frowned in confusion as she pulled back, to make sure her lover was fine.
"What's wrong?"
"Charlotte, I am sorry but...we shouldn't be seeing each other," Stefan said and Charlotte raised her eyebrows.
"What?" She muttered, her voice barely audible, "Stefan, this isn't a matter to joke about."
Stefan shook his head, taking her hands off of his, "I am not joking, Charlotte. I don't feel the same way that I used to do about you."
Charlotte blinked, stepping back, she couldn't believe her ears. It seemed like a nightmare, this couldn't have been her Stefan, it couldn't have been the nice boy who brought her flowers whenever she would be sick, it couldn't have been the boy who got her chocolates when she was moody or unbearable, it couldn't have been the boy that she was proud to call the love of her life.
"I am sorry, but I have found that we are better off as friends. My feelings for you were just those of a friend. I feel like I am truly loved when I am with Katherine...," Stefan continued and by the time he was done, Charlotte was in tears.
Stefan gently tapped her shoulder as she looked at him neutrally, before he walked away.
Charlotte Bernard never knew what was it like to be truly broken, shattered, she thought that when those novel girls who fell on the ground, crying hysterically were probably overreacting.
Like her father always said, one must try all.
Heartbreak wasn't on the list and if it had been, Stefan shouldn't have been the reason why she was sat on the grass, silently crying her heart out to no one.
The one who had been always there to heal her was the one who took the best shot at shattering her forever, thousands of poems and novels could never explain Charlotte's heartache. She felt lost, foreign, stranded, vulnerable; everything she had felt the night her father died, just twice the pain with much more intended force.
"Why am I bound to feel people's heartaches but nobody ever cares for my own...," She cried out, in hoarse mutters, holding her face in her hands.
Perhaps that was what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.
✵ ✵ ✵
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