The Beauty in Eternity

Chapter 81.

I reminisce on the times spent here, mostly with Carol, since growing up wasn't the best time for my mom. I remember when Jess and I drew on our wooden floors with markers to make our own hop-scotch board; and I remember when Carol came downstairs and found it. I was so scared we were going to get yelled at, once we realised it was permanent and wouldn't come off. But instead, she asked if she could join in, and simply covered it with a rug—before eventually buying wood paint to paint over the marker. I smile as the memory fills my mind.

I stand up and make my way into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as I realise that everything is still the same for the most part; the counters, the floors—the only thing that's changed is the colour of the walls, which are now an eggshell white. I tilt my head as I remember learning to cook right in that very spot, after I had blown up the microwave by leaving a spoon in my bowl of soup. I remember Carol teaching me how to make homemade soup, and the no metal in the microwave rule. I remember her buying a whole new microwave so my mom wouldn't yell at me, since she knew it really wasn't my fault—my lack of knowledge in things my mother should've taught me.

My hand runs along the counter, lifting it to find traces of flour on my fingertips. And just like that, I remember the day I taught Mason to cook. The way he was so clueless and ignorant to the basic rules of cooking, I remember it was like watching a child, but in a nice way. And I remember my mom busting us straight after. I laugh to myself as I remember some of the nice memories I had in this place, rather than the bad ones.

"Amara?"

"Oh, god!" I jump. "I'm so sorry, I was just looking around."

"It's okay," she chuckles. "It was your place before it was mine."

"Yeah." I shrug. My eyes fall to the piece of paper in her hand as it lays by her side. Holy shit. After all this time, it's right there.

"Here," she smiles, holding out the envelope for me to take.

I take it from her grip and hold it out in front of me, looking at the rather scuffed up envelope with my name on it.

'Miss. Amara Woods, 45 BrentWood Ave. Urgent.'

"Thank you." I nod.

She walks me to the door, before giving me a warm hug and a smile. "Take care, and read with caution—and tissues." she jokes.

As I finally arrive home, I place the letter on the spot beside my bed and climb in. Now that I have it, there's no rush to read it, right? I don't think I'm ready. Certainly not after the review it got. I turn out my light and push it from my mind, letting the exhaustion from my never ending day send me to sleep.

——————

When the sun rises and I open my eyes; the first thing I see is the letter, staring me straight in the face. "Yeah, good morning." I sigh, pulling the pillow on top of my face. One more day and then I'm back to work, back to normality—that's what I tell myself at least. I really need to find a way to pass the time. I took up painting for around a year, and I fell totally in love with it. I sat at the window and painted the trees, the sky, the birds—whatever caught my eye the most. But when I started to fall deeper again, I stopped. And since then, I haven't wanted to lift a brush.

I shower, make myself some breakfast and dry my hair—before ending up right back in my bedroom staring at the pathetically intimidating piece of paper on my bedside. I pick it up and perch myself on the edge of my bed, why am I putting it off? It's now or never.

I slip my finger into the crease and undo the envelope, goading myself to open it. Just take the paper out, Amara.
I flinch from the noise of my phone ringing by my side. Saved by the bell, I guess.