Porcelain (King George xJefferson xHamilton xReader)

~7~ Regret Pt.1

*Re-published: 10-5-2021*
Word count: 2620

The door was shut - the object being something I had stared at for what felt like a lifetime of quiet worry — waiting for any sounds to echo from the other side.

But the quiet - as it had for some time - was constant, pushed aside by only my stifled breathing and it seemed to almost mock me...as if the air around me knew I was waiting for any sound of distant pain, screams of torment due to both Thomas's hand and my actions.

I hadn't left my spot by the door since Thomas had shut it - my eyes watching it like some friend who would dissappear or take their final breath if you looked away.

My expression held pain, saddened fear coated with the tears that left my eyes glossy, my throat dry, and my lips chapped.

I couldn't get his features out of my head - and I couldn't help but feel his blood on my hands as my mind automatically went to every small detail on every worst case scenario...no matter how he decided to end it, his best friend, it would be my fault.

I slowly exhale as though the process of breathing was painful to me and yet my body stays still aside from my fingers - which twitch with my nerves.

It had to turn out alright.

The last expression I saw on Madison's face was the same, still calm smile - nothing that seemed worried or concerned or out of the ordinary. It was natural, not one a person would force to pretend they were fine when they found out the truth behind someone they thought they knew.

Thomas said he was to handle it, fix another situation I had caused and this time I truly didn't mean it...and felt guilt for.

So he had to be fine.
He had to.

A pained expression breaks through to my features and even though the feeling of exhaustion crept in I knew I didn't want to let my guard down.

My gaze falls to hem of the light blue dress and my mind seemed to be going in circles - always going back to the dangerous thoughts of the consequences of my actions and I swallow back the guilt.

My hands move, resting on my abdomen and I watch the light that peered in from under the door.

The library was dark, coated in quiet shadows and the faint light dancing from the candle placed on the desk by servants earlier that night.
A crease forms between my brow, showing my thoughtful state of remorse and I let my shoulders fall as my mind wanders to something that would distract myself from the moment.

The thoughts drift, going back to the remnants of memories I had about a family I wanted to remember...not so much their physical features, but more so their feelings — how they must've felt at this moment and what they had been getting up to.

Had they moved on? Found peace within their newfound routine and quiet senses of thought...

I smile weakly, a part of me hoping they were sleeping peacefully in their warm beds - or perhaps eating dinner together around the candle lit dining table, each laughing and talking amongst each other with varying smiles on their faces and topics of talk for that night, all while the gentle clinking of silverware on glass plates and voices sounded softly thoughout the room.

At least...that's what I prayed was the best outcome they had chosen.

But there was always the possibility that they - much like myself - had yet to fully move on despite what the world had said...and if that was true then, were they only happy when around presence of others...still mourning and working through the hurt to the point they let the smiles on their faces fall to expressions of sorrow behind closed doors.