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It has been almost two days since I've been home. Fitting back into my everyday routine has been surprisingly easier than expected. My main priority is being there for Mum. I can only imagine what she is going through right now. Even though they weren't on good terms, I believe there was a part of her that almost expected that things would sort themselves out; only it's too late for that now.
She spends most of her time in her room with the shades drawn, silently crying. Thankfully no one is asking about Harry. This has become the main focus. Anything else just seems trivial and pales in comparison to death. Though doesn't everything?
I carry a steaming mug of chamomile tea into her bedroom, and place it on her side table.
"Thanks pet," she says, trying to put on a brave face.
"You'll be okay," I respond – resorting to family traditions.
"I know. How are things with you? I'm sorry I haven't been there, but you didn't have to come home," she worries.
"No Mum, I did. And things are the same," I quickly lie.
"Okay dear," she says whilst yawning and I take it as my cue to leave.
I close the door slowly behind me, trying to make as little noise as possible.
"How is she?" and I get a massive fright when I see Marnie standing behind me.
I hold onto my heart as I recover, before replying.
"She's okay. She just needs some rest," and she nods.
"I hope she'll be okay for the funeral tomorrow," she adds.
"No one expects her to be," I say, and she again, nods.
"Will Harry be here for the funeral?" she asks me, catching me off guard.
"No," I state solidly. "He won't," ceasing the subject matter.
I think back to the one and only text message he has sent me since leaving England.
"I hope that you're okay. Send your mother my deepest sympathies. H."
I don't really know what I expected when his name showed up on my phone, but it warms me to hear that his respect for my family was legitimate.
Having Scarlett is a godsend, though she always seems to be on her phone, which is somewhat refreshing. As she is the only person who knows about the break up, I feel her looking at me with those sympathetic eyes, and even when I'm not thinking about him, that look makes me think about him and I end up feeling even worse.
I return to the kitchen, and decide to make myself a tea when I spot Dad sitting at the table reading the paper in tracksuit pants and a t-shirt.
"Dad, didn't you go to work today," I say, looking at my wristwatch. "You never miss work."
And not to mention never dressed this casually.
"It's okay kiddo. A lot of this stuff I can do from home. Your Mum needs us."
I go over and give him a hug.
"By the way, something came for you while you were in England," he informs me. "It's in my office when you're ready."
I don't remember ordering anything...
I walk tentatively to his office, my bare feet pattering on the floorboards. When I reach his office, I don't know how I could have missed it when I arrived home. Granted, there was a lot on my mind, but it is absolutely huge. It is about 2.5 meters tall and one meter wide. I take the package that is much taller than I, and lug it up the stairs to my room. I tear open the cardboard packaging, rip through the thick layer of bubble wrap and fall to the floor with emotion.
The photograph. He bought me the photograph.
I remain lying on the floor until I feel like I can cry no more. Until I feel like every last drop of water is expelled from my body in the form of tears. I look at the canvas and I truly feel sad. It's a hauntingly beautiful image. I look upon John F Kennedy as he holds Marilyn Monroe in an embrace as they sit on the floor, his back leant up against a couch. He holds her tenderly – protectively, as her mouth rests upon his hands. Where I once saw beauty, I now feel like an intruder – stealing their private moment. Now I truly understand what Harry meant about the moment being tainted, having experienced this with him. I would give absolutely anything to make him a regular guy – to make him mine. But would he be happy, or would he only want more?
Am I enough?
I promised myself I wouldn't contact him. I don't want to seem desperate, and I genuinely want to attempt to move on if he isn't giving me a chance, but how can I accept a piece of art worth $11,000? Not to mention that he posted this while we were still together. It wouldn't be right for me to keep it.
"Thank you for the photograph, but I can't keep it. I'll post it back."
I receive a message almost instantly. I work out the English time in my head and it works out to be about 3:30am there.
I can't help but question in my head what he would be doing up this late, but know that I can't anymore. I have no right.
I lost those rights.
"Its uyours. Keeeep it."
Drunk.
I feel even more tears building at the thought of what he could be doing. Or whom he could be doing it with. I really hope that it's not one of those 'I'm going to get drunk and have sex with lot's of girls because I'm newly single' kind of thing.
Hopefully he will transition right over that phase...
I don't reply, but I make the arrangements to post it to his home address.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, and I don't know if I'm going to like or dislike what he plans on saying next, only when I look at the ID, it's not Harry's name.
Luke.
Luke: "Hey, I heard about your grandparents and I wanted to see if you were doing okay."
Me: "I'm fine. I'm okay. Why are you up so late? Isn't it ridiculously late/early in London?"
Luke: "Both of those words are terrible at convincing someone you're okay for the record. But I'm sorry to hear that. Yeah, we went out tonight."
By we I wonder if he means Harry. It's confirmed when he replies again before I get a chance to respond.
Luke: "He doesn't know, does he."
I notice the way that he doesn't ask, but states, already knowing.
Me: "He knows what I did, but he doesn't know you were the guy. I didn't say anything. He doesn't want to know who it was with. It's okay."
Luke: "I'm sorry."
Me: "I know. Me too..."
I would be lying to myself if I said that I haven't been thinking about Luke from time to time. There is definitely something about him, that leaves me wanting to know more...
My phone begins vibrating and the caller ID is private.
I almost click ignore, but my finger finds it's way to the green button instead and I have no real choice but to say hello.
I hear a lot of noise in the background, before a car door slams and drowns out some of the noise.
"Yeah, take me to my house please."
And my heart stops for a moment because I hear his voice. Harry's incredibly drunk voice.
Did he accidentally call me?
"Hello?" I repeat.
"I wanted to let you know that I don't want to speak to you right now."
I swallow.
"I know," I reply simply.
"But I need to know if you're okay."
"I'm okay." I answer. "Are you?"
"I'm great. Fan-fucking-tastic."
"Drunk?"
"Ridiculously so," he answers.
The normality of our conversation saddens me. It breaks my heart to hear him on the other line. I want him here, but know I can't want him. I can't need him anymore.
"Harry, I can't do this. I can't talk to you and pretend it's all okay, when it isn't. I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry for it. But we can't do this, because it hurts me too much. And I either need to be with you, or learn to be without you."
"I can't forget what you did Ave. I just can't," his voice riddled with emotion. I can almost feel him fiddling with his hair on the other line.
"I know. I'm sorry Harry, but I have to go now."
I don't hear his response, but I do hear a female in the background speak,
"Who was that?"
And my heart splinters into a thousand pieces when I hear his response,
"No one," and he clicks the disconnect button.
No one.
The words reverberate around in my head.
No one.
That's all I am to him now. Perhaps that's all I ever was.
He doesn't get to call me that. He just doesn't. He can't discredit our relationship in the blink of an eye like that. Because even if it didn't mean anything to him, it meant the world to me, and surely he would know that if he had read my letter. Surely he would know how much those words would hurt. I don't even want to know who asked him. I know it would only make me feel worse. I roll myself into a little ball underneath the covers, relishing in the warmth of my own bed and fall into a dreamless sleep.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Ava, wake up. It's today," Marnie says, shaking my shoulders gently.
The funeral.
I don't even recall falling asleep.
"You've been asleep for like fourteen hours," she states, almost judgmental in her tone.
"Jet lag," I yawn, knowing there is more to it than that.
"Nice artwork," she gestures as I sit up.
"Well it's going straight back to where it came from," I reply.
"Why would you send it back?" she asks suspiciously.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I didn't even realise the words coming out of my mouth.
"It's worth eleven grand," I am quick to answer. And my lie seems fairly convincing and justifiable. "I mentioned I liked it, and he must have purchased without me knowing."
Go me.
"Oh fuck. Fair enough then. But he obviously bought it for you for a reason. He must really like you to spend that kind of money on you. It seems very... sentimental, whilst also being ludicrously expensive."
"Yeah, you're right," I say, ending the conversation. "I'll get up now."
She leaves, and I lay back on my pillow, thinking about my conversations the night before.
Did I do the right thing in ending the conversation with Harry?
I know that I did what was for my best interests, but not what I actually wanted. Maybe one day I will be able to consider him a friend, but at this stage I need to detox from him, or else I'll find myself further in trouble. I can't make this process any harder on myself than it needs to be.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Marnie has arranged for a car service to take us to the funeral service. Trust her to think of these things. I have been almost as much of a mess as my mother in the past couple of days, and feel like I've been more of a hindrance than a help. I've settled upon a simple long sleeved, tightly fitted black dress that goes down to my knee. I wear a diamond bracelet and diamond earrings of my mother's, and a pair of simple black stilettos. My hair is softly curled hair, and my make up is quite natural. I decide to use a shade of dark red lipstick – only I dab it on rather than apply it thick for a more stained effect.
We pull up to St Patrick's Cathedral in Melbourne, and I am blown away by the ostentatiousness of the chosen venue. It is renowned for being one of the most prominent churches within Australia, and I have visited there many times for school trips.
I have no idea how they're going to fill it up...
We step inside the Cathedral and I admire the grandeur of how I once remembered it. The pipe organs are playing, and I am surprised to see the pews looking quite filled, and my mother ushers us into one of the empty looking seats towards the back. We are seated when someone who looks as if they either work here, or are arranging the event approaches us.
"Hi, you're Ava are you not?" he turns to me.
I mumble a yes.
"We have a reserved pew at the front of the Church for your family."
I almost feel sick.
For my family?
I hate that it is me that is being recognised rather than my mother, and I wonder if she is feeling it too. It adds more salt to the open wound of her mourning and I hate what I've brought on.
We follow him quietly to the front, feeling many eyes on us as we take our assigned seats. I take one of the funeral memorial booklets that are scattered on our seating, and carefully read through the pages. I am quite surprised to hear that the funeral Mass is being run by the Archbishop of Melbourne.
I guess I never really knew of their importance...
A song I recognise as Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy begins playing on the organs and I see a sole tear drop from my mother's cheek.
"Mum used to play this song for them... before everything happened," he whispers, leaning over in his seat so only I could hear. Hearing this brings an entirely new meaning to the song, and I feel tears brimming in my own eyes. Brooklyn reaches over and holds my hand for comfort, and I am grateful for his exchange of unexpected kindness.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Mass is over, and it was all done in high taste. When I turn my head to inspect the rows behind us, the Cathedral is packed to capacity, with some people even standing outside the Church, trying to file in to watch the service. Many people were called up to speak, mostly exhibiting their acts of generosity throughout their lives, and charitable work.
I feel awkward when people come to offer their condolences, as I never knew these people. We weren't in their lives. But we thank them as they form a queue. I look over at my mother who seems to have been caught up with what looks like a friend from her younger days, and I take this as my opportunity to leave.
"Dad, do you mind if I just get some air?" I ask.
"That's fine sweetheart," he smiles, and I walk through the line of people. I am almost at the entrance before someone grabs my wrist, holding me in place.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! I wanted to update last night Australian time, but I fell asleep at the computer. Literally. I just checked, and I now have 1,923,569! How crazy? That's over 180K in just two days! It feels like only a few days ago that I was at one million reads, and now I'm almost at two million. Insane!
So now to the obvious question: Who do you think grabbed her? Also, I would love to know how you feel about how the story is at the moment, and how Ava is wanting to tear herself away from anything associated with Harry. It's actually quite funny, because in earlier chapters when everything was perf in their relationship I was just so annoyed with her. Like I was disliking her character for a few different things, but in the last few chapters I've felt so defensive of her, and seem to like her even more when she makes mistakes. I don't expect for you to agree or anything, but what are your thoughts on her at the moment? Yay or nay?
I also copied the picture that he gave to her to the side, so check that out too :)
Anyways, this chapter goes to @JuliGranger for her lovely words and it made me laugh when her and her friends are now going to call McDonalds 'Maccas' because of that earlier chapter, and she also told me she listened to a song that made her think of my story which is extremely flattering. I had heard the song before, but when I re listened to it, I was like oh my gosh! That is exactly how Harry feels. The song by the way is called Let Her Go by Passenger. I also posted the link to the side for easy listening :)
I also wanted to thank @louis91xx and @sunflowerrssunshine for their thoughtful comments :)
Gem x
♡
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