CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
HAUNT ME
Violet's head hurt.
Throbbed, pained, until all she could see was a lavender haze and she was consumed by it. The light rushed into her eyes like the blood rushed into her cheeks the previous night. Her irises widened, threaded with shock and discomfort.
She moved her hands around, only to be met with the soft silk of her bed and she was safe. In an environment that she knew and loved. Violet could breathe.
She sprung up upon catching a glance of Gilbert's chocolate brown hair and the porcelain cracks of his skin. Asleep, his body appeared tumultuous rather than peaceful.
Like something had happened. Something that had ripped the world apart in all its glory.
Her heart quickened. "Gilbert?" She mumbled, softly as he stirred.
His eyes widened upon seeing her. "Violet..."
"Is- is everything okay?" She questioned softly, reaching out to clasp his hands. He reached away from her, expression filled with ambiguity.
"Do you remember anything about last night, Violet?" His voice was firmer, more protective.
Violet searched the confines of her mind. She remembered red lips and hypnotising purple lights. The smell of sweat and lavender. The beating of her own heart, quickened by vodka. She remembered the nape of Sylvie's neck and the brightness of Eva's smile.
"A little," She answered, groaning as her head began pounding. "Jesus Christ, how intoxicated was I?"
"Violet," Gilbert's voice was solemn. "Why did you- why would you- I don't understand. What made you feel the need to drink so much?"
"I've been strong for so long." Violet said, simple yet firm. "I've been- sober and crying for as long as I can remember. I wanted one night. To let loose. To feel like the girl I left behind. The one always filled with glee. Right now, I'm the ghost of her. I look in the mirror and she does not exist anymore."
"Violet..." Gilbert started. "You can talk to me. You can always talk to me. But lately- I feel like I can't recognise you."
"But I'm Violet. I- I don't understand."
"You're always whispering to Dana, always flinching when the door opens, like you're trying not to get caught. And last night- you showed up at our doorstep, drunk and senseless with two strangers. I'm worried. But also- it feels like my- my patience is wearing off."
Violet's eyes crinkled softly. "Oh, Gilbert. I need to tell you everything. I'm staying here, my sweet soul. I'm - investigating my father's death. Jack's uncle Phillip has a way into Frank's inner circle. We're doing to investigate every aspect of this. I want to do my father justice. He deserves that, Gilbert."
Gilbert's voice was quick and frantic:
"What about Queens? What about your mother?"
The unspoken words hung in the air.
What about me?
"I'm giving my entrance examinations for Regent's college next week." Violet explained as gently as she could. "Mother is moving back to be with me, and help."
I don't know.
"Oh." He spoke. And then prickles of tears stung his eyes.
Violet gave him a sad smile. "We can figure this out, right?"
Gilbert clasped her hands in his, not saying anything.
—
Gilbert Blythe was sickeningly exhausted.
His mind was a war zone and with each bullet fired, he could only picture her. Her, with her dazzling blue eyes and golden soul. Her, with her bright smile and wisps of understanding.
His mind was a war zone and with each lost soldier, he thought of her. Her with her preoccupied life. Her with her unravelling mysteries: all ambiguous and uncertain. Her, carrying the burden of all her losses on her back like they were meant to weigh her down.
Her, with a newfound sense of determination. The way her eyes were so sincere when she delivered her ambitions. How could he, Gilbert Blythe, possibly hold her back?
Compared to her, he was plain. He did not have heaps of unfurled love and eons of riches. Gilbert was a simple man, raised in a simple town, destined to die in a simple town. He was worn and scabbed to the bone, still recovering from every situation life threw at him. No mother, no father, no one and nothing but—
Nothing but the clothes on his back and her.
His mind was a war zone and he had lost. The bullets had ricocheted onto his soul, and every cell in his body had burst. He had nothing but her and—
He was holding her back.
Gilbert had given her all he possibly could and that was not enough. So, for that reason, he had made a decision.
The train station was bustling with people.
Lovers saying goodbye, the soft scent of chamomile and honey, workers heading to their daily stations, with hot lunches packed in their bags. The air smelled crisp and smokey, and it pricked at Gilbert's skin, reminding him of his beloved steam boat. With spot stained boots and swelling eyes, he approached the central office.
"One ticket to Avonlea, please." Gilbert could not believe his own words. He grasped his luggage firmly, and his eyes flickered to the heart Violet had drawn on it earlier.
His sense of being shattered, piece by piece, moment by moment—
Gilbert sighed, and walked towards the train.
Meanwhile, at the William's residence, laid a perfumed letter and fresh daisies.
" MY DEAREST LETTIE,
I'm so sorry. Every time my heart beats, it beats for you. When I'm with you, the world sings poetry and the sky spills of pure sunlight. You make my soul sing, my love. You're the blood that flows through my veins, and the hollow echo of the wind at night, as lovers embrace. You're in my anatomy—in my capillaries, in my vena cava, in the way my lungs contract and relax. The thought of you keeps me alive.
I'm so sorry.
I'm boarding a train to Avonlea. Only because I care so much. I don't want anything deterring your ambitions, my Lettie. I want you to succeed in everything you've ever dreamed of and more. I want you to build a life for yourself. I'm so sorry. I was only dragging you down. You're the person for me, but I don't think I'm the person for you.
The first time I met Dana Williams, I only thought one thing: she must be spectacular if someone as wonderful as you loved her. Thank you for believing that I'm spectacular.
Please don't follow me, Lettie. I don't want to be followed.
Make me a promise. Infiltrate my dreams. Infiltrate my very psyche. Let it be a litany. An enchantment. Haunt me, my love.
Haunt me.
Yours truly,
Gilbert Blythe "
ARIA SPEAKS
they have no right to be so tragic??