Elena's P.O.V.
I sat in the classroom, staring at the naked wall. Just staring as if I had the world's time in my hands. It's funny how one can see a clock so differently.
In my eyes, the clock's arms were going awfully slow - almost like they weren't moving at all. My classmates, on the other hand, were anxious and waiting hastily for their English test to start.
What about you? You might wonder, and I'll tell you why.
After enduring everything and realizing the murderous truths that I have faced, I stopped trying.
There were times where some of my teachers would put a test on my desk, but after seeing how I did not show any interest to answer or write anything, they took it away.
They felt sorry for me, I could tell from the way they looked at me when they removed the test. A pathetic sympathy that I despised and did not need.
Always have I been an active student in all of my classes. Always answering and asking questions. Always doing my homework and asking for advice for improvement. Always being the one to get the top grades.
They're familiar with the potential I have, and they know what I can do. But due to my lack of motivation and submitted work, I began to fail. One class after the other, I received F's.
But I could not be bothered by my sinking grades. It meant nothing.
Just like this English test. I knew I was destined to fail the moment Mr. Walter came into the class with the test papers, handing it out to everyone.
Those who received the tests were now hurriedly scribbling an essay, minutes passing like seconds. The sounds of pencils attacking the papers displayed their nervousness and anxiety for the English test.
I could feel their distress, taste the familiar feeling of not having enough time. But now, I could not even find it in me to care.
At last, Mr. Walter crossed my desk. He stood there for a while, but I did not meet his eyes as I just waited for the blow to strike. I was expecting to be yelled at, to be called out or something in that direction.
However, to my surprise, he did not say anything. Instead, he put a paper in front of me and walked back to his desk.
I glanced at the white, naked paper, trying to understand what kind of a test this was. My eyebrows furrowed, and I turned to look at my classmates' tests to see if we all received the same.
Mine was the only blank one.
Curiosity lifted my head to spill my attention on Mr. Walter who was reading a book. He did not meet my gaze, but I knew he felt the touch of my eyes and bewilderment.
Out of inquisitiveness, I picked up the sheet that felt heavy in my hands. I watched how the empty paper reflected back, analyzing the sheet with a careful eye.
What does it mean? Is he excusing me from the test? Or is he trying to be mean?
I looked back at my teacher, waiting for some kind of instructions. But his eyes never left the book.
My gaze fell on the blank sheet in front of me, which gave no clue or whisper of anything whatsoever. It did not awake any optional answers for me to hunt after. It was just a blank and empty paper, waiting to be filled with anything.
That's when it dawned on me.
For the first time in weeks, I picked up a pencil.
And I began writing.
***
My last class was chemistry, and I could not wait for this day to be over. Although I could skip the last period, I decided against the idea.
There was still some unfinished business left.
"Hey, El," Iman whispered quietly under the teacher's lesson. Although our attention was locked on the paper, we still managed to read each other's body language. "I heard you're moving to Norway. Is it true?"
She went straight to the point. The hijabi girl never beat around the bush; she was clear and direct - a treat that I have always liked about her.
I appreciated that she didn't treat me differently; she was still her own unchanged self. Iman was the only person that didn't walk on eggshells around me.
"I don't know," I finally answered, coloring my paper instead of taking notes. "I haven't decided yet."
"Why do you wanna leave?" She continued the query, lifting her head to see what the teacher had written.
I stopped coloring. Why did I wanna leave? The answer was obvious, but the more I thought about it, the fewer words I found to pin on it.
After a couple of silent seconds, I replied, "To escape, I guess."
"Escape what exactly?" She pressed.
"Everything," I continued to color my now gray paper, putting more pressure on the pencil to darken the hue.
"Everything? Really? Do you want to escape food as well? Even technology? You know, El, you gotta be a bit more specific-"
"I don't know, okay!" My voice was louder than I aimed for, which resulted in catching the unwanted attention of my classmates and the teacher. After apologizing for interrupting, the lesson went on.
A heavy sigh left my lips, and at that point, I was tempted to just leave.
"You may go anywhere and wherever you want, but you can't escape yourself." She turned her head to look at me, her eyes displaying a calm look. "El, it doesn't matter where you go. Whether you decide to stay or move to Norway - hell, or even live on the moon. You can't, no matter how much you want to, you can't escape your feelings. It's going to follow you like a shadow. You might be one of the best runners in this school, but even you can't run from this. So, you can either face it and get over with it, or you can pretend that all the running is helping."
The tip of my pencil broke. Her words were truthful and had no intention of hurting, yet, they triggered pain.
"But what if I can't? What if I can't move on?" I whispered out of despair, dropping the pencil. "How do I even get over it?"
"You don't," she turned her attention back to her notes, her brown eyes scanning the paper that was filled with words. "We learn the value of things more in their loss than in their enjoyment. Nobody can really get over such damage. You just-"
The bell rang, indicating the end of today.
Iman packed her books quickly and put her coat on. Then, she met my eyes again and spoke with her usual relaxed voice. "You just learn to live with it."
And she left without another word, leaving me to chew on my own thoughts.
But what if I can't live with it?
My head and chest hurt, and I was more than ready to go home and cry myself to sleep again. It was the only way I managed to close my eyes and drift away; the only way I could have breaks from reality.
The halls were already empty when I left the classroom. I decided to drop my books off at my locker, but instantly regretted it when I saw the person that I have tried to avoid for so long.
"I know you don't want to see me," Adam started, his blue orbs holding contact with my eyes in an intense gaze. "But there are some things that I need to get off my chest."
A heavy breath left my nose, and although I knew where this conversation was heading, I let him continue.
"Listen, I don't know if you've noticed, but I really like you," he started, his eyes sparkling in smiles. "You're different and fun, and I always enjoy being around you. I know we haven't known each other for a long time, but the year I have spent with you has been one of the greatest."
He paused and inhaled fresh air. "I've heard about the rumors that you're moving to Norway. Listen, I may not know where Norway is, but it sounds far away. It would pain me if you moved, Elena, and I really hope that you won't leave. I know the timing isn't right, but I just needed you to know what I'm feeling."
He took a step forward, his face containing a smiling hope. "So what do you say?"
What do I say?
Ethan didn't ask anything of me. He didn't put any weights on my shoulders nor did he put me in a position of decision-making. The prince only wished me the best and for my well-being - whatever I decided to do.
And that's what I chose.
What breaks in a moment, can take years to mend. And I was not even close to the feeling of being whole. Not even after months after the incident could I wake up without wanting to cry.
"I'm sorry, Adam," my voice spoke for me. "But I just want to be left alone." Without even looking at him, I walked out of the building.
Then, I ran as fast as I could through the heavy rain. I ran and ran, my destination unknown and far beyond. My flee was an attempt to get rid of the pain, to lose it once and for all. But it followed. It followed just like Iman said it would.
The agony followed every step, every breath, and every heartbeat. Goddammit, it hurt. It hurt too much.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't breathe.
This was a whole new experience of ache, and I wished it would stop. Yet, I needed it - I need the suffering. If I stop feeling, it means I'm over her and I can't be over her.
Between pain and nothing, I choose pain. It's what keeps her existence alive. Everything I have about her is dying from me, and I can't. . .
I can't lose her again.
Empty of strength, I crashed to the ground, scraping the skin on my hands and knees until blood surfaced. Breathless and anguished, I gasped for air while tears cut my red cheeks.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?!" I screamed at the crying rain, trying to grasp for answers that weren't there. My hands went to my head and I pulled my hair as I sobbed, "God, it hurts. . ."
I lost that one person that I thought I would never lose. She was once a reality.
Now a memory that was slipping from my hands.