The air was unpleasantly crisp, today. As I took in a shaky breath, my chest tightened up; the oxygen tasted toxic to my lungs. The wind rushed around my face, whipping my dark hair around my features. The gusts of wind made my lifeless, grey eyes burn. They used to be a bright, electrifying blue, but now they merely manifested the dull world I called my reality. I sighed, exhaling the poison air, and I rested my head back onto the rough bark of the tree I was sitting against.

I looked up at the tree that towered over me. My eyes scanned the trunk, traveling up the ridges of the old wood. I tried to find some sort of light creeping through the mass of branches and leaves, but, as usual, there was nothing. The leaves were not even silhouetted by rays of light; the sun made no effort to shine, nor did it make any effort to sneak past the crackling shapes, the raw form of the figures staring me dully in the face, taunting me with darkness.

I wasn’t even worthy to have a shadow—there was no light, only a coat of darkness. In fact, I was the shadow. And shadows couldn’t have shadows of their own.

This was my world, because life was no fairy tale.

And I learned that the hard way.

They weren’t a magnificent blue, nor were they a mysterious green. They were brown. But they weren’t a muddy, dirty, plain brown. They sparkled in a peculiar, inviting way—a way I didn’t even know was possible with that particular color.

“What are you staring at, Elle?” I shook my head, my cheeks heating a dark crimson when I was sharply brought back to reality.

I shook my head again, peeling my eyes away from the gorgeous boy—well, I tried to, at least. I tried not to question what he was doing there, sitting alone at a lunch table and scribbling words into a moleskin notebook like there was no tomorrow. I tried not to look at his long, scruffy hair—brown, like his eyes—that swept across his face as he hunched over his notebook intensely.

“You’re doing it again,” Megan scoffed. This time, I successfully (and unwillingly) tore my gaze away from him, connecting my piercing blue eyes with the brown ones of Megan; unlike the boy’s eyes, hers were muddy. Dirty. Plain. And, sometimes her eyes flickered and her eyebrows twitched in a manner that represented evil.

I sighed, breaking the eye contact that genuinely sent shivers up my spine. Her scornful stare burned holes in my forehead, and I wanted nothing more than to escape the hold she had on me.

No, she didn’t physically have a grip on me, but the look she was giving me was enough to freeze me in place for eternity.

Megan snickered, sensing my apprehension. “You like him, don’t you?” she laughed mockingly. She, being nearly a foot taller than me, leaned down to my short level, her horrid breath heating up my face more than it already was.

I gulped.

“You better stop liking him, got it?” she snapped, causing me to flinch. “He’s mine,” she added thoughtfully. I gritted my teeth, trying my hardest to contain the words that filled like venom in my mouth. Megan had an interesting effect on me: she either terrified me to the point where I silently cowered away, or she angered me to the point where I wanted to say something. Either way, though, I remained quiet. I always held back.

“Did you hear me, Elle?” she hissed.

I nodded slowly, biting my tongue.

“Good,” she chirped, standing up happily. My body shook in terror when she sarcastically and contemptuously patted the top of my head.

“See ya at home, sis,” she winked, yet again causing my insides to tremble. I hated when she called me that; Megan was not my sister. Technically, she was my foster sister, but that did not make her any more of my family than my parents who left me a long, long time ago.

As soon as she was gone, I sighed, taking out my headphones to blast music through my head—the only thing that calmed me. As my favorite lyrics danced through my mind, I closed my eyes, forgetting about the boy across the way, forgetting about Megan and her ridiculous claim on him, forgetting about everything. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes that I remembered again.

They sparkled in a peculiar, inviting way—a way I didn’t even know was possible with that particular color. And there they were, a considerable distance closer than before.

I didn’t smile, nor did I speak. I stared at him back, my heart beating out of my chest.

“Hi,” he finally spoke. I smiled shyly and nervously. What if Megan was watching?

“What is your name?” he asked after my lack of response.

I shook my head, my hands fidgeting in my lap. He tilted his head to the side, but he didn’t ask again. “I’m Vic,” he introduced himself, to which I smiled weakly at.

“Um, do you, er, do you talk?” he asked blandly. I almost found this humorous; most people sent wild insults to me, insensitively pointing out my obvious muteness. But Vic didn't do these things. Instead, he asked almost kindly, his eyes not fiery with hate, but warm with compassion. They sparkled.

Who knew the color brown could sparkle like that?

I shook my head, frowning and picking at the bracelets on my wrist.

“It’s okay. I don’t listen,” he said with a wink, causing me to laugh slightly.

For some reason, I had this urge to say something back to him. It has been so long since I have talked, though, but I got this vibe that he would be a good person to talk to. I’ve only been infatuated with his mystery for the entire first half of the year, might as well make something of it, right? But I didn’t know what my voice would be like. Would it even work? I opened my mouth, but then I closed it quickly, fear taking over.

“You know, sometimes I like to enjoy silence,” he said thoughtfully. “Sometimes it’s nice just to kick back and listen to music,” he said, holding up a pair of headphones. “I guess enjoying silence and listening to music sort of contradict each other, but I think you know what I mean,” he grinned, and I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant; sometimes it was refreshing to just plug in and forget everything. You didn’t have to talk or think. You just had to listen.

“Do you mind if I sit here and listen to music with you?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” I said effortlessly, immediately clasping my hands over my mouth in astonishment. The words had just come out as mindlessly as breathing.

He chuckled. “Hey, you just talked,” he smiled. I just nodded, not speaking again. My heart rate spiked.

He patted my arm encouragingly, turning around so he was sitting next to me, against the tree that I was already leaning against. And, together, we silently listened to our own music in close proximity to each other.

“Elle,” I said as quiet as possible. He heard, though, turning his head and smiling at me appreciatively.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he said before we returned to our silent state.

Not talking, just listening.

“Hey, Meg,” I tried out my new voice when I returned to the foster house I lived in. Megan stared at me like I had four heads, and, this time, it was me who did the snickering.

“Did you just talk?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I said, instead of just nodding simply. It was kind of silly how much fun I was having speaking as opposed to using simple body language.

“Wow,” she laughed. “What got you all happy?” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me.

At this, I didn’t dare say anything. I didn’t want her to find out that I spent time with the boy she had “claimed”. I knew that was nothing but her wanting what I wanted—this was typical of her. I was almost immune to the way she stole everything I even barely glanced at.

But I wouldn’t let her steal this one.

And she tried. She tried and tried and tried, but she failed. She could steal my clothes, my few personal items I owned, my dignity, but she could not steal him. I wouldn’t let her.

Everyday for the next two weeks, during lunch at school, I would sit against that same tree, listening to my music quietly. But instead of sitting alone, Vic would join me. We didn’t have to talk much. We had a decent amount of conversation, but, often, we would just sit there silently, simply enjoying each other’s company. I grew familiar with the way he breathed calmly next to me. I nearly memorized the way some of his perfectly whitened teeth appeared through the naturally parted lips that made home to the lower half of his tan, soft face. I adored the way his silver, glistening hoop around his right nostril caught my eye. It all became familiar: His twinkling and puppy-dog-like brown eyes, his long lashes that brushed his cheeks when he blinked, his messy hair that skillfully swept across his forehead.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but maybe he was actually getting closer and closer to me every time he sat down.

On the first day of the third week of sitting together, we shared a conversation that was different than the rest.

“I like you,” he said, almost shyly, out of nowhere.

“You do?” I asked, mad at myself for sounding so surprised at this.

He chuckled softly. “Yes, I do. I could write a book about the reasons why,” he said. “But I’m not going to, because I’m lazy,” he added thoughtfully. I giggled quietly. “But you’re unlike other girls, and I like you,” he said.

And, once again, I couldn’t find words. Vic must have noticed, because he slowly leaned towards me, connecting our lips. I didn’t pull away, because I didn’t want to. “I like you, too,” I thought to myself; I think he heard me though, as if the way I kissed him back was reciprocating his statement.

A tear slipped sneakily down my cheek as I thought about how things used to be. We dated for nearly two months—two months of pure adoration, no drama, complete happiness. Megan had receded to the shadows, and I had so naively forgotten about her. I didn’t understand why she had suddenly decided to leave me alone—maybe she gave up on tormenting me—but I also didn’t question it.

She didn’t matter. Nobody mattered, except Vic. After years of being too terrified to speak up, Vic got me to talk. He got me to open up. And, most importantly, he got me to feel. Maybe two months was a short time to love someone, but I knew that I loved him. And I think he loved me, too.

But, don’t forget: life was no fairytale.

Things happen. People lose each other. You really have to savor the time you have with someone, because nothing lasts forever—I wish that I knew this before.

“It’s beautiful,” he smiled, toying the silver delicately in his fingertips. I smiled, seeing the appreciation in his eyes.

“It was my best friend’s,” I said nostalgically.

“Was?”

“She moved a while ago. I haven’t seen her since,” I shrugged my shoulders, telling Vic’s suddenly sad eyes that it was okay.

“I want you to have it,” I said quietly, closing his hand around the locket.

“Really?” he asked, and I nodded happily. “Why?” he asked softly.

“Because it means something to me. And you mean something to me,” I said quietly, embarrassed for some reason. It was hard for me to explain, but it made sense in my head. I wanted the two most important things in my life—my memory of my old best friend and him—to be together. Connected, in a sense. Maybe this was my way of showing him that I trusted him to know my past. Maybe this was my way of showing him that I was grateful for the way he became my friend, and then more than my friend. My everything.

But I think he understood; he always understood me.

“I have an idea,” he smiled warmly. I leaned happily into him as he took out his phone, snapping a picture of us together. “I’m going to print this out and put it in here. So it’s ours,” he said.

“Good idea,” I smiled shyly, and he squeezed my hand.

“Elle!” I whipped my head around, my body shaking when I heard that terribly familiar voice shrieking at me. Megan.

I immediately recoiled back into silence.

“You need to come home right now. I have things for you to do,” she said harshly.

“Excuse me?” I finally talked back, shaking my head in confusion. “Do I look like your servant?” I frowned.

Megan’s face softened in a way that I have never witnessed before in my life. “Sorry, sis, I didn’t mean to come off as so rude,” she said softly with a shy smile. I glared at her, seeing that she was batting her short, choppy lashes at Vic.

Vic didn’t really know about Megan, or the way she treated me. He knew about my past and where I lived, but he didn’t know about the torment I endured from her.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“I’m just so stressed, I’m sorry. I was wondering if you could help me with my homework. You’re so good at math, but I just don’t understand it!” she said in a sad tone. A fake, sad tone. But only I could tell that it was not genuine.

Vic whispered lowly into my ear, not suspecting a thing. “You can go. I have to run a few errands, anyway,” he said. Reluctantly, I let go of his hand. He kissed me goodbye and smiled happily, and I wished that I could reciprocate the smile that radiated like the sun off of his face.

“Thanks so much, Ellie,” Megan said cheerfully as I parted ways with Vic. My throat tightened up as the distance between me and my boyfriend increased and the distance between me and my worst nightmare decreased.

“So, what do you really want?” I snapped, crossing my arms across my chest.

“You’d speak to me a little nicer if you knew what was good for you,” she hissed, causing me to shiver. I waited for her to answer my question. “I have a plan,” she smiled mischievously.

I raised my eyebrows, allowing her to continue. “I haven’t been disturbing your precious relationship with Vic because I’ve been thinking,” she began, a flicker of evil returning to her eyes.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I sighed.

“Shush,” she said, her face twisting in an odd and unfitting smile. “I’m going to leave you guys alone, okay?” she said, her smile remaining.

“What’s the catch?” I mumbled, trying to avoid her piercing eye contact. There was always a catch.

“You really are smart, aren’t you?” she snickered. “Here’s the catch…”

I laughed irrationally in the air. The things Megan made me do—clean her room, do her laundry, write her essays, solve her problems (life problems and math problems)—just so I could enjoy the little time I had with Vic. I so pathetically allowed myself to succumb to her influence, but was it really worth it in the end?

He wasn’t mine anymore. So was all of that effort for nothing?

“You look exhausted,” he pointed out. I nodded, leaning my head against the cold window.

“I am,” I said quietly, my voice barely over a whisper. I didn’t want him to hear how croaky my voice was thanks to my lack of sleep—Megan made me stay up late at night with mindless and ridiculous tasks. Despite the emotional and physical weight it put on me, I always obliged to her “requests”. I was afraid that the moment I denied her she would try to ruin my peacefulness with Vic. Work at night, enjoy the day. That was my new routine, and, honestly, I didn’t really mind it. Every good thing had a price, right?

“You’re working yourself too hard,” he said. I gulped. Did he know? Could he tell?

I shrugged my shoulders. Today was just one of those bad days. Even though it was warm outside, I kept my sweatshirt on. I didn’t have time to shower this morning, and I didn’t want Vic (or anyone, for that matter) to see the black soot on my elbows.

Megan had literally made me clean the fireplace last night. I didn’t know that was something people even did these days. It had gotten to the point where she made me do the most random things for her own amusement. Saying that Megan’s power over me has gotten out of control was an understatement.

“What is it, Elle?” he asked quietly, his eyes looking at me sadly for a moment before darting back to the road. I shrugged my shoulders again.

“I’m just really tired, that’s all. I don’t particularly enjoy living at the foster house,” I said quietly. This wasn’t the whole truth, but it definitely wasn’t a lie, either.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, reaching across the console for my hand, which I happily gave him. He knew that it was hard to live as a foster child, but he really had no idea how hard it was. I normally never complained, though. It was just something I had to deal with. Actually, it was more of me not enjoying living with Megan—if she was out of the picture, I could see myself being pretty happy there.

“Maybe you can spend a weekend with my family, if you’d like. My family is your family,” he suggested, and the notion sent a warm, fuzzy feeling through my tired veins. I have never met Vic’s family, before—Megan has kept me insanely busy. This wasn’t the first occasion of him wanting me to meet his family, but I was never able to. I wondered if she would let me spend a weekend with him. Would she let me have that much freedom? Would she give me that long of a break?

“That would be nice,” I said.

“Good. We can work something out. Besides, my family needs to finally meet the girl I love,” he said quietly. Love? He loved me?

I couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across my features. “Yes, I love you,” he said more clearly after a moment of silence. He said it slowly at first, but then the words came out all out once, as if he was testing them out, but, as soon as they felt right, he needed to get them out as soon as possible.

I smiled. Vic was the first person who ever truly loved me.

“I love—” I began, but I gasped as something slammed roughly into my chest, knocking the words and my breath right out of me. My chest tightened at the impact, and I had barely enough time to look down and see it was an arm that was outstretched in front of me.

A tan arm, trickling red with a shard of glass horrifically sticking out of it. Everything was slow as I looked up and to my left in terror and horror, my eyes meeting the sparkling brown ones that belonged to Vic. I watched as his head snapped back and then foreword again, as my own body repeated the action, as the front of the car we were in slammed into the front of us.

There was a shrill, screeching noise, making my ears painfully ring. I didn’t have time to even scream, yet it also felt like I had all of the time in the world. Fast, yet painfully slow. The world around us moved at high speeds, but I felt like I was slowly sloshing to the sides. There was a sudden, quick sharp pain in my arm, but the pain dragged out slowly.

Everything was fast, and then everything was slow. And then everything stopped, and everything was red.

“…you,” I croaked out, finally finishing the sentence that I have been dying to say.

When I opened my eyes, it took me a long time to remember where I was and what happened. I looked around curiously, but I found that my neck was stiff so I couldn’t turn it. I looked with my eyes, using my peripherals.

Melted metal, glittering glass.

I shivered. It was suddenly very cold. I think the coldness made me numb, though; I didn’t feel any pain.

The only pain I felt was in my chest: my heart hurt when I saw him. Hunched forward, his forehead split and resting on the twisted wheel in front of him—the air bag had failed to deploy. His arms stretched in unnatural ways, his right one still extended towards me. It wasn’t until I saw it when I felt his arm slumped on me. His unconscious state turned his once strong and protective muscles into jelly.

Tears immediately sprung from my eyes as I assumed the worst. My face didn’t contort in my crying, though. The tears merely fell from my eyes naturally, like a waterfall, as I stared helplessly at Vic’s lifeless body.

Everything became a terrifying blur. One moment I was pinned in the crushed car, another moment I was in the back of an ambulance. I tried to look at Vic, but paramedics surrounded him. A rush of cool air infected my body, making me tremble violently.

Almost as quickly as it happened, I was sitting alone in the hospital—my broken right arm already casted and the small scrape on the right side of my face already bandaged.

I couldn’t stop shivering, not matter what I did. A nurse even wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, but that didn’t help. Apparently I was in shock, but I was just scared. Terrified.

After what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached me. I immediately stood up—my head rushing with blood—and my eyes widened as I waited for him to say the words I dreaded to hear.

But the words never came.

“He is stabilized, for now. Typically I’m not allowed to let non-family members in, but I will let you see him. He’ll be awake, soon, but I don’t know in what condition,” he explained. My heart suddenly restarted, and I couldn’t stop myself from colliding with the doctor, hugging him in happiness.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I heard him mutter, but I chose to ignore that. All that mattered was that Vic was waking up, and I could see him.

Tears welled up in my eyes again when I slowly walked into his room. He looked so peaceful, yet so broken. He had a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, causing his long hair to spew out in wild directions. His soft face was placid, but, unlike normal, his mouth was completely closed. The silver hoop around his nose didn’t shine or reflect pleasantly off of his face. His eyes were shut, preventing his comforting and sparkling eyes from glimmering.

He just looked… wrong. Not himself.

After staring at him for a few minutes, I finally broke down. I rushed to his side, immediately taking his hand in mine and sitting on the edge of the neighboring chair.

“Oh, Vic,” I cried when his hand remained still in mine. I waited forever for him to squeeze my hand back, but it didn’t even curl naturally into mine, like normal.

Nothing was normal about this. And, when he finally opened his eyes, I knew nothing was ever going to be normal again.

I cringed at the memory of the car crash. We had been on our way to school together, but we obviously never made it to school. A woman was texting and driving. She swerved into our lane, hitting us head on.

Maybe I had a bad life before the accident, but at least I had Vic to get me through it. Now, I didn’t even have him.

Megan laughed hysterically at her new nickname for me. “Cinder Elle! Oh my, gosh, like that fairytale! You are officially Cinderella!” she squealed. “But you don’t get the prince. Nice try, though,” she scoffed. I frowned, tears dripping down my cheeks at a constant rate. I was always crying, nowadays. I barely noticed the moisture running down my face anymore.

“You can clean your elbows now,” she nodded, referring to the black soot that covered my arms due to my excessive cleaning of the fireplace.

I wanted to scream and curse at her. I wanted to yell that she couldn’t keep telling me what to do. What did I have to lose, anyway? Nothing. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore!” I screamed. “I’m done!” I spat.

“Cinderellie, I think you are forgetting something,” she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Stop calling me that! My name is Elle! I’m not going to follow your orders anymore! You can take away everything from me, but you can’t take away my own individual will,” I said—calmer than suspected—furrowing my eyebrows at her.

She just shook her head. “You really want me to leave you alone? What about my condition?” she chimed.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said quietly, trying to swallow the massive lump that nearly always resided in my throat.

“Does it?” she whispered with a smirk. “Because I think it does,” she said.

“You’re evil,” I glared at her.

“Maybe. But I also have you wrapped around my finger. If you disobey me, you know what will happen. And I’m nearly positive you wouldn’t want that to happen. Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to see my boyfriend,” she said with a wink. Without another word, she spun around lightly on her heals, her hair whipping me in the face in the process, leaving me with out an opportunity to talk back to her.

I clenched my fists angrily. How could one human being be so mean? Thinking about her made me sick to my stomach. And thinking about the way she blackmailed me made me even sicker.

I sighed a breath of relief when his swollen eyes opened. “Vic!” I exclaimed.

He looked around the room for a few minutes, not responding to my presence—his hand still didn’t squeeze mine back.

“Vic?” I asked softly, waiting anxiously for him to say something.

“Where am I?” he slurred, one of his eyes remaining closed as the bright lights of the hospital room blinded him.

“You’re in the hospital, Vic,” I said, my voice cracking. “We were in a car accident,” I cried, giving his hand yet another squeeze—unreciprocated, again.

His lost gaze shifted to me. He stared at me for an entire minute before speaking again. “Well, you’re pretty,” he said, causing me to smile a bittersweet smile. I sniffled, rubbing my thumb against the back of his hand. “Except I don’t think I know you,” he frowned. My eyes widened. “Who are you?” he asked.

I immediately released his hand in shock, sitting back. A selfish move, perhaps, but I was astonished. He didn’t remember me… “You don’t remember me?” I asked quietly.

“Should I?” he frowned, his face contorting in sadness, confusion, and pain. I imagined that my face looked very similar to his.

“I-I am Elle,” I stammered, not being able to form coherent sentences because I felt like I was going to be sick.

“Hi,” he smiled softly. “I'm sorry I don’t remember you…” he said, fresh tears streaming down his face. “My head hurts,” he cried.

“I-It’s o-okay,” I swallowed back a forming sob, deciding that I needed to be strong for him. “I’ll get you a doctor,” I gulped. I tried to give him a warming smile, but my insides felt like ice. I numbly found a doctor, alerting them that Vic was awake and that he was suffering from memory loss. The doctor’s brows creased in worry and he soon disappeared into Vic’s room, telling me that it would be best if I went “home” for now to let him rest and be with his family.

“Elle, why weren’t you in school today?” Megan frowned disapprovingly at me—she was always home from school early, and our foster parents were hardly ever home, which is why they never noticed Megan tormenting me.

I glared at her, pointing at my broken arm and the bandage on my head. “W-we got in a car crash,” I said. I intended to sound angry at her ignorance, but my voice broke in several places—right along with my heart—and tears immediately poured out of my eyes.

“Oh!” she said, a hint of care and worry glistening in her normally plain eyes. The spark lasted for only a moment, though. “Who else was in the car?” she asked. She asked the question in more of a manner to generate gossip, not to genuine care.

“Vic,” I mumbled.

“Who’s fault was it?” she asked.

“The other driver hit us head on. It was their fault,” I said fiercely, annoyed by her question.

“Is Vic okay?” she asked.

“Um,” I frowned, blinking back more tears. “I guess…”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s not dead,” I started. “But he… he doesn’t…” I shook my head, not wanting to say the words because I didn’t want them to be true. Megan waited impatiently. “He doesn’t know who I am anymore,” I said quietly, sinking down a nearby wall and bringing my legs into my chest, burying my face into my knees.

“Seriously?” she asked, shocked. I nodded, not daring to look her in the eyes.

“Wow,” she said, and my heart nearly broke a million more times when I detected a sliver of smugness in her tone.

“So he doesn’t even know what happened?” she asked, curiosity and contemplation laced in her words.

“He doesn't remember anything,” I snapped.

“Perfect,” she snickered, and I looked up to see her darting out of the house. I sat there, though, not knowing what she was about to do.

If only I had known, I would have followed her and tried to stop her from tainting Vic’s newly vulnerable mind.

She made him believe that she was his girlfriend—that he didn’t remember her. She told him that I was her sister, and that we had been together in the car on our way to pick her up for her birthday dinner. Vic wouldn’t even know the difference.

“Don’t even think about trying to tell him differently,” she threatened.

“Yeah? What will you do?” I screamed.

“I’ll blame the accident on you. It’s simple. You are the reason why he was in a car crash. If you try to tell him the truth, I will blame everything on you, and he will hate you forever,” she said, her words dripping in venom.

“You wouldn’t,” I gritted my teeth at her cattiness.

“You should know by now that I would,” she said seriously before darting away happily, finally getting her way.

Weeks had gone by, and I never built up the courage to talk to Vic (I never even built up the courage to talk, in general). I didn’t want him to hate me. I wanted him to love me again, but, if that wasn’t possible, I at least didn’t want him to hate me. Megan continued to build up more and more threats that she would execute if I stepped in between her and Vic’s relationship. For some reason, though, I had this feeling like he didn’t actually like her. It was as if he was just going along with it because he thought that it was the right thing to do.

Megan had manipulated him; similar to the way she has always manipulated me.

Vic went a long with it because the glass slipper almost fit her; he just never got the chance to see that it fit me better.

I have never felt so alone and miserable in my entire life.

Everyday, I sat in loneliness against the old oak tree, listening to music. The tree quickly became my only friend. The music became my only escape.

I took in a shaky breath, my chest tightened up; the oxygen tasted toxic to my lungs. The wind rushed around my face, whipping my dark hair around my features. The gusts of wind made my lifeless, grey eyes burn. They used to be a bright, electrifying blue, but now they merely manifested the dull world I called my reality. I sighed, exhaling the poison air, and I rested my head back onto the rough bark of the tree I was sitting against.

I continued to stare up the trunk of the tree, but I realized that the previously defined ridges were now blurring together. My eyes felt heavy, and everything was becoming blurry. Just thinking about how my tables turned and turned again made me feel dizzy.

As a gust of wind passed, a leaf slowly fell from the tree, suspending in the air before landing in my lap. I looked down, toying the small representation of nature in my shaking fingers.

I heard the sound of more leaves crackling—it was nearing fall, so leaves covered the ground, but also remained full in the trees. The sound forced me to look straight ahead by instinct. And there they were again, just like that first day, the eyes that sparkled in a peculiar, inviting way—a way I didn’t even know was possible with that particular color.

And, just like that first day, I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I was back in that terrible trap again. There was a small, weak person inside of me, begging and screaming to come out. She banged on my rib cage, making my heart ache. But I couldn’t let her out; I had lost the key.

“Elle,” Vic said slowly and sadly.

I wanted so much to be angry with him. I wanted to unleash the wild girl inside of me. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to kick him. I wanted to make him physically hurt the way I emotionally hurt for him choosing Megan. But, most of all, I wanted to kiss him.

These options, though, were paths that were impossible to take. None of this was his fault; it was all Megan. He literally didn’t know better. Her goal in life was to ruin mine, messing up his in the process.

“I know,” he said sadly again.

I tilted my head to the side in confusion. What did he know? I wish I could form the words, but my mouth remained mute.

“I saw you again,” he said slowly, as if he was contemplating each word carefully. “I was sitting over there,” he turned, pointing to the bench he apparently had been sitting at—I never even noticed he was nearby. These days, I wasn’t very observant. I was just numb; I didn’t really care about anything, anymore. He paused for a moment before continuing. “And you were sitting here,” he said.

I wanted to snap at him. “Thanks for pointing that out, Einstein,” I wanted to say sardonically. But instead I remained silent and placid, waiting for him to continue.

“Elle, it all connects in my head, now,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. Why was he crying? I wanted to reach over and wipe the tears away before they even dared to fall, but I couldn’t. My body was rigid, unresponsive.

“I saw you sitting here, and it reminded me of the first day I talked to you,” he said, a bittersweet smile spreading across his lips. But I thought that he wasn’t supposed to remember meeting me at all. That’s what the doctors swore, at least. I continued to stare at him, more confused than before.

“I’m remembering, Ellie,” his voice cracked, and the tears in his eyes jumped off of the edge.

Remembering…

“I found this,” he whispered, as if he was afraid that his voice would crack again if he spoke any louder.

A large lump formed in my throat as his unsteady hand extended towards me. He turned it over, revealing a crisped and melted shape, an object that once used to resemble a locket. My locket. The locket I had given to him before the accident. The picture inside was still black and burnt, but you could at least tell that two faces used to be happily shown.

“I found this, and I immediately knew. I don’t know, it just clicked in my head! This is me,” he pointed to the small black smudge on the right. “And, this is you, isn’t it?” he asked. “It was you the whole time. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. But I didn’t know it. Oh, I’m so sorry, Elle,” he cried, gently forcing the locket to close. He didn’t snap it shut abruptly, fearing that it would snap in half, right along with our hearts.

I nodded, still not sure if I could speak.

“It’s you,” he whispered. “It’s not Megan. I never felt anything with her. I was so confused the entire time of being with her. I’m never speaking to her again. I won’t let her bother you again. I’ll protect you from her, from us. I will do whatever it takes to fix this,” he said, his tone changing to fierce and determined for a moment. “It’s you,” he whispered again. Before I had time to say or do anything, two hands were carefully placed on either side of my face, two thumbs drawing tight circles on my cheek, eight fingers curled into the sides of my head, in my hair, holding my head almost for dear life. It took me a moment to realize that they were his hands, his thumbs, his fingers. Him.

“Yes, Vic,” I finally spoke. The feeling was euphoric, and Vic’s eyes sparkled even more than before. I tilted my head to the right, leaning my cheek into his protective hand, savoring the feeling of his warm palm against my cold cheek. “It’s me.”

“Us,” he corrected as he released one side of my face, bringing his hand down to squeeze mine. I smiled.

Notes

This is a one shot very loosely based on a prompt I found for my creative writing class

The prompt: write a short story about a new ending of Cinderella--where the shoe fits the step sister.
Obviously I ditched the whole fairy tale thing and made it very very modern and the prompt literally just sparked an idea that has nothing to do with princes and shoes and shit lol

I hope you liked it :) Tell me what you think!