❝ 𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕜'𝕤 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕨 ❞

    Distance is all that matters. Leaving was hard. Leaving her was hard. 

    Leaving is always hard, I thought to myself bitterly. Leaving is never ideal or easy. Despite leaving being my only option I found no joy and no cool detachment from it. I looked back one last time wishing this would just all be a dream. But it wasn't. It was reality and reality hurts more than dreams.

    I needed something to do, anything to take my mind off what I had just said. I rolled my eyes, trying to get into a character I had portrayed in a magazine a couple of weeks ago. I grabbed a fresh pair of clothes and stalked my way to the bathrooms, trying to briskly avoid a certain blonde. I didn't really want to talk to anyone right now. 

    Thankfully it was unoccupied so I quickly bolted the door, taking a small minute to let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding. 

    I stepped into the shower, toes flinching as they touched the chilled ceramic floor. My mind was in shreds; I would never get that picture out of my mind. I turned the dial, the metallic, releasing thousands of lukewarm drops, darkening my hair and trickling down my back. My eyes fell closed over and over, each time showing me the images like photographs. I attempted to lather myself with soap as if to erase all the guilt and frustrations this short day had already acquired. 

    Glancing around, I noticed someone had left some vanilla-infused shampoo so I grabbed it, pouring a generous amount of the beautiful stuff into my hair. I followed suit with the conditioner when classical music started blaring from the top corner of the shower. Panicking, I slammed my head against the wall in shock. 

    I sighed in exasperation before letting out one curse, glaring at the speaker. "First that damn blonde," I muttered angrily, "and now this damn shower. What's next?" As if on cue, the water from the shower-head stopped pouring as if it too wanted to join in with my collected misery. I glanced around in confusion before my eyes landed on three bright red numbers, flashing very noticeably beside the shower racks. 

    0:00. Just my luck. At least I managed to rinse out most of the shampoo and conditioner before the damn water turned off.

    I stepped out of the shower and let the water droplets continue to fall from my body. Five minutes is almost nothing when you're used to longer showers of at least ten minutes. A fond memory brought me back, to a conversation with how shower lengths would determine your success in life. A soft laugh filled my ears and I wanted nothing more than to just bathe in the memory. I pushed my shoulders back and I blankly began to dry myself and put on a fresh set of clothes as if I could change into a new skin with no memories of who I used to be and who she used to love.

    It was odd coming back to my room. The lights appeared brighter than they should have and I glanced around to see if there was some sort of air conditioner on which would have explained the sudden chill. But there was nothing apart from the beat of my heart and a faint scent of vanilla that lingered painfully in the air. 

    It was easier to be in tune with my emotions now no one was here. It was easier to let go of everything. I let out a sigh, the breath escaping from my lips and being released from my bones which it had long settled in. I stepped into the room, jumping back in shock upon hearing the crunch underneath my shoes. I looked down half worriedly to see a little square of paper which was not what I was expecting at all. 

    That little piece of paper was so small, so insignificant yet it carried the words of my world. Or whatever was left of it. It seemed to stare at me, goading me to read whatever was inside. My heart pounded in my chest, the beat uneven and shaking as I stooped down to pick up the note. 

    I hadn't even seen the writing before my heart sank. The words and the little inky flourishes swam before my eyes and I took a shaky breath before I even began to try to process it. 

    To Nicolai Kiener,

    I'm leaving, not because you asked me to, but because I deserve more respect than spending my time with you. I don't think you need me to write a whole paragraph about what type of person you are because you already know and now, so do I.

I swore. Profusely. What have I done?

    I'm an idiot. 

    Jerk.

    Fool.

    Player. 

    The nausea swirled unrestrained in my empty stomach. My head swam with half-formed regrets. My heart felt as if my blood had become tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat. I shouldn't have yelled at her. I knew it then and I knew it now. 

    I shouldn't have yelled at her like that. I shouldn't have yelled at her because my feelings are messed up. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have yelled at her. How stupid can I be?

    For so long, I had played the role of the obedient son. For so long, I had played the role of the famous model who could never tell who really wanted to be friends or wanted something in the long run. For so long, I had felt like I could never belong anywhere. 

    For so long I had wanted something that could make me feel alive. For so long, I had wanted to simply be. Not a model, not a boy, not a football player, not the prodigal son, not anything with a label that could be sold. For so long, I had just wanted to be. And I had just messed it up.

    I let out a laugh; it was sudden and cold. A fresh wave of despair came over me, cloaking everything else until I could hear nothing but a buzz in my ears. It was like white noise and to be frank, I was glad for the distraction. I didn't want to feel as I came to my next realisations.

    I left somebody who loved me despite my many, seemingly unforgivable faults. I left somebody out of fear. Fear is an incredibly powerful influence, it is also a disguised demon. The words I spoke were daggers and my actions venom. 

    My eyes were burning and my chest felt heavy as if it were filled with lead. I could no longer see clearly. All I knew was that she was gone, out of my life for possibly forever. 

    She's gone. Forever. Reality seemed so far away. I refused to move, afraid that if I moved a muscle I'd break down. The lump in my throat developed into a knot. My lungs screamed for oxygen. 

    Get a hold of yourself, I screamed at myself. A tear involuntarily slid down my cheek. I couldn't take it anymore. The sound of my sobs filled the air, thankfully drowned out by the low hum of the engines outside. I ran to the bed, hugging my pillow tight as I screamed into it. Eventually, those screams turned back into sobs. I was shaking; I was no longer in control.

    Then I remembered my conversation with Jules. About infatuation and about love. Then I thought about Alyce. There was no doubt that I loved her. I loved Alyce but so did many other people in the same way. There was no doubt that she held no candle to Kennedi. 

    Even her name in my head, even the thought of her made a fresh wave of tears pool in my eyes and I rubbed them away violently before my vicious cycle started up again.

    Alyce was the type of girl you fell in love with before you could ever talk to her. She smiles and she nods but no matter how gentle and kind she is, it is not the same as Kennedi's smile. Alyce's smile is brighter than any stage light but Kennedi's smile is brighter than the most brilliant star on a summer night.
    Alyce is beautiful. It's undeniable. I don't need to be in love with her to know that. I don't need to be in love with her to swoon over her photos. She's gorgeous and that's a fact. But there are so many different types of beautiful in this world. Kennedi is beautiful too but it's a different beauty to Alyce's and I love it. I don't swoon over Kennedi instantly, because I feel obligated. When I look at her, in the moon's shine at 2 in the morning, there is no other word to describe her other than beautiful. 

    My entire life, I had so many houses. I have one in London, one in Berlin, one in Paris, two in Venice and so on. But I have never really found home. I remembered telling my parents why I loved to travel. I remember wanting to explore the world. But more than anything, I remembered wanting to find a place to call home. Now I had. I had found my home. I found her. She felt like home. 

    I sat up, my bones shaking. I may have acted foolish but I am not stupid. I have lived long enough to know that there are so many different types of love, but none of them are ever doubled or replicated. If what was between Kennedi and I love at all then I'd gladly endure it all. I want to tell her that I'm sorry. I want to tell her that I miss her. I want to tell her that I need her. 

    I want to tell her that underneath all the layers of artifice, I'm not as confident as I seem to be. I want to tell her that I don't have my life together but it's okay because she keeps me grounded. To pull me back from the edge if I ever dangle too close. 

    I want to tell her that I love her and I'm finally ready to admit it. 

    I just wish she remembered. I just wish she understood. I just wish she knew that there was so much behind that little lemon tart at the bakery. I ju- I scolded myself, slapping myself in the face. Now was not the time to take that particular road down memory lane. I will tell her when she's ready to hear it. 

    I don't know how long I had been there. I don't know how long I had been crying. I didn't really know anything but I knew there still a little bit of time, so I stood up and walked to the door.

    Out of my room. Out of my doubts.

    To look for my girl.