'Every story starts with love, but it ends with loss' -Calia Read.

|Altaira|

   What was at the base of our hopes? Was it the light of good times, or the shadows of disappointment? Were we hoping for the Sun rays to hit just right so we could forget and it could wash away our sins? The Golden Weekly said it was suntan lotion. A chemical free, physical sunblock extravaganza. A winning formula this time. As if the previous formulas weren't still being sold and touted as the best of its kind, fooling everyday shopgoers. I squeezed some out and lathered it onto my forearms exposed by my quarter-sleeve top. Thanks to global warming, September was still rather warm.

   "You're a smart girl, you'll fit in really well.' Dad said as he curved the roundabout and headed straight down the path that cut through the underbrush. Every so often dense trees flanked both sides, expelling the sunlight and dousing us in gloom.

   It didn't take much convincing, coming to Ashmoor. First they were worried as most parents would be in a situation like mine. I suppose what sealed the deal was not having to tell everyone why I was a shut-in anymore. This time they had something to be proud of, something to fill their trophy case and beam on their picture frames, reserved for success only. One reserved for a solicitor such as my father and a third time home marketing champion such as my mother.

   "I hope so," I murmured, glancing at the letter poking through my half zipped handbag.

   It was an acceptance letter, but it didn't really look like one. It was punchy and straight to the point: 'Your application was successful.' 'We look forward to seeing you.' Yet it felt empty. Maybe because you haven't earned it, my preschool, bully subconscious poked me with its most helpful comment of the day. Yesterday's one was that I was gaining pounds even though my shirt hung loose around my midsection.

   The air was cleaner here, as if the world shook the smoke, soot and dust off for an eco-friendly coat. The sun hit the treetops and a majestic turret peaked through. My gothic senses were tingling. For a second I forgot all that I came here for and appreciated the sight unfolding in front of me. Turrets jut haphazardly across the steep, grey bricked roof. Brown Ivy and moss vines climbed across the Westside wall. The morning sun flashed slightly across the large windows every time the clouds gave an opening. The car came to a stop.

   I'm here, June. I grabbed my bag and opened the passenger door. For some reason my stomach wouldn't stop swirling from the sunny side up I had this morning. I took a deep breath of the country air, free from the constant city pollution.

   "Altaira, your suitcase," Dad said, as he wheeled a small looking thing that looked like it was about to burst and vomit clothes. "You really should have packed lightly, I told you I could make two trips."

   "I really don't want to waste your time with this," I said. Dad pulled me into a hug before I could take the suitcase from his hands, one that I returned wholeheartedly. I was going to miss them, a lot. I didn't want him to leave so quickly, but I couldn't have my training wheels on forever and sulk in my room all day.

   "Dad? I got this. I can take it from here."

   I expected him to be worried and make excuses. After what happened in the past, I'd expect nothing less than their overprotective nature. I couldn't believe I said it myself, half wishing I could take it back. Instead he was stunned for a second, and then he smiled.

   "I guess taking you here was a good thing after all. See you then, honey. Make sure you go through the admissions on the west side," he said, making his way back to the car and starting the engine. If I had second thoughts, now would be the time to run back to the car, get in and forget this entire shaky plan. I took a step forward but the thoughts of June kept me back. To the east was the woodlands that led to the campus dorms. Somewhere in those woods June took her last breath.

   My right arm throbbed in a phantom pain, as a shiver ran through me. Even though it was years ago, it still seemed fresh. Rubbing my arm and tracing my fingers along the scar peaking through where the sleeve rode up on my arm, I took a deep breath to calm my fluctuating nerves and looked around at the swathes of students milling about the campus, getting sorted with their ID's and induction packs. Did I look calm? Like I belonged here perhaps? Did she, when she made the unchangeable mistake of walking through these large doors? I was told I had a resting bitch face, or just looked plain moody. On an ordinary day, maybe when June was busting down my door to show what an actual resting bitch face looked like, I hoped to God that I didn't. But today, I wish that was all that was emanating from my demeanour. A careless, can-do attitude. I patted my shoulder this time and thought of June. Don't worry starbird, she would say. Just keep rising.

***

   I stared at the building as if it would fess up the truth but that would be a stretch. When had buildings been honest anyway? Have you seen McDonald's? Instead I took a picture; one, then two, before placing a phone larger than my hand back into my jeans pocket. I had a thing for gothic buildings, and this one was a beauty. I expected gloomy, but today was anything but. Gloom and doom was my thing, or so my personal statement said. Majoring in English literature and specialising in all things Bronte wouldn't have been enough to get me in. I imagine that's what Nadia was trying to say when she bid me goodbye with her delicious biryani that I used to beg June to get more of. It was the very special letter of recommendation from June's father, the dean of The King's university in London. I guess he saw his daughter whenever he looked at me and wished nothing more than to never be reminded of that thought again.

   You wouldn't believe someone died here. That was my first thought. The local newspapers- nothing big because no one really cared about a non-socialite around here- dubbed as a typical suicide. Nothing but a cherry on top of a drastic year of climate change and a certain music brand- I'm looking at you K-pop- mass-producing like a factory, something along the lines of generic and heard-it-before. June Whitlock was somewhere in the middle of it, tossed in a body bag and forgotten. Well not by me, and maybe not by her family. I say maybe because Mr Whitlock was still mourning the favourite child, the one who disappeared thirteen years ago when June and I were just seven. He practically ignored his wife. I felt a pang of sympathy and clutched at the paper with her number in the left pocket of my jeans.

   It first started with a glimmer of panic mixed with hope, Danyal Whitlock was only missing, or so my older sister, who was big enough to retain the memory of Whitlock and the unwelcomed trauma along with it, said. They say it takes twenty-four hours before a reported person is legally classed as missing. For a child to be classed as that, chances are they would never be found. So that glimmer didn't last long, and I suppose this time Mrs Whitlock wouldn't have to worry about searching, because this child was left where she died. Her body, a print in the mud outside of the college campus woods.

   We lived in a time where smokescreens and mirrors made money on broken dreams. We all thought we could control the elements, that sentient aliens would invade, that a magical trinket around our necks would turn back time and save us. No one gives a disclaimer at the end that states 'Not based on real life,' because surely you would know that?

   "Altaira is it?" A boy with more freckles than hair beside me said, practically butchering my name with a half-hearted attempt. He said it as All-Tara. I furrowed a brow, still coming out of my reminiscing. The boy, whose name I could just about make out on his crumpled name tag that read 'Evon' smiled and pointed at my own. Ah, that's how he knew my name.

   "Altaira," I corrected. Al-tare-ah, "and you're Evon," I said, giving one of my workplace smiles from my part-time retail job days, one that I would have to pick up here unless I wanted to survive on pot noodles. Evon's face turned into a red that complimented his cropped, ginger hair.

   "Do you want me to show you around?" He asked, gesturing to the campus buildings and the dorms. Oh boy.

   "Aren't you new also?" I gestured to his name tag again.

   "He was." A deep voice said beside me. This time it was my turn to blush. That would have been the natural reaction to a handsome person, wouldn't it? But I felt a maelstrom of emotions and the winner amongst them made me want to run. Far. But why?

   He seemed real, comfortable in his looks, not a guy from an American sitcom, with their kilowatt, dental smiles. He had a slight chip on his canine when he smiled, his lower lip plumper than his top. His olive skin more dark in the shade, lit up where the sun hit it. Dark brown hair curled at the sides. I think it was his eyes. I would say mercurial, but 'Fifty Shades' ruined that for the world, so hazel it was. There was something unnerving and inviting about it, as if it held all the universe but it only consisted of black holes, just the vacuum. The infinite, terrifying nothing.

   I wasn't stupid. I didn't come here for this, and I didn't believe in a connection at first sight unless it was a bad one, my past taught me that well. This made me want to scramble back into my dad's car and scoot as far away from here as possible while simultaneously wanting to proclaim I found the holy grail. It was eerie. My arm throbbed like it got freshly cut all over again and I heart beat in tandem. Shutting my eyes briefly, to rid myself off of these thoughts, I took a deep breath and smiled back politely.

   "He was?" I prodded, trying to remember how to speak.

   Evon furtively glanced between the stranger and me, and then back to my eyes before looking away. I could see a telltale crush from a mile away. I wish I could tell him to save it for the ones who knew what to do with it, but I would be a hypocrite. Hazel-eyes stared back at me, the corners of his eyes going from a smile to a crease of mystified confusion. A blink and you would have missed it.

   June was the keeper, she had a way of flirting just right, keeping them on a hook and reeling them in when she felt the blues. I was the awkward soul who hid at every opportunity. June's face would have been pressed against my shoulder as she failed to contain her laughter if she witnessed this situation.

   "Oh no, no. I'm a student volunteer here to help newcomers." Evon said, jumping in to cover up the now awkward silence.

   "Wasn't that supposed to be Aspen?" Hazel-eyes said, turning his head to Evon and thankfully breaking our weird trance. I clutched tight at the strap of my handbag, trying to curb the best of my rising anxiety.

   "She's running late," Evon said, gesturing me towards the direction of the dorms. I didn't have an opportunity to look at the boy behind me, and I couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing as I followed the weather-beaten path that led to the woods and then towards the dorms.

   "Who was that?" I asked.

   "Oh, just the dean's son," Evon brushed off. "He acts like he runs everything around here."

   I was terrible at this small talk so instead I changed the subject.

   "Does this place have any dark secrets?" I asked, and regretted it almost immediately.

   "What? No, I don't think so," he said, brows furrowing. "But these woods tend to have bats in the evenings, so keep a look out. They have been known for stealing things from people's bags, or was that the ravens? Well, one of them."

   Great.

   We headed towards the woods, my stomach churned in trepidation as I held my breath. Could I do it? Could I walk through and not think of June? Just before we reached the edge of the gloom, the goosebumps on my arms rose. We took a sharp cut through the dimly lit area, taking the wooden trail that led straight to the dormitories. It felt normal. Birds chirped, the wind rustled warmly and sunlight escapd through the gaps in the leaves to create polkadot against the mud and weed. Suddenly Evon took a sharp turn, forsaking the woods altogether. What?

   "Aren't the dormitories through the woods?" I asked as I jogged to catch up to him and the now makeshift path we were on that cut through a field.

   "That specific premise is closed for the time being unfortunately. There is an alternative route to the dorms though it's painstakingly longer. But hey, at least it's safe from the bats."

   Now that I was closer I noticed a thin yellow tape running from one big tree to the other. Behind it was a beaten down path of the woods that seemed impossibly darker even in the daytime, a little to the left of the main trail with a sign that said 'trespassers get penalised'. I had questions but I had a feeling Evon was a closed book despite his open behaviour earlier. For once in my life my bravado and sence of justice disappeared as soon as I saw the police tape. Maybe I was in over my head because the unease of it all made me actually never want to approach that end of the woods ever.

With a clouded mind, I even didn't pay homage to the equally beautiful dorm building with my camera as I walked past. I climbed up the stairs, walking past the reception of balloons, a welcome banner, and people chatting as they ate off of paper plates with plastic cutlery. I was tired. Mentally. Going into the room that had my name on it, I flung my bag on the bed and left the suitcase leaning against a wall or it would topple over with the uneven weight distribution of clothes I stuffed earlier today. I walked past the desk, fully wishing to just sleep and figure things out tomorrow, that is until something on the desk caught my eye. Heading to the table was two piece of papers, one was another quote from Wuthering Heights,

'Do I want to live? . . . [W]ould you like to live with your soul in the grave?'

The other said, STOP, and nothing more.
  

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