When You Go, I'll Forget All About You.
A Short Story By: ImaginaryGirlChild
Abby laughed, almost manically, thinking about him.
Of course he'd forget about her. What did she expect the rockstar's son to do? Did she think that she was the love of his life? Of course not. He was the rockstar's son for Pete's sake; he'd have a million girls at his feet in a second.
She scuffed her shoe against the sidewalk, ignoring the people around her, shutting off her hearing. Brown hair flew into eyes but she didn't move it. Ignored it like they ignored her.
She twisted her wrist a little receiving a protesting crack. Smiling to herself she kept walking. No pain, no gain.
Wind whipped around her in a fury of excitement. Something big was going to happen, it just wasn't sure on what exactly.
A voice seemed faint, and still ignorable. She wasn't going to go back, she was going to be her stubborn self. She wasn't about to let him back so easily.
Her fingers were cold.
The fact seemed to swim in her mind a little almost cloaking how frigid it was outside. She looked down and noticed how her jeans were too long. How they hid her childish feet. How maybe she was too short, just a little fifteen year old girl who really looked like she was about twelve. Maybe that was it.
The cold seemed to have muffled all noise, seemed to have dwarfed the complete lunacy of the city. Somehow it was soothing, in a completely creepy way.
A cold hand wrapped itself around her wrist and, shockingly, turned her around. The expression on her face was priceless, and immeasurably hilarious, but Lukas kept his face straight. The words on the tip of his tongue, somehow, when it came to her, they always resided there.
As quickly as the shock set in, her expression seemed to erase itself, a blank, face peered back at him.
"Abs," he panted, terribly out of shape and far too stubborn for his own good, his warm breath making a puff of a white, wispy, cloud to dance slowly above them.
"Abby, please, just, please." His vocal chords grasped for more words while his lungs begged for more air.
She was loosing interest, and fast.
A gust of wind ran through his black hair, a reminder that he couldn't hold her hand forever, even though he wanted to.
"Abby," his voice was growing just a little fainter. He was exerting too much force on himself.
"Luke, come on, just shut up and let me go home." Her voice was colder than the wind that shot through his clothes.
"Abby, I love you." The words seemed foreign, to both young adults, and a harsh beam of sunlight in their cold, gray, world of the moment.
As the meaning of the words flicked through her mind, a sense of comfort surfaced from the subconscious of her brain. Something, inexplicably, stirred, memories floated slowly to the surface of the recesses of her mind. The finality of the words seemed to stab her, forcefully, yet almost lovingly, straight to her heart.
And she watched him, black hair hanging over his green eyes, lungs greedily grabbing the much-needed cold air, sending him very real, searing, pains in his vocal cavities. Slowly, as more oxygen hydrated his lungs he straightened up. His green eyes slowly being brought up to her face, a hopeful look stealing what little of her heart remained.
"Luke," her words seemed whiny, childlike, voicing her complex vulnerability, even to her.
"Listen Abs, seriously, I'm not joking, please just, please." His vocabulary was failing him, horribly, and he sounded terrible. Something between a chain smoking woman and an out of breath jogger.
"I can't Luke," as she paused, looking into the clouds as if they'd help her out and form the words she needed, his heart seemed to skip a beat. The impending speech he knew nearly by heart now seeming to grow larger with each passing second.
"Please Abby, please just, Abby you know this isn't what you want." Instead of feeling like he knew her, a supposed comforting tool, it just brought her closer to hatred.
"Don't. Even." Her voice was calm, masking the anger building up behind her irises. "You know nothing, you rich brat." The words formed a harsh barrier between the two and the dust of the invisible wall seemed to float up by their heads, forming a thick cloud of tension.
Perhaps, this wasn't exactly the phrase he should have brought out so quickly.
"Abby," his pleading had grown pathetic in her eyes and she was deluding herself to think it was an act.
"Is this some sick and twisted thing to you? Really you, Lukas, the boy who has everything, the perfect family and more money you know what to do with. Quit being selfish and mail some of that to a cancer patient." She spat, as a gust of wind flew straight into her face. This wasn't going the way he had obviously wanted it to. It was going downhill, like a little red wagon of their youth and he couldn't run fast enough to catch it. This wasn't about his money, that much was obvious, the underlying and unrevealed problem was cropping up, and if he paid more than enough attention to it, then maybe he'd figure it out.
"Where're you going to go?" he asked, his voice quiet, green eyes searching for a hint.
"Europe, since it's not any of your business." Her sarcasm was a self defense mechanism for her. He'd learned that much in the small amount of time they'd known each other.
She wrenched her wrist out of his cold grasp. His eyes turned icy, all amount of pleading dissipating from his eyes.
"What? You're just going to run away to Europe? This coming from the girl who yelled at me for running away from my problems." His voice was rising with each word as he spat them out, trying to hit her forcefully with them, trying to conjure up some form of emotion.
"Shut up," the words came out forcefully yet quietly, the meaning behind them crashing out of her mouth and straight to his face, pounding on it for entrance. In the matter of time that she had stung him, the facts proving that she wasn't going back home with him hurting more than he thought, she had started walking purposefully away. He watched her small figure retreating. She's not coming back, he thought numbly. Little did he know how completely true this was going to prove.
Six months later as he scanned the paper, a black and white picture jumped out at him. There she was, coyly smiling, her light brown hair a darkish black in the printers ink. Immediately his eyes jumped to the top of the page. Obituaries. Reality hit him face first as he read the article.
At Abbots Langley Hospital in London, on Friday, April 13th 2006, Miss Abigail Anne Keladry of New York, New York, died from an intensive bout with a familiar cancer known as Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia where she was being treated. She had no real family to speak of, being orphaned at an early age, and will be ceremoniously buried in her hometown, thanks to members of the hospital board and certain friends that helped her in this time. The visitation will occur from one o'clock to two thirty. The proper burial will be located at the Holy Cross Cemetery, which is located at 3620 Tilden Ave. Brooklyn, New York. If you have any questions, or want to make a donation to The Queensland Cancer Fund, you can call (718) 366- 4520.