Status: Reinventing Itself.

Take Me Dancing.

i'll say this once again;

I knew she wasn’t going to be in the room at the end of the hallway, but I couldn’t stop myself from heading in that direction regardless of her absence. The hallway felt excruciatingly long as I walked down it, forcing myself to look straight ahead rather than at all the pictures that lined the walls. A lot of the frames were empty; her mom had taken a lot of the pictures down for the ceremony. It still felt unreal.

The white door was closed and a foreboding sense of sadness overwhelmed me as I examined the surface. It would have been easy to turn around and walk away, to go downstairs and blend in with the sea of black as if I had never even come upstairs in the first place, but I knew I couldn’t do that. After all, what was one more pang of sadness after a day like this? I reached out my hand and turned the bronze doorknob, pushing the door open across the beige carpeting and taking the first step inside.

It was the same as it had been when I was in it a week ago. There was a laundry hamper of clean clothes in the corner, a little smile coming to my lips as I remembered how she’d asked me to fold it.
“What do I look like, some kind of woman?” I had asked her. She had laughed and pushed her hair out of her face, scrunching up her nose in that cute way she always did when she was thinking of something before replying, “Do you want me to answer that honestly?” I had thrown a pillow at her in response.

I walked further inside, my black attire a stark contrast to the lightness of the room; the blues and pinks and pastels. She hated dark colors. She had always questioned how I could wear so much of it all the time, and as I caught my reflection in the vanity to my right I could almost see the disgusted look she would have given me if she were there.

I walked to her bed, taking a seat on the edge and tracing the floral print comforter with a shaky hand. I lay back, resting my head against her pillows and cherishing her scent as it swirled around me. I looked up at the ceiling, laughing to myself at the Tom Felton poster she had super glued there when we were fourteen years old. I had sneered at the picture, a snide, “Are you really going to want to look up at that thing every night and day when you're eighteen?” but she hadn’t even looked at me as she replied, continuing to do her math homework on the floor as she said, “Jealous Gary?” She knew me too well.

Tears were streaming down my face at that point, shallow breaths leaving my body in waves of sorrow as I continued to lay there. I'm not sure how long I stayed there, but it felt like ages before someone finally joined me, calling my name out as they stood in the doorway, looking directly at me and trying to avoid catching glimpses of the memories that were all over the place.

“Come on Garrett, she's gone.”

I nodded, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and still just sitting there, clutching the sheets so hard my knuckles were white. John sighed from where he stood, and without looking up I knew I would see that familiar frown on his face as he said, “She’s not coming back, and if she was here she’d be real pissed at you for moping around. So get off your ass and come join everyone downstairs. It’s gotten to the point where we’re all reminiscing about funny stories and I can’t tell the one about the beach house without you there with me.”

It was his way of saying, “I miss her just as much as you do and I can’t do this without your help,” so I stood up and watched as he exited the room at a fast pace, fully expecting me to follow him moments after. I inhaled an unsteady breath, lifting my eyes to the large array of pictures that covered the wall space above her headboard. My eyes searched for the picture of me her and John up at her parent’s beach house in California. We had driven down there summers ago, and I was searching for her face that was filled with ice cream and sand after John had tripped her while she was walking with her cone along the beach.

I was expecting to see her beaming face, because as everyone had laughed at her and called her a klutz, I had been the one to offer to buy her a new cone, and she had smiled wide just before the picture was taken. I was expecting to see that smile that was reserved just for me, but instead I got a tiny folded piece of paper tacked over her face, and confusion instantly swept over me. I reached out, tearing the paper down from its place and unfolding it. I recognized her handwriting instantly, and in any other circumstance I would have laughed at the fact that she somehow always found a way to incorporate Harry Potter into every situation, but this time it wasn’t funny. I crumpled up the paper and threw it to the ground, stomping out of the room as the words played over and over in my head:

“After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm starting over with this story, because it was virtually going nowhere anyways, and it was't going the way I'd originally planned. Things are different here, but it's better. Promise. Please comment and subscribe, sorry for mistakes. (:

I've kind of redone all of my stories, so definitely check them out.