The Farther the Fall

I finish the last boxes and tape them up, setting my hands on my hips and turning up my Ipod to whatever song just started. I listen to the words, unsure of what to do now in the empty room.

{Bright Lights and Cityscapes, by Sara Bareilles}

'Hold my breath and I'll count to ten,
I'm the paper and you're the pen,
You fill me in,
you are permanent,
And you'll leave me to dry,'

I look down, and spot a box that wasn't sealed. Lying on top is a picture of Him, laughing with his arm around my shoulder. I pick it up carefully, as if it would singe my skin and burn me. A tear makes it's way down my face slowly.

'I'm the writer and she's the muse
I'm the one that you always choose
She will falter and gift her blame
And it's starts all over again
Again again again'

I remember the way he used to laugh and the way he'd hug me and kiss my head, for no apparent reason. The way we used to dance in the middle of the night because we needed to be reminded of the good things when life was trying to knock us down.

'She is bright lights and cityscapes
And white lies and cavalcades
And she'll take all you ever have
But I'm gonna love you
You say maybe it'll last this time
But I'm gonna love you
You never have to ask
I'm gonna love you
'Til you start looking back
I'm gonna love you
So right
I wouldn't need a second chance.'

The tears fall harder and faster, and the room shakes and a suffocatingly loud sobbing sound almost drowns out the words of the song - almost, but not quite. I lean against the wall for support, but still end up sliding down to the floor, feeling utterly knocked down and broken open. Like I'm a fragile glass piece, pretty on the outside, but hollow and empty on the inside, and someone's dropped me like a hot potato, shattering me and letting the hollowness on the inside show through. I drop my head into my hands and cry. I cry so hard I can't ever imagine I'll be able to stop. And even if I'm able to stop, to pull myself together, what's left of me? What do I have left but an image, a pretense that I'm ok, that I'm strong and I can live through this. An act that my heart wasn't just ripped out and rain-danced on. Well, the rains have come, but - surprise, surprise - they're my tears, raining out any idea of ever being ok again. But that's not the point, the point was never to be ok again. It was to never ever swallow another lie, never take any BS from anyone that didn't have the right to dish it out. And most of all, to never ever be so stupid again as to fall for a jerk or a player. Never to put myself in harm's way.

'Shield your eyes from the truth at hand,
Tell me why it'll be good again,
All those demons are closing in,
And I don't want you to burn,
Nevermind what I said before,
I don't want any less, any more,
You are carbon and I am flame,
I will rise and you will
Remain...


After a while the tears subside and I fall asleep, feeling alone, on the floor. In the morning, I get up and seal the last of the boxes and help the guys load them into the moving truck. I smile and thank them, not realizing the photo is still clutched in my hand. I look down and toss it into a box about to be taped up, then I head to the bathroom to get dressed for the day. Pulling on my favorite Minecraft shirt - yes, I'm that type of geek, but I'm hooked - and a pair of overalls, I pull my hair back into a messy bun and add a touch of mascara - I spent most of last night crying my eyes out, I need a boost.

Getting in my car, I drive, still listening to my ipod.

'For bright lights and cityscapes
And landslides and masquerades
And she'll take all you ever have
But I'm gonna love you
You say, "Maybe it'll last this time"
But I'm gonna love you
You never have to ask
I'm gonna love you
'Til you start looking back
I wouldn't need a second chance
I wouldn't need a second chance
I wouldn't need a second chance
I wouldn't need a second chance.'

~ ♥ ~

Getting out of my car I look up at my new house. It looks so pretty, nice and small so it won't echo too much. I've moved to a small town in Alabama, my homestate, where the population is under 150 people, and everyone knows everybody else, as well as their business. The movers got here before me and are unloading the boxes.

"Just go ahead and put them in here." I tell them, fishing the keys out and unlocking the front door and opening it, looking around at the nice, open first floor. It's a small two story house, big enough a small family of 4 but right now I'm the only one living here - for the moment... ;).

The movers bring in my small load of boxes and set them all down carefully. The last one smiles kindly at me before shutting the door behind himself. I sit infront of the boxes and pull the first one towards me, looking at the label. 'kitchen'. Bringing myself to a squat, I wrap my small arms around the box and stand.

A knock sounds at the door and I just call out calmly, "it's open, come on in!" and keep walking to the empty kitchen.

The door opens and closes and footsteps stop awkwardly in front of the door. One pair, however come happily forward.

"You need help, miss?" says a sweet, younger boy's southern voice - probably 15.

"Oh!" I turn around, still backing into the kitchen with my box. "Thank you! Hold on a moment." I walk to the kitchen table and set the box down then dust off my hands and walk back to the visitors.

Yeah, the boy is about 15 or 16, blonde hair hanging in his earnest eyes. Standing by the door is an older lady - his mama perhaps - and, clutching the lady's hand is a little girl, no older than 4.

I walk up and stick out my hand to the boy. "Scarlette Rose Bellamy. Just moved here from New York." My southern belle accent is so obvious but I'm proud of my heritage, I don't mind. Besides, everyone here is southern anyways, I oughtta fit in fine...besides my cotton candy pink hair, which the lady is looking over in kind amusement.

The boy takes it firmly and shakes. "James William Turner Jr. You don't look red to me." He teases - commenting on the contrast between my name and pink hair.

I laugh. "I faded." I reply good-naturedly. I turn to the little girl and smile kindly. "Who, may I ask, might you be?" I ask in my almost unusually high voice.

She smiles happily, "I'm Georgia, miss." She, like her brother, sticks out her hand and I shake it.

"Aren't you a peach." I tap her nose affectionately and she smiles wider, her brother laughs lightly. "You can call me Rose, miss peach. And your brother up there, shall be a pear." I tell her and she laughs and nods. I stand and address the lady, "mam," I dip my head and curtsy shallowly.

She smiles, and presents me with a plate of cookies, homemade.

"Cookies!" I exclaim, my voice ringing in the unmoved in house. "Wonderful," I turn to James and Georgia, "we can have a tea party as soon as I find a kettle and some cups! If your mother says you can, of course." I add, turning to take the cookies to the kitchen, moving the box to the counter and opening it, shuffling through the things.

"Momma, can we? Please?" Georgia asks and her brother chimes in excitedly.

"Alright, but be home before dark." She laughs, turning to the door.

I come up behind the kids. "Troops," I address them and we snap a salute as she laughs at us and leaves with a smile. "Alright, now...James, can you be a dear and find a box that says 'kitchen' on it and bring it here? Miss peach, come with me, we'll look in the box in the kitchen."

I take her hand and lead the smiling girl to the kitchen. We look through our box and the one James brings in and find the kettle and 3 cups, I set the kettle on and set the cookies down for us.

"Dig in, troops." I grin and sit down, taking a cookie and munching it. "So, how old are you two?" I ask conversationally, between bites.

"I'm 4 and James is 15." She says in her sweet little voice, taking another bite.

"Actually, I'm 16, Georgia." James informs his little sister, swallowing his cookie.

"I'm 17, but my birthday's in a month." I reply, pouring tea for everyone and dunking my cookie into my cup.

James watches and laughs but repeats my actions, taking a hesitant bite and then smiling. Georgia follows without hesitation.

After inspecting my shirt, James laughs, "minecraft?"

I blush slightly and nod, smiling. "Can't help it, I always wanted to make a glass mansion at the bottom of the ocean."

He nods agreeably, "so did I." And it's silent for a while.

~ * ~

As I watch the sunset, I search through a box for my sleeping bag, finding it, I walk upstairs looking for the room to declare my bedroom. I find choose the master bedroom, not because of the size but because it has a nice sized walk in closet, connect to the bathroom - also very nice, with a shower AND a bath. It also has a nice design, with plenty of windows.

I set up my sleeping bag in the middle of the floor then get ready for bed. I crawl into my sleeping bag and start singing 'til I fall asleep.

{Gravity, by Sara Bareilles}

'Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long.
No matter what I say or do I'll still feel you here 'til the moment I'm gone.

You hold me without touch.
You keep me without chains.
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your reign.

Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.

You loved me 'cause I'm fragile.
When I thought that I was strong.
But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.

I live here on my knees as I try to make you see that you're everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you're neither friend nor foe though I can't seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down.
You're keeping me down, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
You're on to me, on to me, and all over...

Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long.'

It all perfectly describes how everything used to be, and I cry all over again.

~ * ~