Plight of Amour.

My bedroom remained silent. The thoughts in my head reeled uncontrollably at the preposterous statement my father had just made. I couldn’t even begin to understand what the hell he had said, or if it was what I thought it was.

“Papa, what do you mean?” I whispered. My twelve-year-old arms went tighter around my favorite teddy bear; my eyes stung viciously.

“I mean, we’re moving, sweetie.” Father’s eyes were gleaming like this was good news. I stared at him in pure shock. Why was he so happy that we were leaving our house, our beautiful house, and this amazing neighborhood where everything I lived for was.

I began shaking my head. “You must be lying,” I stammered. “I-I will not move from here, Father. I am very sorry.”

Father’s hands grabbed my shoulders and held tightly. He stared right into my eyes, trying to tell me this was the finality of it all. The tears had been forming in my eyes during the span of the conversation finally started falling down my cheeks.

“No!” I cried. Somehow I pulled myself away from my father’s strong grip and backed away from him. “Father, please tell me that you do not mean what you tell me. I do not wish to move from here.”

“We have no other choice,” Father whispered.

He acted like nothing terrible was happening. Did he not know that my life would end if we moved from this place?

“I’ve already bought a house in another city.”

Apparently not.

I sunk onto the cold, wooden floor. My small body doubled over as sorrow ripped through me. “Father, how could you?” I cried.

“Calla, my darling, we have no choice. I am so sorry.”

I didn’t move from my spot where I lay crumpled on the floor. Father, obviously done with listening to my cries, stalked from my room and slammed the door behind him. I squeezed my eyes shut. My chest was coming apart, I just knew it. It felt like I was being torn apart, piece by piece, by a rabid, hungry bear.

I curled tighter into my ball. My heart burned like I had been stabbed repeatedly by a red hot knife. The pain was terrible, searing. I wanted to throw up.

A faint, high-pitched, drawn out sound echoed in my ears. At first, I thought it sounded like…Well, I couldn’t describe it. The sound was quite strange, alien.

Suddenly, my door flung open and my sixteen-year-old sister came barging in, horror written over her face. She hoisted me from the floor and started shaking me.

That’s when I realized I was screaming. The sound I heard was me, my banshee-like shrieks tearing from my throat.

Rillia’s mouth gaped open as I somehow managed to control my hysterical screaming.

“Are you…alright, Calla?” I could tell she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know by the tone of her voice. And the look in her eyes said that she was ready to call the men in the white coats to take me away.

“No!” I screeched, my hands shaking violently. No, I wasn’t alright. I would never be alright if I had to leave here!

Rillia tilted her head, scrutinizing the rising insanity in my expression. Her dark eyes shifted across my face and locked onto my gaze. Immediately, she knew why. I would never know how she did that.

She rested me back on the ground. “Calla, I’m sorry.” Obviously, she was just as pained as I was about the horrific news.

I shook my head. “Why does he have to decide to do this now?”

“I don’t know.”

I glanced to my bedroom window, where outside was dark and gloomy, just like the grim thoughts running through my head.

Rillia let go of my shoulders, finally, and whispered another sorry. Her footfalls grew further across my room. I panicked at the sound of my door opening.

“Rill, wait!”

She turned around quickly, halfway out into the hallway. “What?”

“Can I…Can I go next door?”

Rillia’s face softened and she crossed over to me again, taking me up in a tender hug. Her voice was so sad when she spoke once more.

“Go next door. I’ll be watching.”

“Don’t tell Father.”

“I won’t. Now go.”

Her hand on my back, she pushed me out the door. From there, I ran through the hall, down the stairs, and out the backdoor in the kitchen. I didn’t even care that I was still in my pajamas and the air outside was cold. Not to mention I was tromping around in mud as I hauled myself into the neighboring house’s backyard.

His bedroom was on the first floor, thankfully. I gently started rapping on the glass.

The backdoor back at my house opened, but I didn’t worry. I knew it was just Rillia watching for safety reasons.

The curtains were pushed back momentarily. Light from the bright bedroom came flooding out, landing on me and the ground below. I immediately recognized the blonde dreadlocks of his brother.

He grinned, held up one finger, and disappeared again, casting me in darkness once more.

I heard Rillia giggle from across the yard, but I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. I think she was mentally preparing herself for my hysterics that would inevitably follow this emotional goodbye.

As I was staring across the yard at her, light fell out onto me again. My head snapped back to the window and he was standing there. His dark, usually perfectly styled hair, was tousled like he had just gotten out of bed.

I moved my finger in a come hither movement and mouthed, “I need to talk to you.”

He nodded and, much like his brother, held up one finger, but this time it was to tell me to wait just a second while he fought with the window.

I giggled. The simple action merely made my chest hurt even more.

Finally, the window burst open, sending warm air from the house out onto my chilled skin. He slowly climbed out and landed expertly on his feet.

“Hi, Calla,” he whispered, shyly.

“Hi, Bill.”

He leaned forward and hugged me. While I was standing with him, in his arms, something felt right. I didn’t hurt, I didn’t feel like my entire world was about to end—though it no doubtedly was—and I didn’t dread what I had to do as much.

Just as that thought passed through my head, he released me from the hug.

And the sky came crashing down around me.

“What did you need to talk to me about?” Bill asked, grinning widely. His hand had caught mine and held it. I was thankful for its warmth.

“Listen,” I spoke so quietly I was surprised he could even hear me. “I have some bad news.”

He immediately perked with interest.

“Dad just told me that…” The ripping in my chest was back. “That we’re moving.”

He dropped my hand. Okay, more like threw it.

“No,” he mumbled. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. He’s already bought a house in another city.” My voice cracked underneath the pressure of it all. I couldn’t keep myself together for long. There was no way.

Bill’s face completely filled with remorse and anger at the same time. “You can’t, Callie-bear! You just can’t!”

“I know, Bill! I don’t want to.” Tears spilled down my cheeks. I started sobbing in seconds flat.

Bill took me in his arms again, holding me close to his body. I let myself go, sobbing and listening to the internal ripping of my chest. His breathing was ragged against my ear, revealing that he was in just as much pain as I was. His hand stroked over my hair and he pressed his lips to my head often. It made me feel a little better, but not by much.

Slowly, I pulled away and looked at him. He cast his gaze down at me. Like so many times before, we moved, leaned in, until our lips touched. My stomach jolted, my heart all but stopped. And there we stood for the longest time, twelve-year-old writer, fourteen-year-old singer, lips moving slowly, hands interlaced. We were illuminated in the dull light of his bedroom.

This moment was like so many moments we had shared. Yet it was distinctly different in a sad way. The kiss was filled with a kind of urgency that made me realize the finality of it all.

This could be the last time I ever kissed him.

Ever…God, the word echoed in my head like I was standing in a tunnel.

He finally broke our kiss, though I saw the reluctance in his face. We were both panting.

“I love you, Calla,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.” My insides clenched. How would I ever be able to say that to him again?

He must have seen my discomfort because he traced his fingers across my cheek.

“And I will love you forever,” he assured.

“How? We won’t be near each other!” I sounded frantic even in my own head.

He kissed my forehead. His lips were so warm, soft.

“Never fall in love with anyone else,” he whispered. “I will find you again. We will be back together before you know it. Just give me time.”

I touched his face. “And you never fall in love with anyone either. I’ll try to find you, too.”

“Then it’s a promise.” He grinned sadly.

“No. It’s a plight,” I corrected.

Bill laughed shortly. “I love when your author side slips out.”

“I know.”

He stepped back from me, releasing every connection we had. I longed immediately for his warmth once more.

“So, it our plight of amour set in motion?” he questioned in a businesslike voice.

I nodded, and he held out his hand, which I took. We shook on it, finalizing our promise. The true business of the situation melted away as Bill pulled me forward by my hand and kissed me again.

At that second, I knew our plight would carry through…

Our love would be on fire once more.

Ah, the thought made me smile, for now.

I knew it couldn’t last long, my pain would find the surface again…

Somehow…

“Calla, Rillia!”

My father’s voice jolted us apart.

“I have to go,” I whispered.

“I know. I love you and don’t forget our promise.” Bill let go of my hands.

I started backing away, my eyes never leaving his face.

“Goodbye, Bill!” I called.

He waved weakly. “Goodbye, Calla Lily.”