ch. 3 | just an accessory

roasted chestnuts and unfortunate meetings

I saw him.

I stood right beside the post office, waiting for my mum to pick up a parcel, when I caught the culprit behind my broken heart.

And you know what made this moment even worse? It wasn’t the realisation of how much I’ve missed him, or how positively dashing he looked, with hair slightly dishevelled from winter’s breeze and a flush of pink dancing on his cheeks from cold. No, it was the fact that he was with a girl.

What made me look their way? I wish I never did

I watched Milo lean closer to whisper something in the girl’s ear, as she playfully slapped him in the chest, mid-giggle. He smiled wider, looking satisfied, while she casted a glance through his shoulder right at me. Something mischievous glinted in her eyes.

My heart leapt to my throat, neck burning from embarrassment. Never have I ever wished to fall through the ground more as I did in that very instant, watching both of them approach the stall and get a cone of steamed chestnuts… each.

He hates chestnuts.

My mum seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, snapping me back to reality (she likely have noticed the reason of my peculiar reaction, judging by the disapproving look she sent towards its direction).

It was on our way home, when she decided to break the silence, as we trudged through thick snow, dragging a sled with a rather heavy parcel from my grandmother.

“You know, Society found you at the right time. They always seem to,” she said, breathing heavily, as she stopped to fix her gloves. “Same happened to your Grandpa - their letter appeared right before he set his paintings and sketchbooks aflame. Can you imagine what would have happened if he did? If they never found him?” she evened her breath before continuing. “Even I received an invitation during what seemed to be lowest period of my life.”

“But you have manifested a second Ingenium and refused Society’s offer, so it’s a bit different” I adjusted the hood of my cape.

“Maybe, but everything still turned out good in the end.”

Closer we approached our neighbourhood, more snow there was, more huffing and puffing dragging the sled required.

“What I’m trying to say is-” she proceeded as we stopped for yet another break just minutes later, our breath visible in the air. “It pains me to see you sulking over a boy who never deserved your attention in the first place. You know what? No-” she cut herself off. “It makes me feel mad! Not a full month went by and he turns up with a new girl for everybody else to see, as if she’s an accessory of sorts.”

Approaching the question from that angle made me wonder if I was that piece of accessory before that girl? Did he just got tired of me and chose to pick a new charm to steal its glow from?

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Prior to starting this diary, I wasn’t planning on whining about my personal life. Particularly because I don’t want to make my future self experience second-hand embarrassment from reading about it. And to be even more honest - I don’t want to waste good ink on such silly things.

But darn it, it’s nearly 4 o’clock in the morning and my mind is whirling around the realisation of how naïve I must have looked in Milo’s eyes, how easily I believed every word he said.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid girl.

And to think that in the past three weeks I finally started to come back to my senses, just to let one short encounter leave me dumbstruck. He didn’t even saw me. He didn’t knew I was standing there.

Where does such a person like Milo takes audacity to play with emotions as if it’s an instrument? He’ll crumble every expectation, false promise and whispers of sweet nothings like it’s a sand castle. It must be feeding his ego: feeling desired in girls eyes, watching them begin to trust and unravel themselves for him.

You know what, dear future me, I hope wherever you are reading this entry from, it is Arcadia Woods of all the places. Cause I haven’t felt as sure about accepting Society’s offer as I am right now.

In two days I’m leaving to Arcadia, where Milo wouldn’t reach me. I will forget all about him and his sorry existence, and start anew. He’s not going to get an ounce of satisfaction, watching me minimise my existence to a mere boy.