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Charlotte and Mary were laughing in the kitchen, washing the dishes they just used for breakfast. The sun was shining through the small window, the rays reflecting on their long locks draping over their shoulders. Stomachs were filled with eggs and toasted bread, the carton of milk resting flat on the table. Mary got to enjoy the cooking skills of her new friend and she loved it dearly, it had been a long time since she didn't make the food herself. Charlotte was there to accompany the lonely person who hadn't had anyone in the apartment since Tommy left and brought her some joy with her conversations and funny jokes.
"Char, watch out for that glass. It's really fragile alright," Mary told her friend who was drying the cup she had received as a gift from her parents, the colors of the flowers almost completely washed away from the many years it had been used.
"You're the one to say. I wasn't the one who broke the plate she was eating on," Charlotte laughed through her answer and received a soft hit from the wet cloth the young girl had been using.
"That's not fair, I am just really tired."
"Do you always have an excuse?"
"Most of the time, yeah." A genuine small smile crept on Mary's face, pushing her lips up her cheeks.
"You're impossible."
"It's not my fault you came up to me, I didn't tell you to," she snickered.
"I always have to help people in need, I'm a hero like that." Charlotte folded the towel and placed it over the chair standing in the sunlight, allowing it to dry over the wooden furniture.
"You're an angel, Char."
"And you're a little cloud of rain and thunder."
"That's mean!"
Mary could hear the doorbell ring when she cleaning the rest from the kitchen she thought needed to look neater. She put the cloth down on the counter next to her fruit basket and fastly made her way to the hall. Her fingers slipped around the door knob and she twisted it open, the older mailman standing in the opening with a white envelope in his hands, his bag standing by his feet as he pulled out the journal of that day. The young girl thanked him and entered her house again, slowly closing the door behind her after waving at the man for one more time. He jumped back on his bike and cycled to the next house, his briefcase filled with letters and small advertisements.
"Mar? Who was it?," Charlotte screamed from the couch, not hearing the faint whisper slipping through the blonde girl's lips.
"Mary, is everything alright?"
But she still couldn't hear the soft whimpers coming from the young girl. Charlotte jumped on her feet and shuffled closer to the hall her friend had been standing in for quite some time. She pushed the chairs in the living room out of her way as she walked faster and faster towards the shaking figure holding a white piece of paper in her fisted hands.
But right before she could reach the woman and pull her in her warm arms, Mary fell to her knees and buried her head in her hands. Tears rolled down the soft skin of her blushed cheeks and fell onto the fingers covering her brown eyes. Shoulders were shaking with the rest of her broken body, breathing being almost impossible for her. Mary was torn to shreds, heart smashed against the wall, her happiness shattered over the floor.
She could feel her chest tightening, it was like a rubber band pulling against her while she tried to inhale fresh air. It captured herself in her own body, she felt locked up in a cell. Mary placed her hand against her ribs, trying to concentrate on the motions it had to make. But nothing happened, she was stuck in this nightmare. She couldn't see through her teary eyes, everything glossy and hard to recognize any shapes in the figures around her.
Charlotte sat down on the ground, her legs crossed in front of her lap. She moved closer to Mary and rested her fingers on the girl's chin, pushing her head up from the ground. The woman whispered in a soft tone while pulling her in a loving embrace, putting Mary's face on her shoulder. She moved her hands on her friend's back and counted with her, telling her when to inhale and when to exhale. She wanted to know what was going on. She might already understand, but didn't want to believe that any of it was true, pushing all the bad possibilities to the side.
"H-he –"
"You have to calm down first, then tell me what is going on," Charlotte said, rubbing her hands in circles over Mary's shirt.
"He is gone, actually gone." It escaped her lips with a soft sob through the words, her tears not stopping but only getting worse. She didn't understand why, but her telling her dear friend what she just read, actually conforming it with her own voice, made it so much worse for the young girl.
"Tommy's dead, they said it in the letter."
Charlotte closed her eyes, now understanding what was written on the white paper that she still held in her fist, completely destroyed by the blonde's tight grip.
"I'm –"
"No please, don't say anything. Don't tell me you're sorry, because there would be no reason to. They killed him, slaughtered him with canons and guns, not you." Mary wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks, but it didn't help to brush away the droplets as more kept on coming. She unfolded the letter she held in her fist and read through the sentences again, trying to understand everything typed down.
"They killed him," she whispered.
"Mar?"
"They bloody killed him! My Tommy, killed while fighting a fight he had nothing to do with. Killed because I didn't stop it." The blonde raised on her feet again, escaping from the arms that held her close.
"No, don't say that. You can't put the blame on yourself."
"It's not like I am lying! I told him he could go back if he wished to, I listened to what -," she glanced up at the woman in front of her as her mouth started gaping open and her the pupils in her eyes slowly inflating.
"You have to leave," she bluntly said to her friend, swallowing the anger down her throat.
"Mary listen to me, you will do things you'll regret if you're alone."
"Just leave okay."
Charlotte wanted to protest, but the soft 'please' that Mary whispered made her take her jacket and walk out of the door, listening to the girl's demands. She didn't want to say goodbye to her in a situation like this, but noticed that she needed time alone, time to place and accept what happened.
Mary twisted the key in the lock, blocking out anyone from entering the house she was living in, surviving alone until he comes back. But he doesn't, he will never come back and hug her again. No more soft kissed on the cheeks, no more laughs bursting through the halls. No new memories, only old ones that rushed in front of her eyes. No more hugs that felt so comforting, no more Tommy that breathed fresh air in the house, no more jokes coming from his side. He was dead, killed by bullets and explosions, buried in a sad grave with hundreds of others that left life with him.
The blonde girl faltered through the house, shoving her feet in front of the other. Her hands were pulling on her long hairs, her teeth was chewing on her chapped lips. She tried to find her way to the living room, but couldn't get any further than the table where she crashed into. Mary rested her hands on the table before letting out a loud sob she was hiding in her mouth, a sob she had been suppressing down her throat. Her mind was screaming with her heart, sharp pains shooting through her head.
"He's gone," she whispered again, before closing her eyes and tearing the paper she held in her hands.
