indefinite hiatus

❛ What am I going to do without you? ❜

          The venue brimmed with multitudes of people from all walks of the entertainment industry. Lights flashed periodically as both photographers and PR personnel snapped photos of the event in motion, capturing stunning stills of those in attendance in high definition. The murmur that carried to and fro across the room held the highest of praises for the new body of work finally bestowed upon them after months and months of silence. So long, was the one descriptor everyone came back to again and again. Lifetimes was what it had felt like.

          Megan could attest to that herself. Having been present at the album’s conception ( and partly the reason as to why it was written in the first place. ) The project had been John’s coping mechanism, the so-called security blanket he gripped tightly to when the reality of the situation between them had grown far graver than either had anticipated; her guilt had eaten at her, his anger had raged, and yet, they had found a way to make it work. Begrudgingly on his part to start, eagerly on hers.

          Slowly she wandered the room, teeth finding the inside corner of her cheek in her effort to keep from smiling at every photo put on display in celebration. Varying stages of John’s career played out before her eyes–– the embarrassing MySpace era photos ( terrible outfits and hair styles included ), stills of the first shows ever performed, the day the contract was signed with the label, glorious magazine covers that were all gloss and excitement. It was easy to get lost in the haze, she realized. The attention, the exaltation, the pride.

          Around her the murmur grew, but no one but her would know the exact moment John stepped foot into the room. His being pulled at her from across the vast space, bringing her head up and around while legs propelled her forward without her consent. She pulled up short and as she did so those around her were stirred into action in dawning realization that the man of the hour had arrived. His scent was held in her lungs until they burned.

                                      And he was exactly that. Breathtaking.

          If knowledge of his accident had been kept under the radar no one would be the wiser with the way he moved, owning the room with a smooth, unhindered stride and dazzling smile. He looked good for having let his hair grow out a bit more, for letting the scruff on his chin run wild. And she wasn’t the only one who thought so as the women around her ( as well as some of the men ) whispered their approval and suddenly she wished she could have a proper drink.

          He could feel her there, she knew. She watched from afar as every time he lifted his head to search her out in the crowd his attention was pulled away, smile in place as he was spoken to, his demeanor warm and inviting. Megan felt her heart ache. Whether he knew it or not–– this was his last test and he was passing with flying colors.

          Megan lingered in the kitchen doorway as John spoke, head bowed as she listened as if to help her focus on the words. There came that bittersweet ache again, tugging at her in a way she didn’t want but was in no way surprised by. She pursed her lips in thought, kohl rimmed eyes trained on her bare feet as she mulled over the multitude of things she could say. Said things ranged from defensiveness to nonchalance and fell everywhere in between. Surprisingly in the end the beast chose for her after an uncharacteristically quiet night.

          It chose melancholia.

          She felt herself smile despite the pain that slowly consumed her and after a moment she met his gaze with glossy eyes, unshed tears brimming.

                                              “ Thrive. ”