Waiting.

I seem unable to write a story without someone committing suicide.

“Promise me you’ll write?” Abby begged, brushing away her tears. “Promise?”

“I promise. You know I’ll always wait for you, Abby,” Ryan replied as held back tears of his own. He had to be strong, he couldn’t make it harder for her than it already was.

“I know…we promised each other that long ago,” she murmured, still sounding unsure as she looked shyly down at her hands while they twisted at the ring on her right ring finger.

Ryan put his finger under her chin and gently raised her head so he could look her in the eye before softly saying, “Abby, we gave each other those Claddagh rings for a reason. The hands symbolize friendship, the heart is for love, and the crown is for loyalty. I will always love you and be loyal to you, I swear on my life. I will wait for you as long as it takes.”

 

***

Ryan smiled slightly as he remembered that day five years ago, the day before Abby had left her home country of Australia to live in England with her parents. She hadn’t wanted to go, but at the time she’d been 17 and too scared to go against her disapproving father’s wishes.

He glanced down at his own right hand, looking at the ring as it glinted in the fading sunlight. He still wore it facing inwards. And hadn’t removed it or turned it around since Abby gave it to him five and a half years ago.

He’d written to her as he’d promised, pouring his heart into every letter he sent. Neither of their parents supported their relationship, and they were hence banned from making phone calls to each other on the grounds that it was too expensive. His letters would take nearly a fortnight to cross the ocean to England, and hers would take just as long to arrive in Australia. This meant that they only had contact with each other approximately once a month. At least, at the beginning. For the first few months, Abby had responded to every letter he sent her, replying with ones equally long and heartfelt. In the first year, Ryan sent thirteen letters. He received seven replies, three of which were from the first three months.

It took Abby nineteen months to stop replying to his letters completely, and Ryan three years to give up on writing them. The last letter he received was cold and distant, starting with “To Ryan” and ending with an abrupt “Abby.” She answered his questions and nothing more. But that was no more than a splinter in his heart when compared to his pain when he read her post-script, added on hastily with a different pen as she hurriedly read over her letter before sealing the envelope.

 

P.S " I seem to have misplaced that ring you gave me. But I’m not too worried, it was damaged anyway.

 

Ryan had read that post-script many times in the next three and a half years, extracting every possible meaning from the words written in her neat cursive script. He refused to give up hope and break his promise, and so continued his letters, not letting himself wonder if she even read them anymore.

Then, yesterday he’d received a letter from her, the first in more than three years. Instantly recognizing her handwriting, he’d torn open the envelope, carelessly throwing it to the ground. The letter had been short and all the more painful for it.

 

 

 

To Ryan,

 

As you may have already noticed, the photo enclosed within this envelope is of me and my son, who’ll be around a month old when you get this letter. His name is Timothy David Townsend; David after my grandfather and Timothy after Mike’s uncle. He’s been two years in the making, and Mike and I couldn’t be happier with him.

I hope you’re doing well,

 

Abigail.

 

Ryan had fallen to his knees, feeling physically winded. He felt for the envelope on the carpet, and pulled the previously unnoticed photo out. It was the first time he’d seen Abby in five years.

She was sitting up in a hospital bed, grinning as she held a tiny fat baby in her arms. Holding her hand and smiling cheesily at the camera was a scrawny, balding man in an expensive suit. Ryan assumed this was the Mike Townsend she’d married.

 

***

 

Looking back, a day later, Ryan found that he couldn’t remember anything after seeing the photo, he just remembered suddenly arriving on the roof of what seemed to be an apartment building, recalling painful events as he contemplated when to jump.

It was nothing like the movies; there was no crowd gaping mindlessly up at him, no police officers coaxing him away from the edge, no giant inflatable mattress to cushion his fall. There was no one. Just him, the setting sun and the cool breeze in his hair. That was all there had been in the past five years.

He took one last look around, took one last breath, then took the last step he’d ever take..

 

TWO WEEKS LATER

 

 

Abby Townsend stepped through the front door of her house, balancing Tim in one arm while she held her handbag and the mail in the other. Setting he bag down on the kitchen bench, she walked into the lounge room, put Tim in his playpen and sat down to peruse the mail.

Electricity bill, water bill, a congratulations card from Margaret " only a month and a half late there, dear " someone offering to clean the house and a letter. Who could that be? No one sends letters anymore when they could just pick up the phone.

The envelope was addressed to her, and there was no return address. Frowning, she opened the letter to find a single slip of paper with six words written upon it. It read

 

I will still wait for you.

 

Author's Note

First off, ew, romance. Second, I wrote this at 2am last night, so please tell me any mistakes etc or any improvements. Thanks =)