Lily's beautiful. I always knew it in an imprecise way, but I wasn't expecting this.

Wasn't expecting a perfectly symmetrical face, complete with rosy lips and a deep cupid's bow, upturned eyes and bright blue irises that swirl alluringly.

Wasn't expecting a slight figure or musician's hands, with long elegant fingers, the appendages adorned in a mismatch of silver rings that were both parts edgy and flawless.

And I especially wasn't expecting a honeyed tan, her skin dancing with a natural glow, or her ash blonde hair, the ends curled into careless waves.

"You must be Lizzie." She offers me one of her perfect hands and smiles, her pert lips flattening a little on the top.

"Yeah, and you're Lilly, right?" My voice manages to behave, the words crisp and clear.

"Yes," she says, her smile growing. "It's nice to finally meet you. I kinda feel like I'm meeting a celebrity."

"A celebrity?" I wipe my hand along the hem of my skirt and shift my weight onto my left leg.

"Not in a bad way," she says, her voice jumping. "But Isaac sure has a lot of stories about you."

"Likewise."

"Anyway." She shakes her head, her ash waves falling prettily. "I should get going. He's in the living room."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

I head in and close the door behind me, pulling at the brass knob to activate the lock. Just as I kick off my trainers, Isaac slinks into the hallway. His expression is painfully neutral, his stance unbothered, and his voice cold.

"Do you want a drink?" he asks, icy blue energy crackling around him.

"No. I'll only be a minute."

He waits for me to straighten up before turning towards the kitchen. I scurry after him, my bag suddenly weighing a tonne, and perch awkwardly on the edge of one of the bar stools that surround the enormous marble island in the centre of the room.

"What was Lily doing here?" I ask as I drum my fingers on the edge of the cool surface.

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Fair enough."

A moment of silence passes between us, the awkwardness smothered under the rumble of the kettle.

"She was returning a few of my things," he eventually says. "You know, books, clothes."

"Likewise."

He turns around and raises an eyebrow, prompting me to tug the t-shirt out from the depths of my bag. It still smells like him, fresh and citrusy, with a hint of my favourite perfume ruining the profile. "I believe this is yours," I say, my arm outstretched in a show of civility.

"I actually forgot about it."

"Same, but I was unpacking last night, and I realised it certainly doesn't belong to me."

"You could've kept it."

"I'm not sure that's too wise."

"Why? Will your boyfriend throw a fit?"

I narrow my eyes and slide the t-shirt across the island. It falls off the edge, disappearing from my line of sight.

"What's Henry been telling you?" I ask, my fingers tightening on the counter edge.

"Nothing I couldn't figure out myself."

"You don't know him. You don't know us."

"Do you?" he asks, his head lolling to the side in cold cruelty.

"Do I what?"

"Know him? Like really know him?"

"He's my boyfriend," I hiss.

"Yes, well, when someone shows you who they are, you should take them at their word. But then I guess you can't see what the rest of us do."

I roll my eyes and stand up. "I thought we could be civil."

His brown eyes harden until they're an impenetrable fort, his sneer the shark-infested moat, and he crosses his arms tightly around his chest. "You thought wrong."

"Glad to know."

His lips part, and I falter for a second, my eyes zeroing in on his, but the silence that follows is all I need to know that it's time to go. Time to run away.

From him.

From us.

From everything that should've never been and, thankfully, never will.

From a future I almost had.

From that summer, our summer.

From bliss.

But bliss isn't eternal; it ebbs and flows, ruined by stormy suffering and mistimed misery. Picking Spencer dragged me away from the pastel utopia Isaac led me into, but saying goodbye to Isaac, to our moment of perfect happiness, will simply pull me into something bolder and brighter. At least I hope it does, for if it doesn't, all of this was for nothing.

The door slams shut behind me. I fish my phone out of my bag, three missed calls splashed across the screen. Two are from Paula, the other is Spencer. I ignore his name and click on hers. She answers on the third ring.

"Hey Paul—"

"I did it." Her voice is hollow but alive. Very, very alive. "I did it," she repeats herself. "I actually did it."

"Did what?"

"Raheem. I broke up with him. For good this time. No pause, no maybe, just a good, old-fashioned breakup."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." She sounds lighter, happier. "I needed to do it."

She pauses just as an ambulance whizzes past and seems to lose her train of thought. "Where are you?" she asks, the idea of Raheem lost entirely.

"Isaac's."

"Jesus Christ, Lizzie. Leave the poor boy alone."

"I am," I hiss as I glance towards the house. "I just needed to return something."

"What?"

"A shirt."

"Why did you have his shirt?"

"It's a long story," I sigh, my shoulders sagging at the thought of that night.

"Well, lucky for you, I have nothing but time. Come over?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" It's not even three.

"Company-wide personal day." She says it as if it's an inconvenience rather than a gift from God, but then it is Paula. Any opportunity to work is a golden one. "Are you in or not?"

"I'm in," I laugh.

"Chinese or Indian?"

"Both."

She pauses before heaving a huge sigh. "Fine, but only because we're celebrating."

"You're brave," I whisper as I turn onto the main road and approach the bus stop.

"You too, Lizzie, you too."

Except brave people don't do cowardly shit, and that's all I've done lately.

~*~

Paula lives in a boxy apartment building with two other friends from university. They're slightly insufferable in the way all of Paula's friends are, but they rarely complain when I'm sprawled across their sofa with a humongous bowl of popcorn and M&Ms. As such, they're my favourites.

Although now I'm thinking about it, there's not much competition. Everyone else is the literal definition of arsehole. I don't know how Paula puts up with them. Honestly, she's a saint.

I punch her flat number into the intercom system and stick my tongue out when the light beside the camera flashes green. An angelic laugh floats over the speaker, and the door unlocks with a loud click.

The lobby is an ice-box. I wrap my arms tightly around myself and press against the elevator button over and over again until the sleek silver doors open, revealing floor to ceiling mirrors and an expensive dark interior. I avoid my reflection as the lift whizzes to the sixth floor and hurry out the moment the doors begin to part.

Paula's waiting in the hallway, one brow raised as she watches me scramble down the corridor and into her flat. It's unusually quiet, that is until I catch the time.

"When do Tweedledee and Dumb usually come back?" I ask as I collapse onto the stiff grey sofa.

"Lizzie." She slaps my shoulder as she breezes past and sits, rather daintily, in the matching armchair. "Don't call them that."

"Okay." I make a massive show of rolling my eyes before calling them by their actual names.

"They're away."

"Away?"

"On holiday."

"So it's just you and me?"

She nods. I pump a fist into the air and squeal, my legs joining my hand. I need this. Need sister time. Time away from Henry's judgmental glare and Spencer's accusations. Time to set things straight with a sensible guiding light.

"How did you do it?" I ask my earlier excitement waning.

"Do what?"

"Break up with Raheem. How did you decide to cut him loose? Cut yourself loose?"

She shrugs and pulls her knees into her chest. "It was just time, I guess."

"Time?"

"It was causing me more stress than joy," she says, her muscles tensing. "I couldn't do it anymore. To him, to myself. I knew I had to set us free." She pauses, her beady eyes boring into mine, and smiles. "Why? Are you going to dump Spencer?"

"No," I laugh. "Definitely not. He makes me happy."

"You've said that a million times."

There's a but in her voice. It presses softly around the edges, begging for release. So I raise a brow and meet her inquiring gaze, giving it just that. "But?" I ask, any laughter disappearing with the surprisingly serious turn.

Her eyes drop to her exposed kneecaps, an uncertain shrug rolling through her body, and she shakes her head. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing." It's never nothing with Paula.

"It's just." She falters and licks her lips, a trickle of saliva running down her chin.

"It's just what?"

"It's just that I'm not sure he does. Make you happy, that is."

"You don't think he makes me happy?"

She's suddenly bashful, her cheeks a burnt orange colour that's both pretty and annoying. "You can convince yourself of anything," she says, still refusing to meet my gaze.

"What's that got to do with Spencer?"

"It's just you love him so much that I think you've convinced yourself you're actually happy."

"How would you know?" I ask, sitting up straight. "You're hardly around."

"That's not fair."

"But it's true. You zip in and out of the family as and when it's convenient for you. You comfort me when everything goes to shit but fail to congratulate me when they're good. You don't know anything about Spencer and me as a couple. So you don't get to tell me how I feel."

"I wasn't trying to upset you," she says, her voice wobbling. "I just want you to have some perspective."

"On what?"

"Your relationship. You love him, and that's great, but he's the safe option. You don't have to choose him just because it's what you know."

"You say it like I have a choice."

"But you do. I saw you and Isaac—"

"Let me stop you there."

She purses her lips.

"There's no me and Isaac," I say, our names uncomfortable in my mouth. "There is simply me, and then somewhere out there, there is him. But there is no us."

"You were happy, Lizzie. I know it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I hiss as I wriggle off the edge of the sofa and stumble to my feet.

"Come on, Lizzie." She's hot on my heels. "Don't be like this."

"I'm not being like anything."

"Yes, you're being stubborn."

"Well too bad."

"You can't get angry every time you hear something you don't like," she mutters, shaking her head in a frustratingly maternal way.

"It's not that I don't like what you're saying."

"Then what is it?"

"You don't support me," I wail, my hands balling into fists. "You simply lecture and question me. It's exhausting. Especially when all I want is for you to be there for me no matter what you think about my decision. And you know what the crazy part is?"

She shakes her head.

"Dad's the only one who does. Well, Dad and Jess. But the rest of you? All you can do is prep me for my inevitable heartbreak, which would be fine if the heartbreak had happened, but it hasn't."

Her mouth opens and closes in an aquatic fashion. At one point, something close to a gurgle escapes, but it's quickly smothered by the smacking of her lips. I watch for at least a minute, waiting for three simple words, but they never come, so I turn and leave.

So much for sister time.

So much for my guiding light.

***

I think Lizzie's unravelling a little.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please remember to share, comment and vote.

xxx