Chapter Five

"Remember I said you're grieving, mourning a loss, a recent one. They are five stages of grief - Denial, Anger, Bargainning, Depression and Acceptance, however, writers have argued that going through grief doesn't mandates that we go through this stages in a chronological order, yes these are the stages we pass through when grieving a certain loss but this stages are not felt chronologically. Now, I believe you are mourning the loss of yourself, grieving the loss of who used to be."

I stare at her, wondering how she can spew nonsence with a straight face "You are incredulous."

She stares at me "It's called Self Mourning. Over the course of our life, we lose pieces of ourselves, becoming someone we never thought we'd be. We need to grieve who we were, so we can become who we are meant to be. It is as simple as mourning the loss of a -- "

I cut her off, angry "Simple? Chynna, Griefing is not simple. What the fuck are you even talking about. I lost my Mother, lost my Brother, and now you're telling me I need to grief myself. I've lost everyone, and at the end of the day, the only person have is me, and now, you're telling me I . . . I have to grief me?" I snap, and her gaze softens, I hate it, because I see pity all over her face.

"Don't pity me, you basically just told me I was dead, and need to mourn myself. I'm here, alive, breathing, watch me feel." I say, my tone sharp.

"I'm sorry Viola. I know grief is not easy, I know intimately how it feels, because I lost a child once, so I know, but if I offended you, I'm sorry." She says, and I sink into myself, feeling stupid and insensitive.

"However, you are grieving the loss of yourself. What I meant to say is grieving the loss of one's self is similar to grieving the loss of a loved one. Perhaps, you're in de -- "

I slam the laptop shut, no longer caring how insensitive it makes me. I place my hands on my cheek, and it's warm, I am breathing, I am here.

_____

Marcello Mikealson is one of my oldest friend, and also an ex boygfriend, we dated for a month or so before he vanished, his departure led to a series of action I'll rather not thinbk about.

In the last two years, he has been atoning for sins of his past, and we've become friends again. I once thought I'd marry him, I loved him, I still do, but I am not in love with him, and he is forever bound to Belle Valentino.

I am sitting upright on my bed, staring at his name as it flashes through my screen, repeatedly.

Relectantly, I pick it up.

"Baby." He says, and I grin, immediately switching it to face time.

"Marcello." I laugh. Damain Marcello Mikealson is a very handsome italian man, perfect but weighed by past love and trauma. One of the things we all share is Trauma.

"Clementine," He grins childishly.

"How is London?"

I see he's in a car, a Lambo probably, because coupled with being handsome, he's also rich. I chew my bottom lip at his question because I haven't step outside, and do not know how London is, but that changes now, I will show Chynna I am not mourning.

"London is fine, what part of the world are you in?" I say, running my hand over my face, feeling self concious.

"New Orleans." He smiles, and I nod, that place nostalgic.

"Caden's Art Gallery could be ready in six months, and launched in a year. My bar, however is taking longer than expected."

I nod, with a smile, ignoring the pang in my chest. Of course, they moved on without me.

"The one in Smallville?" I ask, ignoring the voices in my head.

"Ready." He says, with pride.

"I will be in London in a few weeks, Is it okay if I crash at yours?'

I frown "You are a billionaire, Damian, you don't have to crash at my place."

He shrugs, I know he is not a man of many words, I have knowm him for years, and learnt to read between the lines.

"My door is always opened, how is Aida, by the way?" I say, and he grins, telling me how annoying his sister has gotten

_____

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. For the first time in months, I am stepping outside the doors. Wearing a simple flower patterned dress, with ankled boots, and my hair in a messy bun.

I applied lip gloss, wanted to use eyeliner, then changed my mind, I want to look casual, cool, not like a tourist. I practice my smile so it doesn't look forced. You'd think I want to murder the President with how shaky my hand is.

Carefully, and calculated, I walk out of the house, my stomach grumbling instantly. I have been living on Pizzas for a while, perhaps, it's time to taste something London-ish.

Crossing the streets, I walk into a restaurant, and head for the counter. I am holding my breath all through, because now that I am outside, I remember why I stayed inside.

they are talking about you.

ugly.

not enough.

uglyy.

"Can I help you?" A deep voice cuts through, and I shrink into myself.

"Uhm," I stammer, licking my lips, only to lick the lipgloss, I cringe inwardly.

"This might be weird, so bear with me, I am a little hungry, and want to try something London-ish, but I don't know what to eat, cause I am not from here." I ramble, feeling my heart pound, he's going to laugh at me, then send me away.

"Okay." He smiles instead.

"Why not sit over there, I'll bring you some london-ish food."

I nod, this is progress.