IS IT WORTH IT

Chapter: 1 "You always look so lovely, Guinevere," he murmured, his words causing my heart to skip a beat as he gazed into my eyes. I had received countless compliments before, but none had ever stirred my heart quite like this. It was as though, for the first time, I truly felt the rhythm of my own heartbeat." ________________________ The moment I saw Josh, I didn't feel anything. He wasn't particularly handsome or popular, and while I received plenty of compliments about my own appearance, I didn't find him particularly noteworthy. He was simply going about his life, seated with his group of friends. I wasn't interested in him, nor was I interested in much of anything else. It was the first day back at school after a long vocation, and I was certain I wasn't the only one lacking energy to deal with it. Despite it being everyone's first day back, they all seemed to be getting along quite well. Was it just me who thought sitting there, waiting for the teacher, was a waste of time? I was so bored that I found myself yawning repeatedly. It's not as though my vocation had been particularly enjoyable either. In fact, it was the worst vocation I had ever experienced. I hoped to never have to endure another March like that again. Finally, the teacher arrived, ten minutes late after the bell rang. She entered and introduced herself, but I found myself disinterested in her words. Everything she said seemed unconcerned, and I longed to retreat to the comfort of my bed, where I could listen to song. However, I knew indulging in such a desire would only be tolerating myself. Moving forward, I believed, was always the best choice—a conviction I held firmly. After the teacher finished speaking, she proceeded to call out each of our names, instructing us to stand up. As she called out the names, I noticed some of my old classmates among the group, though I wasn't particularly eager to reunite with them. Lost in my own thoughts, I stared blankly at the door until the teacher uttered a familiar name: "Josh... Josh Whitlock." The mention of his name caught me off guard. I turned my gaze towards the person standing, not because I recognized him or found him attractive, but because of his surname. Just hearing his last name caused my heart to sink, and a few tears welled up in my eyes. Hastily, I wiped them away before anyone could notice. It wasn't the person himself, but the association with his name that stirred such emotions within me. The moment replays in my mind, causing a dull ache in my head. He was an experience I'll never forget, but he wounded me deeply, like a barrage of arrows piercing my heart. That night, all I heard were warnings from others: "Don't get close to him," "You'll get hurt," "He's trouble, Guinevere." But despite the cautionary tales, my heart gravitated towards him, an unstoppable force even to myself. With his caring nature, towering stature, striking looks, and intelligence, he embodied the perfect boyfriend everyone dreams of. He wasn't the person they warned me about, and his persuasive charm slowly eroded my sense of self. Perhaps that's the nature of love—losing yourself bit by bit. Suddenly, he entered my life, showering me with affection. It felt like I had everything I could ever want. Loving him made me realize that age is irrelevant when it comes to matters of the heart. But along with love, comes pain. They warned me, and I witnessed it firsthand. If only I could see him once more... Claude Whitlock, the guitarist and singer in his renowned band, was my boyfriend. Losing him plunged me into darkness. It was like being trapped in the depths of a dark ocean, suffocating and helpless. When I tried to cry for help, all I could utter was his name. If only I hadn't gone to his house that day. If only I hadn't witnessed the tragic sight of him hanging from the ceiling, lifeless. It was the worst holiday, the darkest March... I loved him deeply. Despite my insistence on moving forward, I still keep his guitar in my bedroom. I can't take a single step without him. His playful jokes echo in my mind whenever I hear the songs he wrote for me. Every lyric is etched into my memory. They warned me, and in the end, I suffered just as they predicted. But I lack the courage to seek help or share my sorrow with anyone. All I have are memories, my pillow, the teddy bear he gave me, and his dusty guitar. How could I ever forget him when he was my constant companion for two years, walking every step with me? I wonder if he will miss me where he is now. I wish I could go back in time and change the ending. He knew all the songs I loved, and he promised me that he would make me feel the songs and relate to them. And he did keep his promise. "You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleeding." I never regret meeting him, but sometimes when I'm all alone, I have this thought: "If only I hadn't fallen for you, maybe I would be in a brighter spot, living my best life." The moment he was gone, chasing the shadow of his former self, reluctantly discarding his guitar and the gift he gave me, would it make it easier to move forward? But deep inside, I was afraid I would forget him. That's what scared me the most.Now I'm here, helplessly waiting for him to come back to me. Waiting for a person who will never return. When did it go wrong? I want to know. Until then, I'll keep cursing him. Claude Whitlock. I could never forget his name, his face, his voice, his smell. I wish someone would help me escape from this dark, deep ocean I am trapped in, but I want that person to be Claude Whitlock.