[ WP ] The characters from one of your abandoned stories find out that you have given up on them .

“ I'm sorry. ” 
 
 It does n't mean much, and she continues looking at me. I lower my eyes. The spiral begins anew. I feel the shame rise, the same shame as last time, the same shame as next time. 
 
 “ I'm just… a bit of a failure, ” I say, trying to smile like it's not really true. A joke. A little self-deprecating humour between friends. 
 
 She's still looking at me when I glance up, and I wonder if that's what disappointment looks like. I'd written about disappointing looks, written about disappointing people, written about people being disappointed. 
 
 “ I promise, I'll come back for you. You're always in my thoughts, you know? I'm always thinking about what's coming next. Always thinking about new, exciting adventures, and fun people to introduce you to. ” 
 
 Worse than a lie, it's a promise I mean and will break, like I did last time, like I will next time. 
 
 “ It's a little hard to write at the moment. Busy days, I'm really being worked hard. There's nothing I'd like more than to take a week or two off, and really get some writing done. But it's busy this time of year, the boss wo n't even let me slack off an hour. ” 
 
 A lie, an excuse, a reason for why I'm not a failure. I ca n't lie to myself though, and so I ca n't lie to her. She's got a window into my head, and I'm not privy of the same. I gave her a part of me. I might have made her, but I set her free too. 
 
 Forcing myself, I look at her. My hands clench, nails biting. I feel so much, and I do n't know what. I'm sure I feel angry at myself, still struggling to pursue what I love. I'm sure I feel sad. I'm sure I feel lost. I do n't know, though, I'm guessing. 
 
 I should be good at empathy after constructing so many people feeling so many things, but I never looked at myself. Never found out how I'm constructed. Never found why I write, why I ca n't write, why I lie about it. Never found why I made excuses for not trying. 
 
 “ I'm sorry, ” I say, and it's much heavier this time, the words pulling on me, trying to drag me down. “ I'm so sorry. ” 
 
 Her lips open, and like a whisper she says, “ I've been so lonely. ” 
 
 It hurts to hear, and I give up resisting, letting the tears roll down my cheeks. “ I'm sorry. ” 
 
 “ Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? ” 
 
 “ No, it's me, it's all me. It's never been you, ” I say, voice cracking. 
 
 “ Why? What is it about you? ” 
 
 I shrug, smiling that sad smile again. “ I do n't know. ” 
 
 Through my blurry vision, I see her moving. I do n't know what she will say, what she will do, I do n't know her any more. She's an idea, a collection of thoughts I had and tried to fit into a person. Things like kind and stubborn and talented and beautiful and motivated and arrogant. Interesting to me, so interesting I created a universe for her, created a world for her, created friends and family and conflicts and triumphs for her. 
 
 I close my eyes, lowering my head as I prepare for whatever she does. Even death sounds too light for the torture I've left her suffering. To make someone and leave them hanging by threads for days, months, years… there's no punishment great enough. 
 
 The seconds pass in agonising slowness. 
 
 Then, I feel her breath on my face and her hands on my shoulders, and she embraces me. It's too much. I just sob, while she moves a hand to the back of my head and whispers, “ There, there. ” Her kindness burns white hot, hotter than I'd imagined. I had always thought her kindness held her back, stopped her from reaching her pinnacle, kept her moving two steps forward, one step back. 
 
 “ I'm sorry, ” I mumble into the top of her head. “ I'm so sorry. ” The words make me feel lighter. 
 
 “ It's okay, ” she whispers back. 
 
 “ What can I do? How can I make you happy? ” 
 
 She hums for a long time, still holding me tight. “ This is enough, ” she says. 
 
 “ But… this… ” I say, trying to understand. 
 
 “ Right now, I'm not lonely any more, ” she says. “ That's enough. ” 
 
 I hug her tightly before relaxing. “ Okay, ” I say, smiling, properly this time. 
 
 “ Okay, ” she says back, and I can practically hear the smile in her voice. 
 
 And, despite her saying this is enough, all I can think of is to promise her that this time will be different, like I did last time and like I will next time.
