since you've been gone, I can breathe for the first time

[beyondtheblonde]

Though I dreamed of this day long ago, now my answer is thank you, but no.
Look, I've barely begun; I'm hardly through.
I was living in ignorant bliss till I learned I could be more than this,
and, y'know, in a way, I owe it all to you.
I thought losing your love was a blow I could never withstand,
but look how far I have come without anyone holding my hand.
I have to find my way.
The day you broke my heart you handed me the chance to make a brand new start.
You helped me find my way.
There's still so much to learn, so many dreams to earn,
but even if I crash and burn ten times a day, I think I'm here to stay.
I'm gonna find my way.

✠ ✠ ✠ ✠ ✠
Though, for a moment, that gorgeous four carat princess cut antique diamond engagement ring nearly blinds Elle, she never actually doubts her choice. She doesn't have to think about it, question what she'll tell Warner. Even as she turns down the proposal she dreamt of for so long, she doesn't have it in her heart to be cruel. It really is his loss. She could have made him so incredibly happy, she knows that, and he wanted it, too. In a way, she thinks, all he needed was something like this, an excuse to take back to his parents to prove she was as worthy as any Vanderbilt.

But she doesn't need to win a murder trial to know that about herself, and neither should any prospective parents-in-law. It's her turn to make herself happy. She wouldn't be standing her without Warner, though. He deserves to know that.

Besides, they'll be at school again tomorrow next week and the semester after, and she doesn't want any bad blood between them. She'll always love him, even if she hasn't been in love with him since she doesn't know when. A long time now. Somewhere along the way, she stopped caring as much about winning him back as she did about proving herself as good as any of her classmates. She just turned out to be better. (And it's not just luck. She'll shrug it off as that when the reporters swarm her — and she knows they will, the minute she steps out of the building — something any girly girl with a subscription to Cosmo could have told them. She is lucky Chutney had such a flimsy alibi, but Callahan had one thing right, at least: she has instincts, and she trusts them. She refuses to give him credit for recognizing a fact.)

"I'm gonna find my way," she says, fingers tracing Warner's cheek. It might be the last time, she thinks distantly. Maybe not, though. She'd like to think they'll stay friends. It just won't ever be the way it used to be — and she's grateful for that.

Grateful, too, for the look on his face, the softness around the edges, that tells her he understands. He pulls her into a hug, and Elle smiles, almost laughs, burying her face against his shoulder and inhaling the warm bergamot and ginger notes of his expensive cologne. After all of these months — a year, really — of wanting him back, longing for the day he'd hold her again, there's something so wonderfully bittersweet about this to her. It's not like it used to be. Her heart doesn't rise into her throat or beat any faster. But it's nice. If anything, she thinks she might prefer the calm.

She brushes her lips against his cheek as she draws back, looking fondly up at him. "I'll see you at school," she says. "You know, if you ever need to talk... I know the break up can't be easy. Give me a call. I'm always here for you."

Warner smiles, nods, and she recognizes something in his expression that might be wistfulness, though she's rarely had cause to see it. He's always been so happy-go-lucky. Maybe they never really knew each other at all. "Well, I know that now," he says, then, after a pause, "Thanks, Elle."

She thinks he might say something else, but it doesn't happen, and she doesn't wait to wonder. Outside the courthouse, she'll have to cut through the throng of reporters, but she couldn't possibly care less about cameras and interviews right now. She has to find Emmett. There's so much she has to tell him, so much that needs to be said. Hurrying forward with just one glance back over her shoulder at Warner (poor thing, she knows how tough it is to be dumped when you thought you were getting married), she grabs the pink dog carrier with Bruiser in it to sling over her other shoulder, and pushes through the doors into the bright Boston sunlight.

Correction: into a dim, grey haze.

It's much colder than it was in Boston when she arrived at the courthouse, for one, the sky heavy with clouds. Much more telling, however, is the absence of journalists and paparazzi — and, for that matter, of her parents and Brooke, of Vivienne and Enid, Margot and Serena and Pilar.

And Emmett. She doesn't see Emmett.

She doesn't see anyone she recognizes, for that matter, and the landscape is unfamiliar, just some random city street. People carry umbrellas and cars splash through yesterday's puddles, and she's suddenly all too aware that her tea-length dress and lack of stockings are so not sufficient. Holding tight to her bags, she hurries down the steps, clacking toward the nearest passerby, a pretty brunette with apparent fashion sense. Elle just hopes she has an equally strong sense of direction.

"Excuse me! Sorry, hello," she says, "could you direct me to the front of the courthouse? I must have used the wrong door."