#we don't even begin to talk about how i've been so unfocused that i forget to take meds and eat or go to bed

[thehattersreveries]

Just letting you know, all names here are made up and this is a fictional situation! ♥

In incepto finis est.

"I'd like to keep the surname Lizars," I said, a look that Harrison couldn't discern flooding my features.

The tea in my hands seemed piping hot, and the steam was fogging my glasses as I sat with my knees to my chest.

It was the picture of calm.

My fiance looked over his small, square framed reading spectacles and raised an eyebrow, not bringing his face up. Whether that was due to a stiff neck, or due to laziness wasn't apparent.

"Why?" He simply said. Not out of offense - his relaxed demeanor showed that - he was simply curious.

He knew of my changing the last part of my double-barrel surname when I was young, but he also never knew why I only changed the last part. Of course I had told him of the reasoning for changing my surname at all, but in his mindset I might as well have changed both. I always did have a strange attachment to my mother; even after all she did to me.

"I… I don't know for certain," I breathed out, bringing my gaze from the mug in my hands that we bought together when we visited Scotland, to his face.

Harrison said nothing as I seemed to mull over the words in my head, simply lifting his face up and placing the ancient history map of the British Isles he was studying down onto the coffee table.

"Perhaps because it's something that I had a choice over," I hum, "It was the first, meaningful decision that was wholly my own."

Harrison's eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head to correctly analyse what I meant; a habit he had picked up after hours spent slaving away marking people's work.

He understood how important that must've been to me, we crossed that line years ago, but why get rid of my mothers surname now? He was half expecting me to want to keep both, and in all honesty he would have probably accepted that decision.

I pull my glasses off, knowing full well that I will no longer be able to see Harry, but it gives me solitude to imagine I'm pouring my heart out to a wall instead of a living, breathing human.

I appreciate his opinion more than anyone's in the world, but I cannot for the life of me talk about how I truly feel to someone without my throat closing up.

"I… I'm not keeping my mother's name because I've realised that I don't think I ever wanted to keep it to begin with," I almost whisper.

The almost child-like sound of it takes Harrison back to the days of quiet mumbling and hushed discussions we used to partake in at the back of our lecture halls in College; just the two of us - sore, awkward thumbs sticking out against the log of kids who didn't really care about the work they were doing and were just there to get a mark on their card.

Looking at the relaxed, and unfocused daze in my sea-like blue eyes, he remembered the first time I told him about my parents. It was all falling tears, sweet hiccups, and apologies that held no weight purely for the fact they were unneeded.

Harrison pulled himself up, the bones in his legs and back feeling stiff from the three hours spent bending over to glare at a map for so long, and made his way over to sit on the chair that I was perched on the arm of.

My sight turned focused, his closeness bringing him into visible distance for my frustratingly bad eyesight.

"Sweetheart," Harry begins, gently prising the mug of tea from my hands, placing it on the coffee table right beside the map, and pulling me down into his arms. "Whatever you decide I will march right along with you."

"Harry," I said, "It'll be your surname too. Don't feel you need to follow what I feel like purely because I don't have a good relationship with my parents."

Harrison chuckled; a warm, whisky sounding voice that fills my ears like honey does a jar.

"I think you're forgetting I don't have an exactly peachy relationship with my own."

"I know, I know, but the point still stands. Don't feel pressured to make me happy. I want you to be happy even more than that."

"Well then, In incepto finis est," he mused.

In incepto finis est. The end is in the beginning.

#creative writing #my writing #writeblr #reading #writing community #writing #writer #in incepto finis est #latin