Page 28 of Falling for Fury

You are not cut out for the adult world. You will never be good enough. Can’t you see? They fire you because they know you can’t handle it. Have you even tried to show them a work ethic? Do you know what a work ethic is? All the effort in the world and you’d still probably fail. Because you can’t do it.

You aren’t good enough. Why would you ever think that you’d be good enough, smart enough or strong enough to succeed?

This life isn’t for you.

I throw myself onto my bed and scream into a pillow. I scream until my throat burns and the tears fall without control. I sit up and let myself sink off the bed with my back against the edge of the mattress as the gut twisting sobs fall out of me with a violence, and I feel it again. The claws of misery latching on and pulling me back.

The darkness, the thick goo of defeat, slowly traveling my bones and coating every inch of my body in the numbing blackness of nothingness.

I don’t know what else to do. How to work harder. I feel like I am at my breaking point. Am I not working hard enough? Am I not trying hard enough? Am I really just entitled and stuck in my head, expecting handouts while being lazy and selfish?

As tears fall, I feel my face go numb. My body falls slowly down the side of the bed, and I lie flat to the ground and stare up at the ceiling.

Nothing.

Insignificant.

Worthless.

The words ping-pong in my head until they dissolve into tears. Who was I kidding? My own parents don’t think I am cut out for this world. What delusion have I been floating on that I thought I could do this?

Hell, my boss even had a look of sympathy when he fired me, like he knew something I didn’t. This life just isn’t for you Addy, the sooner you work that out, the better for everyone.

The sound of knocking on my door pulls me from my thoughts, but I try and fail to move my body, move my lungs or my mouth to say anything in return.

“Addy?” The soft, deep, caramel voice seeps through the door and into my bones. I manage to reach my hand up to my mouth to cover my sob. He can’t see you like this. You are too much like this.

“Addy, please. I am so sorry I started that. Will you please let me see you?” Noah pleads from the other side of the door, and I can hear the pain in his voice. Still, I cannot pull myself from my despair. He will be better off without wearing my burdens. I will not pull him down with me.

All you do is cry and talk about your anger like it is a real thing, but honestly, all I hear are complaints, like you don’t actually want to fix yourself. How am I meant to break up with someone like that? What if you end up killing yourself and I am left with the guilt of that? I have to be the one to call your parents to say I broke your heart, so you ended it. God, Addy, have you never thought about how your spirals affect the people around you?

Jake’s break up speech rushes through my head as a painful reminder of why I should not have let myself become hopeful where Noah is concerned.

No. I will not let my spirals affect the people around me.

“Addy,” he sighs in pain. “You don’t have to let me in. Please, just know that I am so, so sorry for starting that.” He takes a breath. “I just… I—” he takes another breath, probably considering if I am worth the effort of his apology. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that, least of all by your parents. I had no idea. I wish I could go back and just keep my mouth shut.” He sighs and I can hear him place a hand over the door. “Goodnight, Addy.” And as I hear his steps fade and his door next to me close, it is like something in my chest cracks open, and I let the crying take over, being as silent as possible to avoid Noah hearing me through the walls. The body jerking, breathtaking crying that hurts every muscle in my body.

I laid on the floor for what felt like ten years, but was probably close to two hours. By the time I pulled enough strength to stand, it was dark outside. I dragged myself into the bathroom and stared. I knew. Knew the shower was a smarter choice. The lack of control I have on my darkness right now, I do not trust myself to hold it together long enough to make it out of the bath. The rest of the night was a blur of showering, dressing and folding myself into bed. The aching numbness never leaving my bones, like a robot on auto-pilot, moving because I have to, not because I have a choice or control. Sleep, thankfully, found me quickly, although not peacefully.

The next morning, I am woken up by the warm spring sun streaming through the curtains, cursing my robot state of mind for failing to remember to close them. I look up at the ceiling and run my hands over my face, feeling the guilt and embarrassment from my episode soak the numbness out of my bones. “What is wrong with me?” I grunt to myself.

The scent of breakfast cooking downstairs reaches my room, but I refuse to face anyone after yesterday at lunch. I’ll just wait until the house is empty before I drag myself downstairs to chug a bucket load of caffeine. I force myself into another cold shower in the meantime, to reduce my disgustingly swollen face and to make myself feel fresh. Or, I suppose, to just, feel.

After pulling on running shorts, a top, hiking appropriate shoes, and sending a prayer that everyone is already on the trail so I can pour coffee into my soul before speaking to a human, I leave my room with brain fog in full force. I turn and run into someone. “Oh sorr—” My apology is cut short as I turn and trail my eyes up the six-foot-five length of muscle to deep brown eyes, as Noah smiles softly down at me.

“Coffee?” he says as he lifts a mug to my eye line, and my stomach drops. I wonder if he heard me crying last night. Or did the higher power hear my prayer for caffeine? I hope it was the latter.

“I promise I was about to knock. I was not just standing out here waiting… like a creep, or anything.” He shakes his head. Is he nervous? I am eager to ignore last night and pretty much ignore every other Noah related feeling, thought, or interaction, just like none of it ever happened. I grab the coffee from Noah’s hand and look down the hallway, scrunching my eyes.

“Don’t want to talk about it, please. Jus—”

“Talk about what?” I look at Noah then, his lips pulled into a lopsided grin, and he gives me a wink. He is playing along for my benefit. Or for his, because he also doesn’t want to get into all your drama. I give him a half-assed smile and a slight nod of thanks as we turn and head for the stairs.

Behind the lodge is a set of different hiking tracks, one of which leads to a zipline between two mountain peaks that has an incredible view, or so I am told. I have never myself been brave enough to take the zipline, the usual overthinking and anxiety getting the better of me, and I psych myself out. The short track is the one most of us stick to as it is good for kids in that there is less of an incline and by the time the kids get bored, they are already back at the bottom. This was originally where our family would start the morning before spending the day by the lake, however, Riley, Ava, Matt, and Noah had decided to head for the track that leads to the zip. Of course, this means I can either hang back with my parents, Mia, Vicky, and George, spend time alone in my room, or follow. Time alone holds an appeal until I recall last night.

I follow.

The guys lead the way, leaving Riley and Ava on either side of me as we make our way up.

---