Page 10 of Say You'll Stay

“Just you and me, kid,” I mutter to myself, the words catching on the lump in my throat.

The oppressive warmth and the promise of a storm only serve to mirror the turmoil brewing within. I sink onto the weathered bench, my fingers tracing patterns in the damp soil, as I try to find solace in the familiar rhythms of nature.

Yet the hibiscus and bamboo, for all their resilience, and cloying sweetness…mocks the churning restlessness clawing at my veins. Constantly reminding me of what I’ve lost; the one who left me behind.

Juniper Deveaux—the man who broke my heart; the very essence of my longing and delusional desire—He’s like a fragrance that clings to memories, refusing to fade, even as time marches on.

I pause at the clothesline, my fingers brushing against the damp fabric, a tactile reminder of the simple rituals that now shape my days. It’s been weeks since that fateful night, but the ache in my chest is as fresh as ever.

Why can’t I stop missing you? You were never good for my heart to begin with…but somehow I still can’t let you go.

My mind’s so fucked I can’t even create, constantly looking over my shoulder. Strange messages at my door. Even the annex, once my beacon of hope and creativity, now feels like just another cage, its walls pressing in on me with each passing day.

I try to lose myself in the mundane task of laundry, but my mind refuses to settle, constantly circling back to the unanswered questions that plague me. The missing underwear, a seemingly trivial detail, takes on a sinister cast in the light of my growing paranoia.

“Get it together, Cara,” I scold myself, my voice harsher than intended. “It’s just a pair of panties, not a fucking conspiracy.”

But the prickling unease persists, phantom eyes needling my skin. I’m flayed open, laid bare, a quivering nerve forever exposed.

Frustration a roiling tide, I abandon the farce of productivity, retreating inside. But even here, the past lurks, lying in ambush.

Art, my steadfast companion, betrays me now. Pencils leaden in my hand, sketches lifeless and uninspired. The blank page sneers, a mirror of the emptiness clawing at my gut.

Snarling, I banish the sketchbook, grasping for the mindless oblivion of social media. But even there, his face assails me. Each post a twist of the knife lodged in my chest, a fresh laceration to my mangled soul.

Salvation comes in the chirp of an incoming FaceTime, Sonya and Song’s fractured grins dispelling the shadows, if only for a heartbeat. “Hey, troublemakers,” I force past numb lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can’t a couple of loving siblings check in on their favorite sister?” Sonya teases, her grin wide and infectious.

“I’m your only sister, dumbass,” I shoot back, the banter familiar and comforting.

“Details, details,” Song chimes in, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

Sonya’s voice is molten sunshine, her brash concern a welcome scald. Banter flows, the parry and thrust of sibling love a tenuous lifeline.

“But seriously, Care-bear, how are you holding up?” The concern in his voice cracks something open inside me, and suddenly, the tears I’ve been holding back for days come rushing to the surface.

“I’m drowning,” I confess, the words blood and broken glass on my tongue.

Sonya’s face softens, her usual teasing veneer falling away. “Oh, honey,” she murmurs, her eyes shining with sympathy. “I wish I could give you a hug right now.”

“Me too,” I choke out, swiping at the tears that now flow freely down my cheeks. “I just… I feel so lost, you know? Like I don’t even know who I am anymore without him.”

“Hey, none of that,” Song says firmly, his brow furrowing with determination. “You are Cara Briers, the most badass artist and sister in the whole damn world. No man, not even June Deveaux, can take that away from you.”

I let out a watery laugh, the fierceness of his love a balm to my battered soul. “Thanks, Songbird,” I sniffle, using the childhood nickname that always makes him groan. “I needed that.”

“Anytime, sis,” he replies, his smile soft and understanding. “We’re here for you, always.”

Promises of a sibling night, a port in this endless storm, then silence rushes back in, thick and cloying.

The demons circle, their clawed fingers scraping against the fragile walls of my psyche, drawn to the raw, bleeding wounds of my misery. Their shadows dance in the corners of my vision, taunting whispers that burrow into the deepest recesses of my mind.

“You’re alone,” they hiss, their voices a cacophony of twisted truths. “Abandoned. Unworthy. He’s moved on, left you to drown in your sorrows.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the phantoms to retreat, but their icy tendrils only tighten their grip. Panic rises like bile in my throat, choking off my breath as I struggle to hold back the tide of their relentless onslaught.

Then, a knock - sudden, insistent, jarring - shatters the brittle silence, and a wild, desperate hope surges through me, flooding my veins with adrenaline.

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