Page 47 of Fractured

“I can’t right now.” I shook my head and started to close the door, but Ambrose threw a hand out to stop it.

“What is the thing you fear the most?” Ambrose asked, his gaze so intense, I answered without even thinking about it.

“Losing you all.” To life, to insanity, to grief. The options were endless, and none of them were acceptable to me.

“Why?” he probed, not quite frantically, but it was clear he was trying his best to keep the door open. Wringing my hands, I pled with my eyes for him to not force this emotion on me. But all he did was wait patiently, and under the stares of the four of them, I answered.

“Because for all my life, I’ve only ever feared being like my mother, but with you all—” I stopped, casting my gaze toward the floor. Burning hot tears built behind my eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to run away and slam the bathroom door, to hide from the world for the rest of the day.

Fuck, maybe I could join Lauren for a day. Be anonymous among the mentally ill. No one would expect anything of me then.

“What?” Ambrose grabbed my hand, running his thumb lightly over my fingertips. When I glanced up into his stormy gray-blue eyes, it was if I was compelled to spill my secrets. Even if it wasn’t what he—or they—wanted to hear.

“That now I’m afraid of being alone. So instead of letting that fear rule my life, I need some time to figure out exactly what that means, and I’m sorry, but right now isn’t that time. I have somewhere I have to be.” My voice caught on the last word, but when I gently closed the door, all four of them let me. Just that action shredded the already frayed edges of my heart, and I’d asked it of them.

Heading back to my bathroom, I finished getting ready, and by the time I grabbed my keys, I hoped they were gone, because if they were still here, I might break down and beg them to hold me. To get me through this day in a way that only they could do.

I stepped out onto the porch and sighed when there was no one around. Not even a car parked down the street to check on me. Which, I didn’t really want them to be stalkers, I’d just gotten used to the way they took care of me.

As I was pulling out of the driveway, I caught a flash of a red car behind me and sighed in relief. Maybe they were still checking on me. And I was such a hypocrite for wanting them close but pushing them away at the same time.

The viewing was at Randolf’s, and I also hated the idea of that too. Now, whenever I was in the studio, if we were allowed to come back, I would also have vivid memories of today’s gathering in the back of my mind.

The parking lot was beyond packed when I got there, with cars lining the streets. I followed suit and took a corner spot one street over. At least this way, I’d be able to get out faster in case this was too much for my emotions to handle.

“Lilith.” Thea startled me as she looped her arm through mine. “Can you believe it? He was much too young for his life to be cut short.”

“Yeah.” I choked back an unwanted sob as I let her lead us inside. And just like the last time, the sorrow etched into the walls was so strong, I knew it would be permanent.

Thea found us seats in the back, and as soon as my butt hit the chair, I zoned out. I couldn’t help it. In my peripheral, I knew people were talking, giving speeches on how Randolf had changed their lives and giving praise to his life’s work.

I wanted to pay attention, to give my respects, but with each new person that stood up, my heart beat a little faster and my gaze stuttered around the room. It got to the point where I couldn’t even focus on any one person because their grief alone was too sharp, cutting at my skin.

A preacher took the podium and made what I thought might have been a nice speech about good deeds and the afterlife, but I started singing an old lullaby in my head to distract myself from the present.

Then came the dreaded part of the funeral that literally twisted my stomach up until I almost doubled over in my seat. Around me, people I knew and people I didn’t stood up and started forming a line as one of Randolf’s original compositions played softly in the background.

“Come on, hun. Let’s go pay our respects.” Thea nudged me gently, then took my arm and guided me over to the end of the line.

I closed my eyes and listened to the violins play the sweet highs, while the cellos played the lows in the haunting song. It was perfect for Randolf. It had all the emotion he often tried to invoke from the audience. That was the reason for it all, he had said. To share our gift of emotion with the world.

Thea started a meaningless conversation with the person in front of us while holding tightly to my arm. As if I wereheranchor. In reality, she was the one shuffling me along. Every time she took a step, she took me with her.

Couldn’t she feel my resistance?

My hopelessness?

My fear?

If she did, she didn’t say anything at all. Then we pivoted right, and the speakers behind the casket grew louder, and my heart thumped faster. Such a strange staccato. Out of sync but short, pumping notes sounded in my ears, making my body feel feather light. With my eyes still closed, the feeling only intensified.

“Is Lilith okay?” Meredith, a flutist whispered.

I wanted to tell her no, but my mouth refused to work. I didn’t have to though, Thea answered for me.

“She’s just shocked like we all are. Lilith was close to Randolf, and this is hard on everyone.” She patted my arm.

Tuning the rest of their conversation out, I inhaled and worked on my breath control. Because by that time, from my estimations, we were only a few dreadful steps away from Randolf.

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