Page 24 of Severance

I’m not sure exactly why, but I flip through the band photos again, this time studying each one differently, taking my time to compare Dakota and Mikah. Their eyes, their cheeks, their lips. I wonder how they make music together—what it’s like for them as brothers to be in the same band. I wonder what it would be like to have a sibling of my own. Would it be like being friends with Jess or would there be more fights and disagreements and parents favoring one over the other? Then I wonder how my father will react when I tell him about going to the movies with Dakota.

9. After

I ring the bell once and listen to it echo on the opposite side of the door. My heart beats like a drum. This is the first time since Dakota died that I’ve come here, and as my right foot taps out a wicked dance on the welcome mat, the feeling of doom and desolation that’s taken over my mind forms a toxic cloud above me.

I hear footsteps approaching, and then the lock snaps and the door swings wide open. Mikah’s wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, and his body takes up almost the whole doorframe. His hair’s tied back and his face looks even thinner than it did the last time I saw him—at the funeral.

His eyes stare into mine unblinkingly for a few seconds, as if he’s trying to remember why I’m here.

“Hi,” I breathe out, clasping my hands together in front of me. “I came to pick up my stuff.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” He steps to the side to let me in, and his gaze drops to the floor. “I said to text me.”

“Sorry, I forgot,” I confess, walking past him into the living room. My chest tightens at the sight of the bare walls and the boxes. “Are you moving out?”

“Can’t afford it on my own.” Mikah shuts the front door.

We both know this is only half the truth.

“Did you already find a new place?” I shove my fists into the pockets of my coat for no particular reason. Maybe it’s the scars or maybe it’s because I’m not sure what to do with my hands. My gaze darts around and lands on the black guitar case in the corner.

“Still looking.”

The silence that stretches between us becomes sour and awkward and ominous.

“You know where the room is.” Mikah gestures at the hallway.

“Okay, thanks,” I mumble, my heart still hammering, my palms suddenly damp and my vision blurred. The way my body reacts to everything now is exhausting. It’s in a state of constant fear with every muscle so tense that it physically hurts.

Taking a deep breath, I shuffle my feet in the direction of Dakota’s room. My hand is shaky and doesn’t feel like mine at all when I push the door open. I almost expect him to be sitting on his bed cross-legged with his laptop in front of him and wearing a silly grin.

Instead, there are several large boxes stacked in the corner near the nightstand. The bed is untouched and the closet is wide open. Some of the posters that used to decorate the walls are rolled into a neat pile on top of the desk. There’s a visible layer of dust covering all the surfaces.

When I lift my head and stare at the empty ceiling, a sense of hollowness spreads through me like wildfire, filling my every cell with endless agony. At this moment, my brain finally realizes that he’s gone and he’s not coming back. My heart doesn’t get it, though.

My heart’s still a raw wound and wants to stay in denial indefinitely. Because denial is comfortable.

After a few minutes of being frozen in place and breathing the stuffy air, I cross the room, fumble with the jammed window lock, and slide the bottom pane open. The frosty breeze creeping inside ruffles the posters on the nightstand and the tattered corners of Dakota’s notebooks he used for jotting down song ideas.

After getting my things out of the drawers, I pull one of his leather jackets from the closet and try it on in front of the mirror. Its sleeves are way too long and with the way it sits so heavy across my shoulders like a suit of armor, I’m wondering how he wore it.

I stand there, staring at my reflection, and my mind begins drifting off, getting lost in the memories of Dakota and me.

When the sound of Mikah’s footsteps thumping along the hallway yanks me out of my daze, I’m sitting in the middle of the room with my knees buried in the carpet as I organize some of Dakota’s clothes that I pulled from the closet.

“You don’t need to do any of that,” Mikah says, walking into the room. There’s a plastic container in his hand and he moves past me to shut the window.

I jump from the loud slam of the pane against the sill. Sudden noises have been bothering me a lot lately. At night, I lie wide-awake, listening to the sounds of trees outside or an occasional car passing by, sometimes wondering whether one of these days I’ll hear a gunshot.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind helping,” I counter.

“I want my mom to look through it before I pack it.”

“Oh… Okay.” I rest my hand on the pile of t-shirts I already folded. They’re soft against my scars and smell like Dakota.

“Look, I have to take some of the stuff to storage, so…” Mikah clears his throat and sets the container next to me. “If you’re about done, I gotta leave before they close.”

“Sure. I just need to pack these few things.” I push myself off the floor and get to my feet.

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