Page 27 of Tears and Other Fears

Existence was a tricky concept, wasn’t it?

Some moments, it didn’t feel like William was really dead. I expected him to call me about the season finale ofTheBig Bang Theoryor ask me about my latest art project. Other times, the grief struck me with a newness that could cut through bone. It was debilitating and raw.

The sheets covering my naked body weren’t heavy enough. I couldn’t remember the last time I craved arms wrapped around me and comfort breathing down my neck. I wanted someone to care, but I also wanted to be alone. It was an odd juxtaposition. I’d been spending the last year pretending to be okay, but the moment it all caught up to me, no one was around to sweep me up off the ground and shake some sense into me.

I got up to piss, but it was taxing. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my vision turned white. I glared at the bruises along my neck in the shape of Young’s lips. By noon I was hungry, and by nightfall I’d finally opened the blinds in my mind and allowed myself to ruminate in the source of my turmoil.

William was dead.

I’d dedicated an entire year to getting revenge. I’d snuck behind enemy lines to study those responsible for his death. An entire year was wasted on an agenda that would never come to fruition.

I’d fucked my brother’s murderer. I’d learned things about William that made me feel guilty and broken. I blackmailed Young’s lover. Worked with William’s drug dealer.

Then, I learned all the things that led to his death but still found myself trying to prove that I wasn’t crazy. I was admitted. Released. Beat down. I fell in lo—. No. This wasn’t love. This was survival.

All things considered, it was about time for the anger, restlessness, grief, and sadness in my soul to bloom into a spiraling tornado of tragedy. Maybe Noah was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped my meds cold turkey. I wasn’t helpless or meek, so why did I struggle to lift my head from Young’s pillow to glance at the clock?

The full moon was high in the sky by the time Young came home. Normally, I would wonder about where he’d disappeared to, but I couldn’t bolster enoughcareto—well—care. I was staring at the glow of street lights outside through his bedroom window while picking at my nails. I didn’t answer when he yelled my name; I simply listened to his voice as he stomped throughout the penthouse, then went stiff when his bedroom door opened. I could feel his shadowed presence hovering over me.

“Octavia? Have you been in bed all day?” he asked. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt the mattress dip. “Octavia? What’s wrong?”

Everything.

I didn’t answer him. I simply opened my eyes and stared. “Is this about last night? Look, I wasn’t in the right headspace. I should have listened and…” his voice trailed off. “I was just trying to do what I thought you wanted, you know?”

Again, I didn’t speak. I just stared. I stared past Young, past this room, and past this existence.

He kept talking. Most of it was apologies I couldn’t comprehend. Concern was pouring from his serpent lips. Each syllable a plea to react.

I kept still as a statue.

More time passed, and I snuggled deeper into the bed. My stomach growled in protest, but I was too exhausted to do anything about it. My body felt like it was on its last energy reserves, but my head was wired with questions about purpose, heaven, and hell. Young, or Nathaniel, or the devil left the room for a little while, and I felt my shoulders slump.

When I used to get like this as a kid, William would crawl into bed with me. He’d bring me food, brush my hair, and paint my nails. Even those precious memories dripping with pain seemed tainted now. Did William help me because he couldn’t help himself?

I heard the bedroom door open, and I prepared myself for another round of feeling guilty for not lashing out. “She’s been like this since I got home. I don’t know what to do here.”

I blinked once, twice, and on the third time, my blurred vision focused on a concerned looking Noah. “Octavia? How long have you been in bed?”

Not long enough.

Silence.

Silence.

“Do you know where you are?” Noah asked. My eyes flickered to Young. He was standing to the left of Noah with his arms crossed over his defined chest. I knew I was in his bedroom. I also knew that sometimes the worst place you could be was in your own head.

“Yes,” I choked out. I hated this. My alter ego was pounding against the glass separating my spirit from my debilitating sadness.

“Good, good. You stopped your medicine, right? Sometimes it takes a few days, but it can really throw you off. You’ve had a lot of drastic changes lately. I’m concerned, okay?”

“Don’t send me away, Noah,” I whispered.

“Never, Babe. Never again,” he promised. Noah stroked my cheek with his calloused fingers. “I warned you this would happen if she stopped taking them,” Noah hissed in a low whisper at Young.

“She seemed fine. I-I didn’t think this would happen,” Young replied while gesturing towards me.

“She needed to be weaned. She’s lucky her dosage wasn’t higher, or she could have had seizures.”

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