Fortuitous || Jack Steele [1]

thirty one

A day which feels like it's dragging on is never good. It depletes your energy and you'd rather remain in bed or create distance between yourself and others.

Maybe it's because you don't want to infect them, too, with the same mentally exhausted feeling. Or maybe you just don't want them to see how much you're struggling despite how much you need a hand to pull you from the sea so you don't drown. Fake it until you make it?

Yesterday it was announced that we would be staying in Noosa for an indefinite period of time after Victoria topped 700 cases of COVID.

I don't know what I had expected. I had been hearing of the worsening situation down there from Mum and Dad as well as on the news. I don't know why it hurt so much when we were told we were staying. I don't know why I thought we'd be heading back on schedule. Maybe I just tried to blind myself from the inevitable only for it to bite me in the ass. I'm really paying for the mistake now.

Being quiet is uncharacteristic for me. It would take nothing, not even a whiff, for the boys to know something was off. When you've been nothing but a 'class clown' it's easy to pick up on if something isn't right. The boys could tell and I knew they could. I've stayed locked away in my room ever since dinner last night until this morning. I'm still in my room as we speak.

This sort of guilt and shame seeps into my mindset as I sit disheartened on the couch.

Am I overreacting? Am I making a big deal of this? I should be grateful after all. Why don't I feel grateful though? Why do I feel selfish—privileged?

Every single question is loud in my head and strains and chips away at my already depleting composure. It forms into a white noise that I can't deter but have to instead ensure painfully.

I run my hands through my long hair in a sign of anguish. I'm conflicted with myself. I'm battling with the frustration of feeling ungrateful yet damaged by the feeling of distress. I really just need some TLC. I need to get out of the room if anything.

There's a knock at the door. I force my head from my hands and trudge over with a considerable amount of incoordination. The door is pulled open and there reveals Bytes. He has this concerned look on his face. I hate seeing it. I hate making him anxious about me.

I notice Jack exiting his room and he glances my way with a worried expression. Ugh, that makes it all worse.

"Can I come in?" Bytes asks cautiously. Either way he'd probably barge in if I said no. I nod nonetheless and let him into my apartment.

I shut the door and join him on the couch, regaining my previous spot silently. Bytes watches me intensely and it makes me slightly uneasy.

"Is there something on my face?" I get out with little humour—I'm drained of it. That never happens.

"There is a some signs of conflict in your expression," he states sadly. I sigh out. He's not wrong. "Talk to me Mads. Max is really worried but I insisted I checked up on you. What's going on in that head of yours?"

The guilt is like a boulder on my chest. The more I feel the guilt, the heavier the weight becomes. I never wanted Max to worry. He needs to focus on his footy and same with Bytes. I don't want them worrying about me.

Bytes has always been very supportive, as has everyone in my life, yet he just provides this different kind of comfort which is unique to only him. He just knows how to weaken you with his gentle expressions of care and encouragement. He can make you talk about your troubles without even saying a word. His eyes show so much of how he just wants to help you and comfort you to the best of his abilities. All he wants is to make you feel safe. He wants you to know is that he offers solace in times of need. That he can be your latibule in times of crisis. That is Jack Bytel.