"Tonight it's gonna be the loneliest."
When Victoria gets sick and ends up in a coma, Damiano, Thomas, and Ethan have to find ways to cope and keep themselves together.
The future is unclear for the three boys now that they're being forced to live...
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If people would say that the world is going to end tomorrow, I'd laugh, because I know it ended a few days ago.
As a species, we keep talking the apocalypse up to the point of trivialization, yet, not even a single individual from the ones who claim that are ready for the Armageddon can fully comprehend the concept. Those had everything to prepare: time, money, resources. However, the silent ones who are keeping their heads on bathroom sinks, trying to adjust their breathing to calm down might know more about it. From the seven plagues of despair, which tend to appear when you're alone, that Saint John casually forgot to mention, to the lake of sulfur forming in your mouth with every gulp of water and bite of food that you're forcing in your stomach, only to survive for the one whose life is hanging on a thread thinner than your hope. Those experiences count more than hoarding toilet paper and hiding in the basement at the first uncanny event that occurs in the course of our tumultuous history.
Today is hard to breathe. But, as far as I know, I have to do it.
My relationship with Victoria has always been an interesting one. Ever since I joined their group, I acknowledged her reign, and, in exchange, I've been gifted with less painful jokes — a gift offered from the depths of her merciful heart. However, this doesn't mean that when the other two were happening to make fun of me — of how I pronounce the "r," the way I dress, or even how I'm formulating a phrase — she wouldn't join them with her particularly special laughter. What I've been given is that our leader and founder wasn't happening to be the initiator of these remarks and, for me, it was always more than enough.
I look through the opened door of the bathroom, without lifting my head from the sink. I need one more minute, and I'm sure that she won't wake up to gift me with her presence anytime soon.
Sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself while sitting next to her. In the process of taking care of someone who's not reciprocating with anything, there's a constant need of a break. A spare moment when I need to be aware of my own self and existence in order to go on with caring for my friend who's not.
I have to get up. If I'll prolong my stay here, I'll end up greedily wishing to cling onto another second and another one. That's not the point. Not now, at least. Later on, at night, when Damiano will watch her, long after Thomas will fall asleep, I'll finally be alone, and that's going to be my piece of time cramped into the unbearable suffocation of existence. Only in those late hours I'll be able to grieve in peace the what ifs and all the lost possibilities that our friend took away with her in the land of nothingness.
The splash coming from the faucet has the power to bring me back to the reality that I always liked to run from. Cold water drops cling to my face as I wash it again and again, still trying to check if I'm stuck in one of the worst possible nightmares.
When I'm done, I feel more tired than before, but it doesn't matter. At least I know that everything is terribly real now.
I exit the bathroom, twisting my hair as fast as I can, then catching it in a bun. Adjusting my breathing isn't working, still, but I'll go on like this.
