𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐘 → original

eleven

The rest of the day was mostly filled with quiet anticipation and dread. Tyler lumbered in and out of the house, taking time to sunbathe in a chair in the front yard or grab himself another beer. It was clear he was not worried, and that he did not pick up on the other's worry. If he did, he did not care.

They found that they stayed closed together, even Caspar, not wanting to be alone in that house. Amory continuously reminded himself that she would be there soon, and if she wasn't, they would find her tomorrow. He couldn't let himself imagine her truly gone, that didn't even seem fathomable. So, instead, he imagined himself angry at her and the exact speech he would give her upon seeing her. He wondered if it would even get through to her, or if she would just apologize to avoid confrontation and he would just give in because she was Vallie and that's what he always did.

Marc made them a simple dinner: spaghetti and meatballs. It wasn't fancy, but he didn't have the energy for fancy. Ophelia was in the kitchen with him, but this time she did not offer to help. Instead, she sat on the counter beside the stove, idly kicking her legs and acting as if she were calm. They didn't speak much, but neither was annoyed by the others presence. Perhaps they never could be.

Marc checked the pasta to confirm it was cooked perfectly al dente, then moved to drain it. He made a mistake, though. A novice mistake. The pot was old, with medal handles that required oven mitts once exposed to the gas stove's open flame. His hands burned the moment he went to grab the pot, causing him to throw it back down quickly and hiss. Water sloshed out over the side, causing the heated metal of the burner grate to sizzle and steam. Otherwise, the pasta was fine.

"Shit, are you okay?" Ophelia jumped down from the counter quickly, taking both of Marc's wrists in her hands and examining his palms. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." Marc grumbled, more annoyed with the situation than with her. He gently pulled his hands from her grasp and turned toward the sink, flipping on the tap to a cool stream of water and placing his palms under it. They weren't too bad, really. He did it anyways.

Ophelia stood behind him, staring at his back. He was so tense, she could see his strained muscles from beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him from behind and whisper you're going to be okay. Perhaps she wanted someone to do that for her, too. 

She was getting bad again, and she knew it. Freshman year blow up on your whole dorm floor-bad. Back then, Nadia, Lou, and Vallie had been there to dig her out of her pit of self-loathing, even when she felt she didn't deserve it. Perhaps they had all changed, and perhaps some part of her feared they would no longer know how to love her in spite of her fury that loomed beneath the surface. Some part of her knew that was stupid, though.

She knew now that she had an abundance of love within her friends, even if she no longer knew their current favorite songs or their morning coffee orders. None of that mattered, really. They had a love that was proven by their unyielding decision to choose one another, over and over and over again. Time may age them and they may find that their physical distance grows, but they are intertwined at their core. She'd bet all the money in the world and all the blood in her veins on the fact that they all felt it, too. 

"I'm worried about her, too." Ophelia settled on, her voice soft. Only hours before, it was Lou who was pulling Ophelia from her own Vallie-induced wreckage. Perhaps that it was they all did for each other. A continuous cycle of pulling one another away from the ledge.

Marc didn't want to cry, but the tears were already forming in his eyes. He shut off the tap and placed his hands on the edge of the counter, bowing his head and attempting to steady his breath. It wasn't just Vallie; it was everything. A perfect week away didn't exist in his imperfect life. All he knew were the voices of everyone around him telling him to be more, to be better, to push harder. He was a shell of who he once was, a man who had reached for his passion whilst being pulled back by those who were supposed to love him. And Vallie wasn't there to grant him the freedom to truly pretend his life was okay.