Bittersweet

Bittersweet: Chapter Forty

THIS BOOK IS CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN AND HEAVILY EDITED. NAMES, PLACES, AND SOME SCENES WILL BE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. SOME STUFF WILL BE TAKEN OUT AND SOME WILL BE ADDED.

THE INITIAL PLOT STAYS THE SAME.

So, if you begin reading as of 5/21/2021 and choose to read ahead further than I have updated-some things might be confusing or might not make sense. As of right now and will continue, slowly, adding the new chapters as I write them. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE has been rewritten & updated.

**IF A CHAPTER HAS BEEN REWRITTEN/EDITED THE ^^ABOVE^^ NOTE WILL BE AT THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER.

Chapter Forty

Eliza

I'd had my fair share of pity parties over the past few weeks. I wasn't embarrassed to admit that. For the first week or so after I'd gotten discharged from the hospital, I'd find myself crying-just to cry. All the time. I couldn't stop. I'd cry myself to sleep and then again when I woke. I'd cry in the shower or over meals I'd refused that Ava would bring up to me.

I think it was safe to say I'd found myself in that dark place. Over and over again.

While my family was slowly getting back on with their lives, I was basically static. It had been a week since the funeral. Seven days. Daddy had taken a few daytime trips over to the hunting camp. Ava cooked and cleaned, like always, happily humming a Spanish melody as she did it. Even Flynn was making himself busy. He'd always find something to do, whether it was woodworking behind the barn or working on farm equipment. All the while, there'd been so many conversations about getting back to normal. Moving forward.

Ava had removed the chair from my window, per Daddy's request. He didn't like that I spent most of my time at that window, waiting for a man who might not come back. Instead, Ava tried to talk me into getting set up in a comfortable spot downstairs so that I could help her cook or do anything productive, really.

I refused, at first.

But then came the whispers of seeking out grief counselors and support groups for sexual assault victims. Daddy and Flynn were on the same page about one thing atleast-what I was doing to myself was not healthy. I knew that-I didn't blame them for being worried. Every time I refused Ava, I felt even more aimless and alone. With every meal I skipped, I felt weaker. The longer I stayed up at night staring at the ceiling, my days were shorter because I'd sleep half the day away.

For the past three days, I'd been forcing smiles and giggles as I'd help Ava with simple, monotonous kitchen tasks while seated at the dining room table. Shucking peas. Peeling potatoes. Chopping vegetables. All while trying my best to unearth even a sliver of my old self just to make them happy.

Deep down, I knew it was futile-that girl was gone.

But my family seemed to be satisfied with my attempts and that's all that mattered.

If acting was going to get them off my back about seeking out professional help, by god that's what I'd do. I couldn't put any more stress on them. Plus, the thought of confiding in the people closest to me just to hear 'I told ya so'- made me feel irate. Even more so, the thought of having to turn to a counselor and talk about my feelings made me want to vomit.

The only person I wanted to talk to was Austin. I kept telling myself that I was waiting for him. When he came back, I'd let it all out. I'd move forward-with him.

But with every passing day, I became less and less hopeful. And with less hope came more rage.

Perhaps that's how I found myself leaning up against this tree in the very early hours of the morning. Not just this morning. The past three mornings. I was going nuts in that house, trying to act like everything was okay-that I was okay. I'd gotten up earlier than everyone else just to find myself slowly walking down that wooded path to that tree. I needed a quiet space where I could let it all out and not have to worry about someone standing over me, watching me with concern in their eyes.