Lost Hope

TWENTY-FOUR

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The next few weeks didn't do Athena any better.

She spent her time locked up in her room and the last time a word left her lips was when she called Arlo to scream at him because he'd gone back to Fordwich without her. She couldn't even attend the funeral of her ex-boyfriend.

It was now a habit of Henry's to come to her room every day, sit next to her and beg her to talk to him. And every single time he'd leave with frustrated tears in his eyes.

The few bottles of liquor next to her bed weren't concealed. It wasn't like she was trying to hide them in the first place, she was just glad they hadn't travelled via planes because there would've been loads of airport security and she was sure she would get arrested because the contents of her suitcases were anything but innocent. Atlas's old gun was under her mattress, the metal box of joints was in the bathroom cabinet, her wrapped mint jar that was filled with Ecstasy and Cocaine pills and she was sure that no seventeen-year-old was permitted to have all these bottles of liquor—all courtesies of Arlo of course.

Sunday was no different.

The boys had finished a concert earlier and it was now past midnight. She sat on the chair she'd left next to the window for weeks and rested her head on the glass, her eyes dull.

Henry knocked on the door then opened it, sure that he wouldn't receive any verbal response to let him know if he could enter. He paused at the door, eyes flickering to the untouched lunch tray he'd left as soon as he stumbled to the house and removed the untouched breakfast plate. His expression became pained and he took a deep breath before walking in.

"You didn't eat today either," he commented lowly, sliding down the wall next to her and wrapping his arms around his knees.

No response.

He smiled bitterly. "You're not going to get better, are you? One month, Thene. One month you've been locked up in your room barely moving or eating or even talking. I hate this, okay? I hate that I can't do anything for you. And Will came and you never even spared him a look. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. You wanna go back to Fordwich? I'll take you back to Fordwich. Athena, your phone's been shut off ever since his funeral."

She flinched and he backtracked, wincing.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Please, just please come downstairs for a bit. No one'll talk to you, just sit with us, okay? Please—"

Maybe it was because of how desperate and pained he sounded or maybe because she couldn't feel her legs but she stood up shakily and Henry let out a broken laugh.

"You're actually coming!" he said, his eyes wide. "God, finally! Come on, Archie and Lucas are there—"

She grabbed her grey jacket from her bed and let him lead her to the door. By now, they all knew not to touch her because she'd start crying and rocking back and forth if anyone came too close to her comfort. The other boys had stopped coming to see her weeks ago, not bearing the sight of her. Only Henry came every single day. Strangely, Blake popped in every now and then as well. Not as frequently as Henry but more than the others. He'd stare at her for a few minutes while sitting on her desk then he'd start blabbing about some incident he thought was funny before he'd shrug his shoulders, wave and leave.

Henry waited patiently at the door as she pulled her jacket over her sleeveless pyjama top and dark sweats.

The living room was dark, the only light coming from their huge TV screen and a yellow lamp in the corner. The boys were seated around the room, some on the sofas and some on the floor. They all froze when they turned to them after Henry stumbled on the foot of the stairs.

"Holy shit," gasped Isaac, trying to stay quiet. Athena's lips twitched at the sight of him. A big band boy huddled in a furry blanket with only his face and his hands free of it, a bowl of chips between his hands.

She didn't know if Henry shot them a look behind her back or if they had enough brains but, almost in sync, they all turned back to the animated movie playing in front of them, turning their heads to glance at her every two seconds.

She sat on the floor, her back against the sofa Isaac sat on, pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees.

The chatter she could hear from her bedroom was nothing more than a few whispers every few moments but she was zoned out, staring into space with a blank look.

"Thena?" said Isaac softly, offering her the bowl he held.

She blinked at the wall then turned to him and shook her head silently, pushing the bowl away.

"Want a drink?" said Archie, narrowing his eyes at her side.

She shook her head curtly and he gestured Henry to the kitchen.

"She's not doing well," said Archie, his voice low and angry.

"No shit," snorted Henry, collapsing into a chair.

"Henry, this is serious," hissed Archie. "She's getting worse with each day, do you not get it? Look at the colours under her eyes or at how thin her sides are becoming! For fuck's sake, she's withering away in front of your eyes!'

"What am I supposed to do?" sneered Henry, getting to his feet. "I go to her room and beg her to talk every fucking day, I beg her to take just one bite from the food every single meal! I literally brought Will here but even he couldn't get a word out of her! I can't do anything!"

"Do you realise people can actually go mute if they don't talk for a while?" said Archie quietly, making Henry's eyes widen. "When was the last time you heard her talk?"

"A week after her ex died," muttered Henry. "That's almost a month ago... My God—" he fell back to the chair he was on.

"I suspect drug use," continued Archie, running a hand through his unruly curls. "All this fidgeting and zoning out..."

"What do I do?" said Henry, his voice desperate. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it without questions. Oli went through the same thing when his dad died, didn't he?"

"Yes. And we only noticed when he attempted to take his own life," mumbled Archie.

Henry choked on his saliva. "No, no, no, don't even think about that," he said, shaking his head furiously. "She won't do that because she understands how it affects others. I'm sure of it."

"Yeah?" muttered Archie, glaring at the ignorant cousin. "And you think when someone is in so much pain they're going to think about anything else other than feeling a little better?"

Henry pulled on his hair. "What do I do?"

"After this point, the best you can do is getting her a therapist." Archie's gaze was fixed on the fidgeting figure on the floor that he could see from the doorway. She was fidgeting with her hands while rocking back and forth slightly.

"She's not mad," hissed Henry, his eyes narrowing.

"Therapists are not for mad people, you arse," snapped Archie, whirling around to face him. "I took therapy when stress became unbearable! Isaac and Emmet took therapy last year! Don't be an ignorant prick."

"And who's to say that she'll take therapy willingly?" said Henry warily. "Who's to say she won't lash out or-or act like she did when she found out he died? I don't want to witness that again, okay? Athena's practically my sister, I've known her and Chris ever since we were kids! You don't seem to understand that seeing her like this kills me, you don't—" he broke off, shaking his head.

"Get her a therapist if you want your old friend back," said Archie gently.

Shuffling footsteps caught their attention. Athena was walking to the stairs, hands gripping the bannisters as her body trembled.

Archie turned to Henry and nodded his head.