Eminence

Note 6 - Emotional Scars

It was already noon when Warren had gotten home, and he was slightly sweaty from the heat. It was still Spring, yet it was already starting to get hot in the afternoon. Walking through the garage door, he called Emanon, but she didn't answer, so he assumed she must have found a bedroom to hide in. He adjusted the thermometer to 68 degrees, hoping it would be more comfortable for her, and then went to shower. The house was as empty as he left it; however, it was also curiously different. It's as if knowing she's there somehow changes everything in an unfamiliar but almost exciting kind of way. How one's presence can make a home feel more welcoming is nearly magical; although It didn't remove the bitterness from mourning, it did give a subtle sweetness. 

"I'm not alone." He thought.

Warren often chose not to buy groceries to justify not going home; that's how much he hated being alone in this house. He'd sometimes stay at a hotel to pretend he was someone else, someone not grieving. Is that a form of suicidal ideation? The longing to be someone else, not be you, and not feel this way. Did he succeed then in his attempt at metaphorical suicide when he ended up in a vampire's motel room and became bound to her? Is it right? Giving everything to have someone near, someone to tell you to live, someone to ask you to die. Is it wrong to want such things? A collar; maybe he did want to be someone's dog; perhaps that is a form of self-destruction. It seems more evident now, but you wish you had that insight beforehand.

-It's time that Warren admits that he did want to die, despite trying to pretend and attempting to function the way everyone else did. Everyone has loved ones that have died before. His grief shouldn't be different than others, yet he feels so incredibly alone in it. It washes over him frequently, heavy and smothering, suffocating, and still. He has never felt so empty and alone in his body; all he can do is sit in it because there's nowhere, absolutely nowhere, for him to put this grief. It's just there, present with him, always. Warren can't help but collapse on the couch and weep over the feelings that come over him. Hands gripping his shoulders to fill the need for comfort, he leans forward into his knees, looking down at the floor, feeling weak and scared. It feels inescapable, like drowning - then suddenly, a hand gentling caressing his back. A body sits next to him and presses itself against him. 

"Are you feeling ill?" A soft, gentle voice asks him. He recognizes this voice. 

Slowing, sitting himself up, and looking to the side of him sits Emanon, who looks concerned for him. 

"Warren?" She asks as she caresses his face. He sits still and stares at her for a while.

Tears stream down as he looks at her, broken from the emotions he can no longer contain. He can't find any words to say. He looks away in shame, and Emanon realizes what it is. 

"I'm so sorry, Warren - your parents aren't here anymore, are they?" Emanon says as she leans forward and holds him in her arms. 

"Yes- They're no longer here-" He replies as he holds onto her tightly. Burrowing his face in her shoulder, he quietly cries. 

Six months have already passed, but Warren finally acknowledges his parent's death today. As they pass the house, you can hear the neighbors talking, a leaf blower, a lawn mower, and children's laughter outside, but you can't tell how bright or warm the sun is with the curtains closed. 

The two of them are completely isolated from everyone else, but time continues to move, people continue to move, and life continues to move. Maybe it's easy for them to move forward, or perhaps it isn't. How can you know? You wish you could; it wouldn't be so devastating knowing you aren't the only one having a hard time living every day. It'd make it easier, or would it? You'd find group meetings on weekends where everyone shares and supports each other, but it's not the same because you can only feel your pain. Others can empathize with your pain, but they can't feel it for you. It is still yours alone to bear. You wish you could carve it into someone else, and maybe you could bear the same pain together.