Eminence (Wattpad Edition)

Note 6 - Emotional Scars

It was already noon when Warren got home, the heat had been suffocating him as he waited to drop off his rental in a building with no working AC. Spring wasn't over yet, but the air had started to carry the weight of summer. He walked through the garage and called out for Emanon once he got up to the kitchen.

No answer.

Maybe she was still asleep.

He adjusted the thermostat to 68, hoping the cooler air would make her more comfortable. He didn't know much about vampires, but surely the heat couldn't be pleasant. After that, he made his way to the shower.

The house had always felt frozen in time. But something had shifted. Her presence wasn't loud, but the air felt changed. Sweet, citrusy, powdery and fresh, heavenly. The scent of moonflowers that only bloomed at night. The salty air from the ocean must have masked it back at the motel.

It wasn't a tomb anymore.

It was strange how one person could change the atmosphere of a place. I'm not alone, he thought. Not this time. Not anymore.

He'd often skip groceries just to avoid coming home. Even now, if he were to open the fridge, there'd likely only be alcohol in there. No food or premade meals. Clothes he didn't wear because he'd sleep in hotel rooms just to pretend he was someone else. Buy what he needs on as needed basis. Be someone without grief, be someone with nothing to give or take. And maybe, maybe that in itself was a kind of suicidal ideation. Not a violent kind, but a slow yearning of wanting to fade away into the background until not a single person would notice he was gone. To not be himself, to not be anything.

He stopped for a moment to close his eyes and feel the water against his face. Always, always when he's alone, when he's in the dark. These thoughts creep in and they flood until they wear him out. Until he doesn't want to think anymore. He wondered if that was what led him to Emanon. To silence his mind.

To give yourself up completely to someone, be what they need. To be needed. To not think. He didn't want to think anymore. It was becoming more and more painful to think. All it leads to is panic. He hates panicking. He hates getting so overwhelmed it makes him puke. He hates puking. Puking was violent. It would be better if he didn't have to. It would be better if he just... Oh.

Maybe it was time. Time to admit it. He did want to die.

No matter how well he faked being functional, how many times he plastered a mask onto his face for others, the truth was always there, spreading, eating away at him. Everyone grieved. Everyone has lost someone. But his loss felt different. Unbearable. Destructive.

It was heavy, smothering, and suffocating.

His lungs began to burn, constricting with each breath, as if they were collapsing with his mind. The grief had nowhere to go so it festered. That was the worst part. It festered, eroding him.

If he had been breathing still, he wouldn't have known. Everything stopped. Numbness started taking over, it was as if he was shutting down.

The hot water from the shower began to make him feel lightheaded and he stepped out. Steam followed him, only to dissipate in the empty space around. He didn't bother drying off completely, just wrapped the towel loosely around his waist and moved through the hallway like a ghost in his own home.

He stood there, in the living room, staring at the couch before he sank into it, weighted by the gravity of all the emotions he'd buried.

His body slumped forward, and his head fell into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp in a futile search for comfort. But there was none to be found. Not here. Not anywhere.