Open When I'm Gone

25. Come Home.

The next few days go by in a blur, and before I know it, I'm packing my bags for my trip with the Cherith's.

Despite the first class hot mess that Christmas turned out to be, the past few days have been utterly unremarkable. Apparently Abby left right after our fight on Christmas, and is staying with her new boyfriend until I leave, so I haven't had to see her since our blowup.

Even though she isn't here, the guilt still gnaws relentlessly at my insides.

I wish I was mad at her for her words. I wish I was mad that she had decided that it wasn't worth it to even try to come to me, but I can't. I know that I can't. Because those feelings, that hurt doesn't come from nowhere. She didn't just make up that betrayal in her voice, the pain in her eyes.

So I've been trying to do everything to distract myself, whether that means sleeping for three extra hours or spending all my waking time with Jolie and her family.

I didn't realize how quiet the house is without her.

And it feels like a new loss all over again.

There's a light knock on my bedroom door as I stuff the last of my clothes into my suitcase. My mom pokes her head in, a small grin on her face and a paper plate in her hands.

I don't know if my parents realize it, but every time we talk since Christmas, I feel as if I'm a bomb and they're afraid I'm going to explode. It makes me feel worse about everything that happened.

"I made cookies," She hums, setting the plate down on my desk before folding herself up next to me on the carpeted floor. "They're white chocolate macadamia, your favorite."

I smile at her, but it feels forced. Neither of us move.

I can feel the tension radiating from her body, gliding through the room like a force

"What time do you have to leave?"

"Mitch is picking me up in ten minutes."

She sighs, pressing her hands to my shoulder and pulling me to her in a tight hug. And there's something so special about a mothers hug, perfect and warm and exactly what you need exactly when you need it. It shocks me almost enough to pull away from her; my mom never gives hugs. She thinks they're frivolous and a cop-out for other ways to express gratitude. But there's something different today, because the second she pulls me to her familiar form, I break down in trembling tears.

"I really screwed up, mom." I cry into her shoulder, lungs constricting in my chest. "I don't know how to fix this."

Her fingers trace small circles along my back, just holding me until my tears ebb and I can breathe normally again.

"What exactly happened?" Her voice is soft, such a soft caress that I don't know if there's anything else I could've done that would make me feel better.

I shake my head, my hair tumbling into my eyes as I speak. "I don't know. She's been gone and then I said something about it, and then she just snapped at me, and I snapped at her..."

The expression in my moms eyes makes me stop cold, trailing into an uncomfortable silence.

"What?" I sniff out, running my hand under my wet eyes.

"I know that you're grieving, Simon," Her hand is warm on my knee, comforting. "But... You did shut everybody out. You wouldn't listen to us, you wouldn't even go to school for weeks. We were all really worried about you, honey."

I nod quickly, a sniveling mess. My face feels red and the space above my eyes tingles with emotion threatening to explode from me.

"I think you just have to take a second and see where she's coming from." My moms voice doesn't carry the same warm tone that always twists with her words. More like she's just tired, worn away by the tension of her two youngest being so at odds that they can barely look at each other. She never wanted this for us. None of us did.