Unexpected Co-star

Part 22

The days blurred together in a dull haze, the once vibrant world outside my window reduced to a gray monotony. I lay curled in bed at my sister's apartment, the comforter pulled tightly around me, a shield from the weight of my own thoughts. The apartment was quiet, except for the occasional sounds of life outside the door— Ava's distant voice, footsteps, the hum of the refrigerator—but none of it touched me.

I hadn't left my bed in days. The familiar routine of morning turning into afternoon, then into evening, had lost all meaning. Time had become irrelevant, marked only by the occasional knock on the door from my sister, offering food or asking if I needed anything. Each time, I would give the same response: "I'm fine," though nothing about me was fine.

The effort it took to say those words felt monumental. It was as if I were sinking into a deep pit, and every action, every thought, every breath required too much energy. Even showering seemed like an impossible task, and I hated myself for it. I hated the person I was becoming. The person I was now.

I stared up at the ceiling, the same spot I had been staring at for hours, feeling the crushing weight of everything. The breakup with Hugh had hit me harder than I thought it would. At the time, it felt like the right decision—to give myself space, to focus on finding who I was after everything that had happened—but now, lying here, I wasn't sure anymore.

I could still picture the hurt in Hugh's eyes when I told him I needed to leave, the way his hand had held mine as we said our final words. I thought ending things would give me clarity, that I would be able to find myself without the pressure of our relationship. But now, all I felt was hollow, lost, and unsure of everything.

A knock sounded on the door, soft but persistent. It was my sister again. I didn't answer. I couldn't bring myself to.

"Em, it's me," her voice came through the door. "Can I come in?"

I remained silent, my eyes burning with unshed tears. She didn't wait for my response. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, her expression filled with concern.

"I brought you some soup," she said, placing the tray gently on the nightstand beside me. "You need to eat something. You haven't eaten in..."

She trailed off, her eyes scanning the room, seeing the way I was barely existing. The mess of unwashed clothes in the corner, the stale air, the shadows under my eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

"Emerson," she said softly, her voice thick with worry. "You can't keep doing this. You need to take care of yourself. This isn't healthy."

I felt her words hit me like a wave, but I couldn't respond. My throat felt tight, like something was lodged in it, blocking my ability to speak. She sighed, her hand resting on mine.

"I know things have been rough," she continued. "I know the breakup with Hugh hurt. But you can't just stop living because of it. You can't let this consume you."

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I wiped it away, frustrated with myself for crying. I didn't want to feel anything, but everything was crashing down on me at once.

"I don't know how to move on," I whispered finally, my voice barely audible. "I don't know how to stop feeling like this."

My sister squeezed my hand gently, her eyes softening. "It's okay not to know. It's okay to feel lost for a while. But you can't give up. You can't just lie here and let everything fall apart. You have to try, even if it's hard."

I closed my eyes, wanting to block out her words, to block out everything. But deep down, I knew she was right. I couldn't keep hiding in this apartment, in this bed, from the world and from myself.

"I'm here for you, Em," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Whenever you're ready to talk, or to get up, I'll be here."

She stood up, lingering for a moment before heading toward the door. As she left, the room felt colder, emptier, and the loneliness wrapped itself around me even tighter. I turned my face into the pillow, tears finally spilling freely.

I wanted to be stronger. I wanted to get up and fight against the numbness that had overtaken me. But I couldn't find the will. Not yet.