𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 ~ | 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘤

XVII

Chapter Seventeen:

~ The Last Circle of Hell ~

One month of quiet, slow, painful days had passed since the chaos.

Everything felt... different.

The world felt as if it was filled with a heavy silence that hung in the air like a thick fog, choking out any semblance of happiness. Max was a shadow of his former self, the light in his eyes dimmed.

I was doing my best to keep a smile on my face, to be the same old happy me. But, fuck, it was hard.

Every day felt like I was wearing a costume, a mask that was painted on my face. But underneath, I was crumbling. And it was starting to show.

I was beginning to crack.

Chin up, don't let them see you crack.

There were good times too, but they were never the same. It's hard to be good when there is so much bad looming over it.

Every minute of my days would be spent with at least half of my mind consumed with sickening worry about Sabrina. 

                                         Max. 

                                                   Clem.

                                                               All of us.

I did what I could to help, taking care of Clemmie, walking Loki, and bringing over dinner when Max couldn't stomach the thought of cooking. But it was clear that nothing was going to fill the void Sabrina had left.

She wasn't gone, but the old her was.

Oscar had been nothing but supportive, but even he didn't know the full extent of my pain. How could he? He didn't know about the promises I had made to her, the ones that now felt like a noose around my neck.

I had become the glue holding everyone together, the one who had to keep everyone else's spirits up. The one thing that kept me going was the hope that she would pull through, that she would come back to us. And so, every day, I painted on a smile and pretended like everything was fine.

But the truth was, it wasn't.

Sabrina wasn't in the hospital anymore, but she wasn't living either. She was existing. Carefully navigating each day with a smile plastered on her face, hiding the pain that was so obviously displayed in her eyes.

I avoided the topic of her health. It was like a ticking time bomb that I didn't dare acknowledge. But every time I saw her, the reality was there, staring me in the face, reminding me that the clock was ticking down.

And yet, every time I saw her, it felt easier. Every time we talked, if felt like she was coming back to us, the initial shock of her diagnosis slowly giving way to a new, painful kind of normalcy. She was so strong, so full of life, despite the grim prognosis. Her spirit was unbreakable, even if her body was not.

I watched her, her eyes shining with the same fierce determination that had won her so many races, and I knew that she wasn't going anywhere without a fight.

I readjusted my bag, slung over one shoulder, looking both ways before hurrying across the street. There was almost nothing inside, but it was a cute bag so I liked carrying it around.