Echoes of Three Souls

Chapter 3: Clinging to Threads

Maeve POV

While Mondays are often dreaded as the start of a new workweek, Wednesdays are worse, at least for me. On Mondays, there's still a glimmer of fresh energy—an illusion of a reset from the weekend, with a chance to dive into the week's tasks with some semblance of motivation. But by Wednesday, that energy is gone. It's not just the middle of the week; it's the point where you're too far from last weekend to feel its comfort and too far from the next to grasp any hope. The workload piles up, deadlines loom closer, and your reserves of strength dwindle. Mondays hold the promise of a fresh start. Wednesdays, though, are just a reminder that you're still stuck in the grind, without the weekend to save you.

And for me, the exhaustion runs deeper than just a draining workweek. It's amplified by the nightmares—the ones that always return this time of year. I'll fall asleep, only to jolt awake, heart pounding, drenched in a cold sweat. It's always the same. The sound of metal twisting, glass shattering, my own screams mingling with theirs. The look in my parents' eyes, the terror etched on their faces, followed by the deafening silence before the ambulance arrived. The nightmares never really left after the accident, but they worsen as the anniversary of their deaths approaches. Fifteen years, and the pain is just as sharp. As the date creeps closer, I shut down, retreating into myself more than usual. My appetite fades, food losing its taste. Sleep becomes something to fear, and the weight of depression wraps around me, suffocating.
After hours of tossing and turning, I finally give up. There's no point in trying to fight it anymore.

I pull myself out of bed, deciding to start the day with an early run—something to clear my head, if only for a little while. Running has become my escape, a ritual that keeps me grounded. The feel of the cool morning breeze against my skin, the steady beat of music in my ears, and the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement—it all drowns out the noise in my mind. I started running back in high school, initially as a way to lose the weight I'd gained, but over time it became something more. Something that helped me hold on when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

After my run, I took a quick shower and got ready for the day. I loved the ritual of doing my hair and makeup, the way it transformed my reflection. Dressing up in pretty outfits gave me a boost; if I looked decent, I felt decent. It might sound vain, but for so long, I had hidden behind baggy, plain clothes, internalizing the cruel words of my bullies. I had quieted the part of myself that adored fashion, relegating it to a Pinterest board filled with dreams—outfits I would wear one day when I felt confident enough to embrace them.

As a child, I delighted in wearing cute, princess-like dresses paired with silly plastic heels and beaded bracelets. Those colorful ensembles made me feel like I could conquer the world, even if just for a moment. Now, even though I still struggled with my confidence—hesitant to stand out—I found solace in donning pretty clothes adorned with florals and ribbons. They brought me a sense of joy and reminded me of the girl I used to be. So, that's exactly what I did. I left my hair down in simple waves pulled back by a black headband, tossed on a white maxi skirt, a black cardigan, and my trusty black ballet flats. After feeding Archie and collecting my coffee I was off to the office.

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I glanced at the clock—1:00 already? I was going to be late for lunch with Devin. Quickly putting my computer to sleep, I grabbed my emotional support water bottle and headed for the lunchroom. There were two routes to the break room. The shorter one cut through the reception area, where I'd have to pass the front desk, the admin ladies, and any potential clients. The other was longer, winding through the empty cubicles and a dimly lit corridor. No contest. I always took the path less traveled.

As I left my cubicle and made my way down the quiet hallway, Mike appeared, leaning casually against the wall just as I walked by.

"Hey, Maeve, heading to lunch?"