Without You

14

The next morning, I don't go to school.

I wake up late, the clock already past noon, and the house is eerily quiet. It's not like I could have gone, anyway. My mind feels like a jumbled mess, and my body just doesn't have the energy to pretend that everything's fine. It's better to stay home, to sink into the quiet of the house where I don't have to interact with anyone, don't have to fake normal.

I don't even bother getting dressed. I stay in my pajamas, the same ones I wore yesterday. They're soft and worn, comforting in their familiarity. My hair's a mess, but I don't care. I grab a bag of chips from the pantry, a chocolate bar, and a soda. I plop down in front of the TV, the screen flashing to life in front of me, a blur of mindless shows.

I don't actually care about any of them. I just need the noise, the distraction. I scroll through channel after channel, criticizing every single thing I watch.

"Seriously? Who writes this crap?" I mutter to myself, popping another chip into my mouth. "I mean, no one talks like that. Who even thought this was a good idea?"

The next show is even worse some reality dating show with people who look like they've never had an original thought in their entire lives. The contestants are fighting over the same guy like they're all programmed to do it.

"God, they're all so stupid," I scoff, rolling my eyes as a girl dramatically tosses her hair. "This is literally what's wrong with the world."

I don't care that I'm talking to myself, or that I'm sinking deeper into this mess of self-pity and junk food. The numbness feels good. The greasy chips and sugary chocolate are like a balm to the gnawing emptiness in my chest.

But just when I'm starting to fall into that deep, pitiful hole, there's a knock on the door. I freeze for a second, then sigh, reluctant to face anyone, especially anyone who's not Azriel. I take a few seconds to breathe, annoyed that this will pull me away from my latest round of mindless consumption.

I shuffle toward the door, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors.

When I open it, I'm met with the face of my Auntie Cassidy, her dark hair streaked with gray and her warm smile a little too forced. She's carrying a bag from the grocery store, the kind of thing I used to see her bring when I was younger. But now, it feels out of place, like she's trying too hard to step into a role she can't quite fill.

"Auntie," I say, my voice flat. I don't have the energy for the pleasantries, but she steps in anyway, letting herself through with that easy familiarity.

"How are you, kiddo?" she asks, her voice gentle but with a sharp edge I know too well. She's worried. She's always been the one to ask the questions, the one who sees through my attempts to hide.

I don't answer immediately. I just shrug, heading back into the living room and plopping back down on the couch. She follows me, sitting across from me with that same concern in her eyes.

"I see you're... keeping busy," she comments, looking at the scattered bags of chips, the soda cans, and the wrappers littered on the coffee table.

"Yeah, well, not like I have anything else to do," I mutter, grabbing another handful of chips and tossing them into my mouth. "School's overrated anyway."

Cassidy watches me for a beat, then leans forward, folding her hands together, like she's about to say something important.

"Amore, you can't stay like this forever. You know that, right?" she says quietly, but there's an edge in her voice. "You need to talk to someone. Talk to me, if you want."

I just stare at the screen, refusing to engage. The show playing now is some cheesy drama that's only making my headache worse, but it's still better than facing my feelings.