AVA'S POV
My life is pretty much going downhill. I feel it in the pit of my stomach—the weight of all the decisions I've made, the words I've said, the things I've done, all coming back to suffocate me like a slow-moving tide. But I don't let anyone see it. Not the tightness in my chest, not the way my hands shake when I think about what's slipping away. I can't let anyone see how close I am to cracking, to breaking apart under the pressure.
November always feels like a dark cloud hanging over me, suffocating everything in its path. The days grow shorter, the air colder, and the silence of the world outside matches the silence inside my mind.
It always feels like the world is holding its breath in November—waiting for something to change, for something to break. But I don't know if it's the world that's holding its breath or if it's me. I don't know when I started breathing so shallow, when I started pretending I was okay. When I started hiding the fact that every single decision, every word that's come out of my mouth, every mistake I've ever made, is stacking up like bricks around my chest. It's like I'm drowning but in slow motion.
I watch the people around me moving through their lives with ease—talking, laughing, living. I try to join in, but it feels like everything I do is filtered through a haze, as if I'm not really here. Not really me. I'm just a collection of parts, of moments, pieced together and held up by some fragile thread.
I want to scream, to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. I am a body full of words I can't speak, emotions I can't process. And the silence is deafening. It wraps itself around me, a heavy, invisible weight that presses on my chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
I hate it. I hate how weak I feel, how small.
Riki's face flashes in my mind, his eyes, the way they looked at me—so full of things I didn't understand. His silence. His absence. Every word I never said to him, every moment I let slip away, gnaws at me from the inside. And I want to reach out, to apologize, to fix it, but I don't even know how to begin. There's a crack in my heart that's growing, spreading like a spider's web, and no matter how hard I try, I can't stitch it up, can't make it stop. I can't make myself stop.
"Ava?" Nancy's voice from outside my door makes me sit up and let out a heavy sigh, dragging myself to the door before I open it. She stands there, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes two pools of concern. Her gaze is soft, hesitant, like she's not sure whether to step forward or retreat. But she doesn't move. She just waits, her hand gripping the doorframe like it's the only thing keeping her grounded.
"I'm hungry," I simply say and it somehow makes her break into a soft smile, relief washing over her face like a wave, though it's fleeting. She knows it's not just hunger weighing me down, but she takes the small victory for now.
Before I know it, I'm sitting in the kitchen with my plate of pasta in front of me, the steam rising from it almost comforting in its simplicity. The smell fills the room, warm and inviting, and for a brief moment, I almost feel normal again. The tension in my chest loosens just slightly, like a knot that's been pulled a little too tight.
Nancy sits across from me, her gaze soft but constant, as though she's waiting for me to speak, to let the words spill out. But they don't come. I don't know how to begin. I just take a bite of the pasta, the comfort of the food momentarily grounding me. But then, the silence creeps back in, suffocating everything, and I feel the weight of it press down on me again. Nancy watches me carefully, like she's waiting for a sign, but she doesn't push, and I'm grateful for that.
"Is it good?" She asks, her voice soft, almost tentative, as if she's afraid of disturbing the fragile moment of peace we've found. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat before I speak.
