Connection

Chapter Thirty-Three: Cliff

--

Chapter Thirty-Three: Cliff

--

It had been days since Cliff had left his room.

They'd arrived back to Mallowkeep in a flurry of energy and commotion. He had made it two feet out of the car before his mother trapped him a hug, sobbing as she held him.

"I'm s- so glad y- you're okay," she stuttered and Cliff nodded.

"I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I lied," he apologized with raw truth. He'd experienced too much loss at this point in his life to not understand what she was going through.

Immediately after, he went to his home and sunk onto his bed, where a new wave of tears racked his body. Sylvia Hallowglite heard from her own room, and as much as she wanted to comfort him, she respected his request of privacy.

And so, he allowed the tears to burn their way out of his eyes as he wallowed in the death of the figure closest to a father that he had.

The pain was consuming and he felt as if the pain of it would swallow him whole and take him to a place closer to Grez.

But when he woke up from the fitful sleep he drifted into, he found himself still here, and painfully aware of reality.

His mother brought him food or water, but more or less left him alone. She hadn't once asked him what happened, though he was sure she heard, and for that he would forever be grateful. It wasn't until there was a knock at his door accompanied with a new voice that he allowed a shred of himself to consider thinking it through.

After a moment's pause, Cliff pushed himself off the bed and moved to open the door. He was dressed in loose sweatpants and a large shirt, and he was sure he wasn't smelling his finest, but as he pulled the door open, Jean pulled him into a full hug anyway.

"How are you?" she asked. She was dressed up, wearing a long, flowing dress that he was sure she was required for some reason or another to wear.

"I'm fine," he answered, averting his eyes as he sat on his bed.

"Really?" She scanned his room with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"So, I've been better . . ."

"That's the understatement of the year," she said with a laugh as she plopped herself onto his bed. "But I understand. It was rough for a few days too. You should see everyone, though. They're so proud."

"Of me?" he asked, his head cocked to the side.

"Of what we did. Of all of us and everything that happened," she answered.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't leave my room before now."

Jean laughed, but Cliff's face remained stone hard. It felt like such a joyous act couldn't grace his body which was so enveloped in pain and sadness.

"But in all seriousness," she said, "how are you? Obviously you're sad, but how bad is it?"

It was an awkward question, but Cliff felt compelled to answer anyway.

"Painful." The one word summed up his past few days perfectly. "It's horribly painful. Since Charlotte disappeared, I felt empty; like someone took a bit of me out. Once we'd gotten her away from danger, it went away. But it's that again. It's that times ten."

He didn't elaborate, but he felt as if his entire being had been ripped from him.

Jean watched him with sorrowful eyes, her mouth tugging downward.