Playing His Little Game

25 - Coping (and FAQ)

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I woke up from the hour sleep I had all alone. Due to barely even resting, I was alert and jumped out of bed in panic.

               “Noah?” I yelled out, scared that he was off doing something reckless as a way of grieving. I ran through the house as fast as I could, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. “Noah!”

               I stopped when I saw the open door. But not just any door, but the door to Holly’s room. Hesitantly, I walked in and saw Noah sitting there right in the middle of the floor. Holly’s room was obviously for someone younger than her since she hasn’t really used it for the past years. In fact, I don’t even think she’s spent a night in here for over two years. Her main home was at the hospital where she could be monitored. A sad life, yeah, but everyone made sure to visit her and the Freely parents slept there almost every night.

               “Noah…” I said slowly, not wanting to trigger another round of tears. “Do you want me to make you some breakfast?”

               “Not hungry.”

               I frowned. “But you need to eat.”

               “I can’t, Mel.”

               “Please,” I rest my hand on his shoulder. “Just try, okay?”

               He didn’t say anything which I took as a positive sign. Leaving him be, I went downstairs and started making food from whatever I could conjure up from the freezer and pantry. Just about everything was stale or soiled, but I was able to find some bacon and pancake mix, and had to go over to the neighbors and borrow some milk and eggs.

               When I was done making the food, I went upstairs and helped Noah down to the table. There, he sat in his regular seat and I went on the other side. He just stared at his food, not even bothering to lift up a fork. I frowned and said, “Noah, you have to eat.”

               “I can’t.”

               “Noah—“

               “I can’t do it,” he looked at me with his bloodshot eyes.

               We had a staring match that lasted for around five seconds before I spoke again, this time in a soft voice that almost was a whisper. “Please…? For me.”

               He looked like he was having some debate in his thoughts until he groaned and began slowly but surely eating his food. I breathed out in content and started on my own food, letting it fall to the pit of my empty stomach because I didn’t really get to eat that burger yesterday night.

               He didn’t finish, but at least he ate. He got up without saying anything and started to go back upstairs but I grabbed his hand to stop him. I didn’t want him to go back to her room and wither into nothing. He needed to grieve, but in a positive way. I know holly wouldn’t want him to be sad.

               “Stay down here with me,” I said and started rubbing circles on the top of his hand until I hit something crusty. I frowned and looked at our intertwined fingers and saw that his knuckles were coated in dried blood. “What’s this?”

               “I must’ve gotten it yesterday when I punched the tree.”

               “And you didn’t think to clean it?”