The Bikini Syndrome | WATTYS2019

» twenty-nine: the meaning of sunflowers

Holly's phone went off at 9AM the next morning.

She had dozed off in The Nest, settled into the folds of the beanbag she had propped there the night before.

She stumbled over to her phone and shut it off, then flopped onto her bed, arms and legs splayed out. She had work today.

She knew that.

She also knew she was going to be late if she didn't hurry and get ready.

But Holly couldn't seem to find the motivation to move, no matter what her mind was screaming at her.

Nothing seemed to quite worth moving for.

But Oliver will be disappointed in you, her secret heart whispered.

Holly tried to peel herself off her bed. But she found that she didn't care all that much.

She just needed to text Oliver and explain. She was sure he would understand.

In the end, Holly did none of those things. She turned over in her bed and pulled her blankets over her head. The darkness and warmth under her covers was reassuring, and she felt a little more at ease.

She hadn't really slept the entire night, and now fatigue was catching up her. It felt nice to lose herself in that abyss between waking and sleeping, that grey space that felt like she was drowning in dreams and lost from the grip of reality.

She could finally stop thinking.

When Holly next opened her eyes, she judged it was late afternoon, maybe four or five. Checking her phone confirmed her suspicions.

She also saw multiple texts from Oliver, asking if she was okay. Not once did he mention anything about work.

Holly wanted to text him back, even thank him for reaching, for caring.

But in the end, she put her phone down, and turned to stare at the wall.

She just felt lethargic — emotionally, not physically. It just felt like so much work to care right now, about other people, about anything.

She didn't know how long she stayed that way, but the next thing she knew, the whirrrrrrr of the garage door opening announced her dad coming home from work.

Her mom wouldn't be far behind him, though she'd probably stop at the store first and pick up some groceries. Holly knew she'd have to get up at some point. She'd have to eat dinner, or talk with her parents, reassure them that she was still functioning, still normal.

But still, she didn't move.

"Holly! It's dinnertime!" Her mom's yell was faint from underneath the covers. Some more time had passed while Holly was stuck in the grey fuzz of her mind.

She knew she should throw off the covers. Get up. Reply.

But she didn't.

She later heard her dad's heavy footfalls and her mom's softer ones stop outside her door. Whispers, probably as they decided what to do, what to say.

In the end, her mom came in and sat on her bed. Holly felt the bed sink a little under her weight.

Holly pretended to be asleep.

She felt her mom pat her head, fingers cold against her forehead.

"Oh, Holly. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

After a few minutes, her mom finally left, taking her cold fingers with her.

Or maybe Holly was just unusually warm.