Listen // Lams

Chapter 13

- Alexander -

Going through Usnavi's apartment was nearly impossible.

He was a lot like me - he had to face a lot of loss and death at a fairly young age. His parents both passed when he was young and a few years ago, he lost his sort of-grandmother who he was very close to. I'm sure her death felt a lot to him like his death feels to me.

I think that because of these losses he'd dealt with, he kept a lot of those people's personal items to cope with them being gone. His apartment was clean but there was just so much stuff in it. I knew we couldn't keep everything, but it felt so wrong to just think of selling or tossing out pieces of his life.

I had a little like next to me so far of some of his stuff. Vanessa had some stuff next to her too, mostly old sweatshirts and things that I assumed would comfort her during all this.

I picked through a couple things, trying not to get overwhelmed. I was so exhausted. I barely slept last night because all my mind did was race and force me to get up and write.

I still don't want John to see what I've been writing. I feel like he'd be concerned about me. Not that it's anything awful, it's just a lot of how my mind has been treating me lately. Which honestly... hasn't necessarily been good.

This whole Usnavi thing is really setting back my recovery. Everything we've been working towards in treatment has kind of been thrown out the window because I've lost all care for myself or anything around me.

I know John is picking up on things being bad but I know that I wouldn't be able to explain it to him the way I can write it out.

I've never been good at talking about my feelings. Even before I stopped speaking, telling anyone about how I felt made me uncomfortable and feeling like I had over-shared. I tried to put things off for so long, the issues I had with eating, anxiety, so that I wouldn't have to put myself in a position where I'd have to feel that discomfort.

When I write, I'm always able to write down whatever I feel, explaining it eloquently and in a way that makes a lot of sense. If I tried to explain what was happening in my brain, it would be stumbling signing and probably wouldn't make a whole lot of sense.

I sat, emotionless, next to John for what had to have been hours sorting through my cousins's belongings. Vanessa and John took no time putting everything into boxes and I helped a little here and there, not wanting to make them do all the work.

Vanessa gave us some casserole that one of her neighbors had brought over for her and we ate - well, John and Vanessa ate - at her tiny kitchen table while we started to establish funeral arrangements.

They asked me questions here and there - where we should have the funeral, if we should have a celebration of life to keep things more lighthearted, who we should have speak and if they wanted me to write something and have John say it for me.

I felt awful replying with shrugs and little feedback. I knew they were trying to get me to come out of my shell and maybe find some closure in planning all this, but God... it felt so wrong. It felt wrong that he wasn't sitting beside me and cracking some dumb joke or whistling a song or admiring Vanessa. It felt wrong that in a few short days, I'd be in the suit I was hoping I wouldn't have to wear while people swarmed around me and told them to ask for anything if I needed it.

I shouldn't be this apathetic over the loss of him. I shouldn't be so... like this? I don't even know how to describe how I feel. I just feel like a jumbled up mess and all I want to do is sit somewhere quiet and write a little bit. Maybe a little bit is an understatement.

"Is that alright with you, Alex?" John asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. I gave him an apologetic look.

Sorry, thinking again. What was the question? I signed quickly, suddenly feeling bad for my lack of attention.