“What are you doing here?” Atlas asks from the doorway, waiting for permission to enter.
“Apparently a mutiny,” I answer, glaring at Drako and Apollo. The two idiots make themselves comfortable as if welcome; Atlas still hasn’t stepped in. “Come in, Atlas,” I order. “And close the damn door.” He steps inside and shuts it behind him, still keeping his distance. “And you—what are you doing here?”
“I’m your six o’clock,” he says matter-of-factly.
“How cute. He booked a time,” Drako mocks. “Nero’s moving again, you know?” he adds, accusing me as if I’d committed a crime.
Atlas tilts his head almost imperceptibly, recognizing the pattern, but says nothing. His twin, however, doesn’t miss the chance.
“You need to stop this, man. You’re losing it. It’s time to see a psychiatrist. We already decided,” Apollo announces, as if it’s nothing.
“We decided who?” I ask, not really wanting the answer.
“The three of us,” Apollo admits, and Drako nods.
“I decided nothing,” Atlas adds calmly, absolving himself.
“You voted yes!” Drako complains.
“Believing Nero needs medical help doesn’t mean I’ll interfere in his life without being asked,” Atlas says with such serenity it could be mistaken for ordering juice instead of restraining two fools.
“And how long do you plan to wait?” Drako snaps. “Until all that’s left is picking funeral flowers? Because we already know they’ll be daisies.”
From the looks of it, they’ve had this argument many times to reach this stalemate. We all stare at Drako until he explains.
“They were Nina’s favorites. Or are we going to keep pretending she isn’t the reason for your breakdowns, your obsession, your anxiety attacks? Are we going to keep pretending we don’t know that when you disappear you turn into a ghost, pacing her house—your house—in circles? How long are you going to run every time a place starts looking like Nina?”
“Out of my office. All of you,” I end it.
“You can’t run from what’s inside you,” Drako ignores me, tactless. “It’s not the house—it’s you!” He shouts now, unable to stop.
And it starts again. I squeeze my eyes shut because I don’t want them to notice. My hands begin to shake; I lose the ability to support my weight even though I’m seated.
I open my eyes to a blur. I can’t make out what they’re saying, their voices slow and muffled. Drako puts a hand on my shoulder, loosens my tie, unbuttons three buttons of my shirt.
It isn’t the first time they’ve seen me have an anxiety attack, but I don’t think they’ve ever seen one this strong. Apollo shoves Drako aside, grabs my hair, and without gentleness bends my head between my knees.
“Breathe,” he reminds me, breathing loud and slow, guiding me. “Breathe,” he repeats, and I do—for long seconds. Apollo holds my head and breathes with me. My hearing starts to normalize; the muffling fades.
Not long after, clarity returns to my vision too. Still counting breaths with Apollo while Drako fans me with folders he grabbed, I notice Atlas rushing back in—I hadn’t even registered him leaving. He kneels in front of me and places an ice stone in each of my palms.
The vulnerability flooding me makes me want to throw all three of them out the window—so they won’t say anything else, won’t see anything else, won’t force me to be this pathetic, out-of-control creature. But I’m just tired. Exhausted. And I don’t know what to do.
“I’ll never be able to move on if I don’t know what happened to her,” I say honestly and painfully, answering a question no one asked. Each word tears free, searching for somewhere less hostile to land.
“I tried, but it’s stronger than me,” I continue. If I’ve started, I might as well finish. I can’t stand being challenged as if I could do anything other than what I’m doing. Do they think I chose this? That I wanted to be like this? “Until I put an end to this, my life will stay frozen in time, drifting through the fragments of consciousness that are left.”
I finish, and I know my pain has taken up space. It hangs in the air, settling into the hearts of each of my friends.
I can’t say I feel lighter—but they certainly look heavier. I wish I felt guilty. I don’t have room for that anymore.
Silence binds us. Apollo and Drako sit again; Atlas stands beside them. I toss the remaining ice into the trash and wipe my hands on my trousers.
“We can help you look for her,” Drako begins—and I cut him off.
“I promise.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
