Caiden leapt at him, and they crashed down in a tangle of limbs. Muffled grunts and scuffling sounds filled the room.
I lurched forward, heart hammering. “Stop it! Just stop!” I threw my arms between them, pulling at their torsos, tears blurring the scene.
Dante paused, chest heaving, but Caiden lunged again, forcing me to wedge myself between them, arms trembling.
Dante finally released his grip and rose, bruises blossoming across his skin. He glared down at Caiden. “We’re done here.”
Breath ragged, Caiden met my eyes one last time—hatred twisted in his gaze—and stumbled from the room, wounded and defeated.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, hands shaking. “I’m sorry, Dante. I… I need to go.” In a blur I yanked on clothes, my voice cracking. He opened his mouth to stop me, but I bolted, racing into the day.
The engine’s roar soothed my frayed nerves as I slammed the door shut.
I’d broken Caiden’s heart; at least now he knew what loss tasted like.
Days passed in a haunted blur.
Dust motes drifted in sunbeams, and every corner whispered Lillian’s name. Her perfume, soft jasmine and vanilla, still clung to the air, a ghost’s lingering kiss. I avoided her bedroom; the door stayed shut, dust gathering along the frame like a forgotten tomb.
Silence weighed on me, heavy as lead. Mom moved through the halls like a wraith, lost in her own grief. The image of her in the fog-choked graveyard haunted me. Her head bowed, fingers tracing my sister’s name on the stone. I’d watched from a distance, too raw to approach.
Grief burrowed into my marrow, a parasitethat hollowed me out, leaving agony in its wake. It was a hurricane, smashing me against memories until I gasped for sanity.
Grief was a ruthless storm. Silent, creeping, capable of shattering the strongest minds. It crashed over you in waves, savage and unrelenting, stripping you bare until only twitching ruins remain. Rising from its wreckage demands a strength I feared I’d never muster.
I’ve wrestled with this grief my whole life. Loss knocking me flat like a freight train. Even now, I feel it coil around my throat, pressing tight, each heartbeat a pull toward darkness. I’m left a cold vessel, an empty shell shaped by pain. Waiting to see if I can breathe again.
I wandered my house, unanchored, circling from room to room. The kitchen reeked of sour milk and spilled liquor; the living room was a mausoleum of dead plants and dust.
I skirted Lillian’s bedroom, the door sealed like a tombstone, its silence denser than lead. I wanted to press my forehead to the wood and beg for a sound—her laughter, her voice, even her anger—but I couldn’t.
I drifted instead to my own room, flopping onto the mattress and staring at the ceiling until the lines blurred and strange patterns swam in my vision.
Hours passed, time warping and folding in on itself. I thought about texting Dante. I thought about driving to the cemetery, digging my fingers into the cold dirt above Lillian’s coffin just to prove she was real and down there.
Instead, I did nothing. I lay on my back and let the walls close in.
Sometime after dark, a sound split the quiet. Glass shattered. A bottle, maybe two, and then a crash so violent it rattled the pictures in the hallway.
I snapped to, heart thumping, and crept out. The kitchen light flickered, casting a jaundiced pallor on the scene.
Mom was on the floor, half-submerged in a tide of whiskey and orange soda. The bottle was in shards, sticky liquid pooling around her like an ooze.
She wore Lillian’s old hoodie, sleeves bunched at her elbows,and her hair was matted to her face as if it had rained indoors. Her feet were bare, toes black with dust.
“Mom.” I knelt next to the sticky lake, glass biting into my knees. Her head lolled up, eyes swimming, and for a second, she smiled, wide, grotesque, teeth rimmed in orange.
“I did it, kiddo. I finally out-drank the pain.” She made a show of raising a bloody knuckle in victory, then slumped, arm trailing the detritus.
“Let’s get you up,” I muttered, grabbing her under the armpits. Her body was limp.
She fought me, nails raking my forearm. “Don’t touch me,” she slurred, then exhaled a sob. “You think you’re so much better, judging me from your fucking high horse. But you’re just like her, just like Lillian. Think you’re special. Think you’re too good for this world.” She tried to shove me off, but her arms were useless.
I dragged her to the couch. The liquor on her breath was sharp enough to make my eyes water.
She slumped into the cushions, head lolling. “Why’d she do it?” Her voice was small, almost childlike. “Why’d she leave me here with you?”
Before I could respond, she lurched upright, feet skidding through the sticky mess, and pointed at me with a trembling finger. “You!” she hissed, eyes rolling back and then forward again, dilated wide as dimes. “You did this. You killed her. You can’t even look at me because you know you’re rotten. You’re the reason nobody stays. I hate you. I hate you.”
