Now the man I thought loved me has snatched my entire world from under me, leaving me with nothing.
How naïve of me to think I could have it all.
37. No, that’s not crying you hear
Nevaeh
It’s been a week. Six days, to be exact, since I got kicked out.
In that time, I’ve done nothing but watch cartoons with August and feed him microwavable meals and snacks.
When I first opened the pantry and saw it stocked with ready-made meals, I thanked the Fates that Harvey had the same level of kitchen expertise as I did.
It took us a long time to get August on a steady diet, and I refuse to let my heartbreak mess up his progress.
I was prepared for the day August would ask why we weren’t living in the kingdom anymore. I even had a whole story mapped out. Lies about playing a game of hide-and-seek because the coven was looking for us. But I forgot August isn’t like other kids his age. He never asked me because he already knew the truth.
So now, every morning, I put on a strong front. I spend the day watching August’s favorite cartoons with him. I laugh with him. I conjure golden smoke animals from my essence just to hear him giggle. I do everything I can to keep him distracted, entertained, and surrounded by love.
And every night, when he’s fast asleep, blissfully unaware of his mama drowning in pain, I let myself fall apart. Violent body-shaking sobs rack me until the constant ache in my chest eases, if only a little.
I haven’t slept more than five hours in total since we got here. My nightmares decided to make a comeback. August has started to notice. He’s worried, but I keep insisting I’ve got everything under control.
I’ll be okay. We’ll both be okay.
The only thing I want August to worry about is what movie to watch before bed. No matter how much he wants to help, I won’t burden my little boy with my mess. He’s a kid. I’ll do whatever it takes to let him stay one for as long as possible.
Tonight, he drifts off after the third Disney movie. I tuck him into my bed.Again. He hasn’t slept alone since we came here. It feels like we’re back to square one, back to learning how to function all over again.
I’m rummaging through the kitchen, tearing through the cabinets looking for my coffee mug, when I slam my forehead into the cupboard. Again.
Great, now I have a fresh bruise to match the others.
“Fuck!”
My knees buckle, and I crash to the floor, muffling my cries behind my hands. I scream without a sound, but nothing helps. Nothing numbs the pain.
What little grip I had over my emotions snaps, and memories drag me back to a place that holds nothing but loneliness and pain.
I’m done faking it. Done holding it together. Everything sucks. Everything hurts. My brain feels foggy, my body is begging for rest… andhe’snot here.
I keep smacking my head on these stupid cupboards because he’s not here. It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of not having his palm pressed to my forehead, saving me from the pain.
I miss his hand in mine. My fingers are raw and bleeding from constantly picking at them. I miss playing with his rings when my anxiety got the best of me.
I keep tripping through this strange house, ramming my pinky toe into every damn corner like it’s a punishment. A reminder that he’s not here to steer me away before I bump into things.
I can’t even breathe right when panic takes hold because he’s not here to demand that I breathe for him.
He’s not here, and I fucking hate it.
Six months. That’s all it took for me to get addicted to his presence. I never thought I’d have to learn how to live without him.
I want my Angel back. I’m even more broken and bruised without him, and I was just starting to heal. That asshole made himself the only thing I needed to fight my darkest days and then…
I want him. No… Ineedhim. But that’s the worst part. No matter how much I can’t be without him, he doesn’t want me. Maybe he never did.
I know I’m sinking. Slowly. Deeper into that familiar hole of never-ending darkness. I know one more push, even the slightest nudge, would shatter me completely. And this time, I’m scared that I wouldn’t be able to piece myself back together.
