I know today is hard for her. It would be Leon's birthday, and it's the first one she's spent in her life without him. I expected her to be distant and some tears, or even for her to shut down.
But not this.
When Willow’s sad, she closes off from everyone. She doesn't explode or break things. And she doesn't push people away unless they've really gotten under her skin.
Which means something happened today.
When I left her this morning after she came apart twice on my tongue in the shower, she was okay.
Well, as okay as she can be.
I’m banking on her being home because I’m running out of options, and I don't do well with not knowing where she is.
I stopped by Beantastics first. The lights were off, but through the glass, I could make out enough to know something had happened. The place was a mess, and the sign on the door still said open, but luckily, the door was locked.
The studio was closed, so she wasn't there either.
And her phone is off.
I’m seriously fucking panicking here.
I close the door behind me, the lights are off, and there's not a sound.
If she isn't here, I’m gonna have to organise a search party with my Mam.
“Are you home?”
The front room is dark, but I spot her. She's curled in the corner of the couch, her knees tucked tight to her chest, a bottle of vodka dangling loosely from her fingers. Just holding it, staring straight ahead like she's somewhere entirely.
“Baby?”
Nothing.
I flick on the small lamp beside me, and the light hits her face.
She's still in her uniform. Her beautiful, green eyes are bloodshot and unfocused. Her skin is blotchy from crying, mascara smeared down her cheeks in dark streaks. I don't miss the redness of her wrists from scratching them again.
She's breaking down silently, something that cracks my heart.
All I want is for her to look at me, but she won't.
“What happened?” I ask her quietly. “Ezra said you went to his bar, and the coffee shop was a mess.”
I move slowly to sit beside her, not wanting to startle her, and reach for the vodka bottle. Before I can take it from her, her grip tightens around it.
“Don’t,” she croaks, her voice wrecked from crying.
There's an overwhelming feeling of needing to tear apart whoever made her cry.
I press my lips together, then rest my hand gently on her knee, where they're tucked against her chest. She flinches at the contact, but thankfully doesn't move away from me.
“I don't think you need any more.”
Her glassy eyes finally shift to mine. Obviously, by the look on her face, she doesn't agree.
“You have no idea what's good for me.”
Okay, something definitely has happened between this morning and now.
