Page 115 of Whispered Promises

“Hey, cutie.” I croak. The growing trust he has in me ignites a warm feeling beneath the pain of my grief. “You’re such a brave boy, Moshi. I’m sorry I’m such a mess. Tomorrow I’ll do better, I promise. I…I need today,” I stutter as tears gather in my eyes.

Every day I push myself through surviving, regardless of how my mental or physical health is. But this one day each year, I give to myself to just break down and feel everything. To grieve, to mope, and to wallow.

Would Nanna be pissed at me for doing this every year? 100%, yes. She’d hate that I let her passing affect me like this.

But she’s also not here to tell me otherwise, so I can grieve her in any way I want.

That’s what I tell myself…but truthfully, I’m too exhausted and sad to fight through the day. The idea of peopling when I feel so vulnerable is unbearable. So I’m spending the day doing whatever my mind needs to get through it, and currently, that’s rotting in bed.

Having a silent companion makes it somewhat easier, even though Moshi can’t offer any verbal or physical comfort, having him here makes me feel less alone. Although, since moving in with Steph and becoming…something…with the guys has meant that I haven’t quite been as alone. But I can’t use the people in my life as a crutch when things feel hard. Doing it alone is safer and less painful, because eventually, they’ll end up leaving me.

Sadly, even though my brain wants to melt into the mattress, my at-capacity bladder has other ideas.

“Bodily functions need to leave me alone so I can stay in my pity party,” I mutter.

Standing sluggishly, I reach over to a drawer and pull out my favourite oversized jumper. As I tug it over my head, I shuffle into my sliders, then leave my sanctuary for the bathroom.

Before I can quite make it, a loud knock on the front door has me frowning, displeased at the interruption of the outside world.

I ignore it, but the knock sounds again.

Argh. I tip my head up and glare at the ceiling, annoyed at life for not keeping reality at bay for one day, and stomp over to the offending door. Glancing through the peephole, I instantly regret leaving my bed. Standing on the other side are Noah and Nate.

“What is this bullshit? Do you really want to shit on me this much, that you won’t let me grieve in peace? Instead, you send two of them to gate-crash my sadness?” I grumble to the unknown, aware I sound insane talking to the air. But I can’t summon the ability to care. I’m terrified of not being able to hold myself together.

It would be a shitty thing to ignore them, and what if they need something? My head thuds against the door, and I inhale a deep breath before opening it enough to greet them, but not wide enough to let them enter.

“Hey, Nate, Noah. Are you okay?” I say, pasting on my best attempt at a friendly smile.

“We just got home and noticed your car’s still here. We wanted to check that you’re okay,” Noah responds. His mouth pinches, and his eyes scan my face intently.

I instantly regret not showering and putting on clean clothes.

Wait, no, this is my day.

That sounded a lot weaker in my head than I wanted it to.

“Yeah, I have the day off. So I’m catching up on stuff at home, nothing major.” Even to my ears, I sound fake.

Nate’s frown deepens, and his eyes narrow on me. Probably detecting my lie. I need to wrap this up before I start leaking tears again.

“Well, if neither of you need anything, I’m going to get back to my, ah…stuff. Have a good day!” I chirp, cringing when my voice cracks at the end.

Before I can shut them out, a black work-boot wedges itself in the small gap, and a large hand curls around the edge.

“You’re not okay,” Nate growls, pushing the door towards me so I have to take a step back to avoid getting knocked into.

He steps into my space and hitches his hand beneath my chin, then raises it, giving himself unfettered access to my pale, puffy face. Another warm presence comes up beside me, and a soothing hand strokes up and down my spine. Now both of them are crowding me.

“What’s wrong, Rosy?” Noah’s voice is laced with concern, his breath caressing the side of my face.

Having Noah whispering in my ear as Nate stares down at me with his intense gaze has my brain short circuiting. I can’t remember a word either of them has said.

“Wh…what?” The stutter falls from my lips, drawing Nate’s focus to them.

Noah puts a hand on Nate’s chest and pushes him back a fraction, then turns my body to face him. With both hands on my shoulders, he leans forward until we’re eye level. His palms stroking my arms, as he says, “What’s wrong, Rosy?”

Shit, I don’t want to answer that. But lying is useless since I’m so bad at it.