ADJOURNMENT || benny watts x reader

chapter fourteen

It was bleak, to say the least. You spent the better part of a month inside your apartment, smoking, hardly eating, not reading or sleeping or feeling anything.

You'd never thought of yourself as depressed. You'd never even thought of yourself as mentally ill, but as hours turned into days, you were struck with the fact that you needed help. Mental help, emotional help—

And it was something you'd needed for a long time.

You never knew you could harbour so much hatred for a game that you loved so much; so much malice for a world that was so ingrained within your father; so much resentment for yourself for pushing yourself away from everyone you ever loved, and who loved you back.

You'd neglected every phone call that had rung from your line, too afraid that it wouldn't be Benny—

You missed him. More than you missed your father, you thought—and that was something that scared you more than the first time you'd played chess.

You didn't feel haunted by your father, but you couldn't deny that you felt he was around you. His presence, his aura, his intelligence and wit—you could feel it, as you slumbered in bed for days on end without saying a word to anyone.

You'd hit rock bottom. Utterly and completely.

You'd hit it so hard that sometimes you found yourself laughing. A maniacal, cackling laugh, where your chest would begin to hurt and your limbs would begin to shake, but no tears would push their way out of your eyes.

On some days, you willed yourself to descend the six floors to your mailbox and back up to your apartment, but you hadn't received anything—

Until the day before the Chicago tournament.

There was one letter, encased in a cream envelope with a wax seal at the back. You looked at it grumpily as you sat on the floor by the fire escape, lit cigarette dangling from your lips. You were about to open it when your phone rang, jolting you with adrenaline.

You stared it down, as the insatiable urge to pick it up came over you. The calls had calmed down after the first week of zero contact; probably because your friends had slowly found out what had happened.

You believed they'd resent you, perceive you differently; you didn't reach out, nor did you accept their offers of reaching out to you. It was easier that way; that was your mentality.

It was a fucked up mentality, a part of you screamed, but you ignored it as best as you could—

Until you finally curled your fingers around the phone that morning, shaking as you held it to your ear, not saying anything in greeting as you readied yourself for whatever was on the other end of the line.

"Y/N," Beth breathed out. "I thought you were dead—we all thought you were dead." An overwhelming warmth spread through your chest; it had been so long since you'd felt it, and all it did was remind you how much you'd fucked everything up.

You let out a shaky breath, inhaling cigarette smoke afterwards. "Not dead," You let out, barely.

"What're you doing, Y/N?" Beth said, her voice harsher suddenly.

"Ha, that's a good question," You replied sadistically, but your eyes were already beginning to well. It stung as they did—you'd been so devoid of anything for almost a month, it felt strange to be feeling anything.

"Are you okay?"

Are you okay?

Those three words were enough for you to breakdown, completely. You hung your head in shame as you shook uncontrollably. You hated feeling this vulnerable, this exposed, but you knew that someday you'd need to let go—you need to get back up.