The Blackout Girl ✔️

chapter twenty-nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was two am, just hours after Lexi returned from Alabama. Her chest felt lighter now that she finally confronted what scared her more than anything else in this world. It wasn't closure. No, there was too much finality in closure.

Nothing in her life felt like it was truly over, but she took this as being close enough. She could move forward now, resting in some assurance that, maybe, he'd changed.

She twisted the bag of tea resting in a white mug against the table. Her fingernails were locked around the small tab at the end of the string, and she tugged at it, creating ripples in the steaming drink.

They were planning Quinton's funeral. The arrangements had to be finalized soon. Her mother had gone to bed around midnight after placing an order for a caterer and reserving a place for them at the local funeral home. Lexi hadn't seen her father since he greeted her upon her arrival. He had shrank into his shell, refusing to come out.

It was almost as if there was an unspoken deadline for celebrations of life. Her mother was rushing to meet her own timestamp, and Lexi held her tongue and commentary.

You can't let too much time pass between death and a funeral, Lexi thought bitterly. Heaven forbid.

She was still angry, but she'd made a good faith effort to try and alleviate some of the tension. She and her mom danced around the reason she left in the first place, holding a balance. In her attempt to make amends, Lexi offered to get the flowers sorted out. As she sat in the kitchen, careful not to disturb the stillness that settled over the house, she was perusing a catalogue for the best-rated local florist.

The past few days had been overwhelming. Allowing herself to sleep for more than a few hours at a time was an excellent way to fall into a blackout. She'd set an alarm while she was away, hoping to shock herself awake every so often. Now, she was back to insomnia, allowing herself to stay up instead of fading out.

She could sleep after the funeral. Or maybe later, when they caught Quinton's killer. She could rest when she was sure her brain wasn't going to fail her.

Quinton hated flowers. He thought people spent way too much money on dead plants and probably would have hated watching Lexi look for some fancy arrangements to decorate the funeral home with. She hated it too, undoubtedly for a different reason. She was picking flowers to mourn her brother with. That wasn't high on the list of things she wanted to do in her lifetime.

The hardest part was picking the flowers they would use. White roses were pretty but pricey. Lilies were nice, but maybe too bright. Lexi knew she had to make the perfect selection, or else she might start arguing with her mother about it.

She scrubbed at her face with her palms. It shouldn't have felt like rocket science. There was no complexity to picking out flowers, but she was complicating it anyway. She ground her teeth, working her molars to the point of soreness.

"It's only flowers, Lex," she said aloud. "Just flowers."

Before she could spiral further into the rabbit hole, she ordered several bouquets of roses. They were simple and elegant, and she hoped her mother would think so too.

It was ridiculous. She was facing one of the saddest experiences of her life, left broken and crushed in the wake of Q's death. In a week, she would be wearing a black dress, bowing her head to pray, and trying to find closure.

With shaking hands, she closed the lid of her computer and took a long swig of her tea. It was bitter in her mouth, stale and lukewarm from sitting out. Still, she gulped it down, hoping for a caffeine boost.

She moved out to the couch, confronting the living room. Her father had thrown the old one out that day, replacing it with a newer, leather sofa. She liked it better, but it was mostly because she didn't have to sit where Q died.

They had recorded some baseball highlights. Well, Quinton technically did. He set the TV to do it automatically, and none of them had changed the programming. Lexi used the time to check up on the Astros. She owed it to Q. She wasn't going to break a tradition.

She curled up under a throw blanket, tucking herself in the fetal position. Curled like this, she was protected in a cocoon of her own creation. She shrank until she couldn't, pressed her face against the cushions, and watched a thousand pitches. It wasn't long before she passed out, despite her best efforts. The glow of the TV couldn't even disturb her.

She didn't stir until dawn when her dad switched off the television. With a sigh, he lifted her gingerly, like he would when she was a child. She rested her head against his chest as he carried her up the stairs and deposited her in the comfort of her own bed.

Somehow, she grabbed another few hours of rest without incident. No blackouts came either.