Accolade

chapitre síx

Nobody ever talks about the calm after the storm. 

They always talk about the before because it's easier. We want to believe in life before death. Happiness before pain. The moments before we fall, and we never expect to see what happens after. Sometimes, there isn't an after. 

In this instance of my life, after the storm, there's a certain amount of stagnant air. A ghostless presence. It cannot be filled by dormant words or liquid emotion, no rain to fall and no thunder to call, just utter silence that consumes all breath. The aftermath of a devastating storm destroys everything that's ever been known as familiar. 

An ache of unfamiliarity. 

I sat on my couch without a thought in my head. No thoughts worth thinking, anyway. I couldn't shake the haunting image of Auden on my kitchen floor, the soul-crushing sobs that echoed in my empty head, and I felt bad for causing him this pain. He didn't deserve this. 

He had since gone to take a shower. 

I don't know when River had put me on the couch and wrapped my shoulders in a blanket, but that's how I remained. Admitting my diagnosis to them, out loud, made this even more real. It was like a parasite that threatened my life. I couldn't process time. It passed unknowingly. I found it hard to believe that all of this had happened within seventy-two hours. 

Time is a fragile concept. 

One that I was naive to believe would wait. From the second we come into this world, our time ticks. When you are young, you want to grow up. When you grow up, you want to be young. But time heeds neither and persists until the last second ends. Although, now I would learn that time dwindles for those unfortunate. 

How fast stars fell. 

How soon would I be forgotten? 

Someone spoke to me. 

I blinked from my stupor. 

River stood before me and he extended a steaming cup towards me. For just a breath, I studied his strong features. He didn't look like had cried, or had even considered the thought of it. There was no emotion at all. Only a gentle nod of his head and that's when I took the cup.

My eyes focused on the swirling liquid. 

"It's honeysuckle tea with a dab of sugar," River said, his voice low and quiet, like the distant rumble of thunder that soothed the forest, "I found it in one of your cabinets because I remember that you despise coffee."

"I don't despise it, it's just not my favorite beverage," I replied softly, though my lips lifted as if I could smile after my heart had cracked. "Thank you for the tea." 

"We'll get through this," He said, as if so sure that he knew the outcome. That he could predict time, and save the minutes of my mine. If there's anyone I'd trust at their word, it was him. "One day at a time, we will get through it." 

"What if the days run out?" 

"That's not the way I want you to think. I want you to enjoy every moment of every day. I want you to forget about your diagnosis--" 

"I can't just forget--"

"I will not watch you destroy yourself thinking about it every single moment. I've just witnessed you do it for the past ten minutes. It does not define you, and it never will."

For once, words abandoned me. River held eye contact with me, his stormy blue eyes daring me to argue on this losing battle. Though, I found he was right. Had I realized I was creating a dark cloud over my head? Of course not. But grief did because that's what it did best.