Slate | ✓

TWENTY-SIX | ATHENA

Will gently holds Henry in his lap as if the toddler is the only thing keeping him in a single piece. I'm reminded of what he looked like the day he couldn't breathe. As I sit across from him at the table, I battle the urge to ask if he's absolutely, one hundred percent sure that he can handle this.

However, the question would probably be more for my benefit than his. Whatever his answer, I think we're all finally past pretending. The violence of watching Will struggle for breath as I couldn't help him hasn't left me. If anything, it's become louder and louder in my head as Will seems to disappear a little more with each passing day. I know I've only been paying attention for a fraction of the time this has been happening to him. 

I share a look with Annie, who sits at the head of the table. Her eyes dart down to the plate of food she placed in front of Will, which has gone unacknowledged. Even Charlie— his nose heavily bandaged— exchanges concerned glances with Lizzie, who sits beside Will. The empty seat where Victor should be stares us all down.

Days ago, I called John in a blind panic. Will had been in bed for about eighteen hours straight. "He's not eating, not drinking," I cried to John over the phone. "Fuck, he's even stopped smoking. I don't even think he's noticed he hasn't had a cigarette in two days. I'm fucking worried, John. It's just like—"

"Mom." John finished for me, his voice slightly distorted by static.

"Yeah," I said. "What do I do? What am I supposed to do?"

"I—" John's voice wavered. "I'm not sure, Athena."

"He was doing okay, wasn't he?" I asked. I wanted him to tell me what I needed to hear.

"This isn't the first time he's been like this, Athena."

"What?" I adjusted my phone against my ear, like I hoped I'd heard him incorrectly. "What do you mean?"

John sighed. "Last spring. Just before he broke up with Ella. It was the same thing. He didn't come out of his room for days, and when he did, he started withdrawing from everybody."

I tried to think back to before the summer — back to the spaces Will once held until he didn't, and I didn't even notice. "I was spending all my time with my friends..."

"Look, Athena, guilt is a waste of energy. It might seem like there's nothing—"

"John, come home. Please." I was on the verge of genuine begging. 

Again, he sighed. "I can't. You know I can't right now."

"Don't be selfish." I snapped, even if John is the last person I'd ever describe as selfish.

John didn't take the bait. "When he's ready to talk, I'll be there. Until then..." He hesitated. "He has to want to help himself— that's the hard part." For the first time, emotion threatened to overcome his voice. "I'm sorry, Athena. If I could do it for him— if I could take his place, I would in a heartbeat if it would make him not hurt anymore; but I can't. Until he starts to treat this as the illness it is, until he chooses himself first, the best any of us can do is be there for him."

My throat felt raw and tight. "So, what? I'm just supposed to wait this shit out? That's your advice?"

"You're there for him," John replied. "You love him, you care for him, and that doesn't count for nothing. Just make sure he knows he's not alone. Keep an eye out."

Naturally, the next thing I did was call Ella. My pride be damned.

Initially, I was relieved to see them together again. I thought that he's be okay if she was here. I desperately wanted to believe John was wrong somehow, and that if I just tried hard enough I could make him want to be here.