Despite It All

Chapter 43

Day +... Does it even matter?

Cold tiles press firmly against my back, my bottom threatening to fall asleep as it rests sluggishly against the shower floor. The vent in the bathroom hums its steady tune, each deep huff a reminder that I've been in here way too long. Tepid water beats steadily against each marbled tile, the slow whooshing sounds melodic as each bead of water travels towards the drain.

How lucky, really, for the water to know exactly where to go, what to do. Each droplet happy to flow independently or in unison with one another, their purpose clear.

My face is puffy and painful, the heavy steam clouding my vision. There is a sullen, dull ache that sits in my chest at the base of my throat, which is a little sore from all of the wretched, soundless sobs it has endured. I attempt to clear the lump that has settled there, a painful ball of disuse, to no avail. The water—when it was hot, initially—felt soothing against my lifeless skin, the steady stream steaming and persistent, bringing a flushness to the surface of my body. Now, the water feels cold and listless—just like me.

It's been a little over three weeks since the funeral and I am still transitioning from feeling searing pain to feeling... nothing at all.

I'm not sure which is worse.

I close my eyes and think about all that transpired since Mia's last breath, every event a blurry, dazed memory. We were all just going through the motions, doing what we needed to ensure that Mia's service was beautiful and meaningful. Condolences were spoken and tears were shed, yet at the time I remember feeling detached—unwilling to accept that any of it was real. This was... this was someone else's reality. Not ours. It couldn't be ours.

Of course, the days coursed forward, each one tugging at the loose thread of our sanity, our resolve. We've been unraveling slowly, the strands holding us together tangling upon themselves when they should have tried to tie together—tried to form a knot connecting us to make us stronger. I've called off work more times than I can count, and I'm positive I'm in trouble. Not surprisingly, I can't bring myself to care at this point.

Does anything matter?

Soaked hair rests heavily on my body, clinging to my back, my shoulders, my face. Heavy arms wrap around my bent knees, a natural instinct to hold myself together. Pruned fingers trace slow paths along my legs, desperate to feel... something. Anything.

I'm just... I'm not ready to get out of the shower. I know as soon as I do, the heavy silence will sit upon me, suffocating and relentless. Each day is harder than the last, and even though we live together, Logan has never felt further from me.

I know the onus is on me to diligently be there for him, to be the rock he needs me to be. He's the one who lost a daughter. But he's... he's not ready. He doesn't cry, he doesn't wallow, he doesn't even talk, really. He just stares at the wall, the looming shadow of depression darkening his features and clouding his soul.

Before the silence set in, I could allow the distractions of my reality to redirect my thoughts from my emotional inadequacies—my inability to deal with prolonged exposure to the premature death of innocent, beautiful souls. Now, with nowhere else to look or deflect, I have no choice but to look within myself.

Turns out, my worst fears were absolutely true. I'm a barren wasteland, a shell of whom I once was. I don't... I don't even know how to be what Logan needs because I don't know what I need.

A cold shiver runs through my body, and I can't decide if it's a result of the now-freezing water or just the numbness that has overcome my very being.

Pins and needles prickle against my skin as I begrudgingly bring my body to a stand, my muscles aching with disapproval. Mindless hands turn the shower handle and grab a plush towel, tired feet carrying me out of the bathroom. Haunting silence envelops me, cocooning my dread-filled body.