The October Malice ༄ (gxg)

nineteen, it's all over now

"I just don't understand where she could have gone!"

Jeremy flung his hands in the air before resting them on both of his hot temples, his heartbeat accelerating even more. It was like he could physically feel his blood pressure rising as beads of sweat broke out right at his hairline.

Opal chewed her lip as she watched her dad nervously pace the living room. Her mother had never came home the previous night, and it was now well into noon the next day. They'd called Sam's mom to ask if she had seen her, but she said the last time she saw her was when she was leaving work. Amanda was not one to break routine or to just randomly run away even if she constantly acted like she wanted to.

There was always the idea that she really had left Opal and Jeremy, which wouldn't have surprised either of them because of how much she dreaded living in that house for some reason. But even though Jeremy would expect it, he definitely didn't want it to happen.

Plus, Opal knew that Amanda would never have just left without saying anything. No, her mother would have thrived off the dramatics of it, making a huge scene to let everyone know that she, high and mighty, was leaving her depressed husband and oddball daughter in the dust.

So she hadn't purposefully left, meaning that she was mysteriously missing. Opal could see through her dad's baggy eyes as he paced the living room that all he was thinking was that something horrible had happened, that she was out past the city curfew and was alone and vulnerable. He loved his wife so dearly no matter all the hate and anger she spewed at him. Her demise would be the end of him.

"Maybe she just decided to get away for a while," Opal offered with an unsteady voice, but she knew that it wasn't true. Her mother hated everyone in town except for Sam's mom, and they had already checked with her. There was absolutely nowhere else she could have gone.

"What if she got into a wreck somewhere," Jeremy muttered, dragging his hands down over his glasses, letting them slide down his cheeks.

"They would have found her car somewhere," the girl softly refuted.

Jeremy only sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with his palms hard as his glasses hung loosely between two fingers. "It's all my fault," he continued, his voice wavering as he suddenly stopped his pacing, his upper body leaning over slightly as if weighed down with the weight of his stress.

"Dad," Opal immediately spoke in a soft tone, rushing over to him and placing her hand on his back. "How could any of this be your fault?" she asked in nearly a whisper, leaning up towards her tall father who was still covering his eyes. Upon hearing him sniffle and turn away from her, she realized that he was crying.

It was the first time she had ever seen her dad cry.

"Dad," she exclaimed in an even softer tone, her hand falling away from his upper back as he walked towards the island in the kitchen, placing his hands on the edge of it and hanging his head down.

"Your mother has been so unhappy," he began, voice cracking as his head somehow hung even lower. "I can't make her happy—" His voice gave out suddenly at the very end of his word, and Opal could see his broad shoulders trembling slightly. "I can never make anyone happy."

Her lips parted as tears bit at her eyes. Her father had been slowly falling apart for months, but now he was at his very edge, and so was she.

"I can't make my patients happy, which is why one killed herself," he abruptly blurted, bringing his hand up to wipe his nose.

Opal's eyes widened in shock at his statement. "What?" she whispered in disbelief.

She watched his hung head shake vigorously. "That's why I quit my job out of town," he explained in his edged voice. "I couldn't help my patient, and now she's dead." He bent his elbows, leaning further down towards the island as he cried out in a choked voice, "Now Mrs. Browning is dead, and your mother is gone!" His voice broke completely and turned into quiet sobs, his hands meeting his watery cheeks as his entire body shook.