Chapter Text
I don't own the characters.
Chapter 1
I wake to the enchanting strains of Bach's Cello Suite No. 1, Prelude. The music is spellbinding, carrying me away from the weight of existence, its resonance a tether to something beyond. I feel as though I'm floating, suspended in an infinite void. It's like being cradled on a cloud encircling a lone mountain peak. I'm neither warm nor cold—just present. Breathing. Existing.
It's as if I've stepped into a Michelangelo painting, a figure adrift in the pale embrace of a vast blue sky, poised on the brink of being devoured by its immensity.
I make a feeble attempt to open my sore eyes, the effort like pushing against stone. Darkness greets me—deep and foreboding. My digital alarm clock glows faintly on the nightstand, its solemn red numbers marking the hour: 4:00 a.m. The prelude plays on. I groan, scrubbing the haze of sleep from my face. Rising this early has been a sacred ritual since childhood, a quiet act of communion with the dawn.
My gaze lingers on the nightstand, on the picture frame I turned face-down two months ago. The photograph hidden beneath its glass still haunts me. I haven't summoned the courage to confront it—not yet.
Shaking off the thought, I stagger toward the window on the other side of the room. The chill of the hardwood floor grounds me as I slide open the pane, letting the brisk morning air rush in. Outside, in the ledge's hidden crevice, my secret stash waits.
I retrieve it with practiced ease and climb onto the slanted asphalt shingles. The cool roof beneath me balances the sharp warmth of the joint I light, its smoke threading through my lungs and into my bloodstream. As THC smooths the edges of my mind, I watch the horizon.
The sun begins its slow ascent over the mountains, its first sliver of light piercing the quiet predawn. Pink and blue hues swirl together across the sky like an artist's brushstrokes—serene yet powerful. Nature's beauty feels both gentle and ferocious, a duality that humbles me. The only sound is a lone woodpecker's rhythmic taps in the stillness, an echo of life waking with the day.
When I zone out like this, it gives me the composure I need to carry me through the day. Lord knows I'll need it later for the club. Letting Angela convince me to work there felt like a trial run at first, but the money's decent, and we need it right now. So I've been coping with the incessant buzzing in my head by smoking more weed than I probably should. It's not permanent—just enough to keep my thoughts from scrambling and frying before dawn breaks.
I hear shuffling inside and glance back at the open window, waiting for Seth to barge through my rickety bedroom door. He doesn't.
"Leah! Do you know where I left my backpack?" His voice is muffled but sharp, cutting through the stillness.
I smirk, amusement tugging at my lips as I take another slow drag.
"Can you help me?" His tone softens. "Please?"
Sighing, I lick my thumb and snuff out the joint, setting it carefully on the windowsill. The weight of the morning presses against me as I climb back through the window. "Of course," I mutter, shuffling toward the door. When I open it, Seth is standing there.
His boyish face is streaked with traces of tears, his dark brown eyes betraying his attempts to mask the weight he's carrying. Seeing him like this makes my stomach twist painfully.
"What'd you get into last night?" I ask, keeping my tone light.
He shrugs, his gaze dropping as he starts down the stairs. "Same shit, different day, sis. I swear I brought it home, though..." His voice trails off, doubtful even to himself.
I stand at the top of the stairs, watching him disappear into the kitchen. The heaviness in my chest grows. What am I going to do with this boy?
By the time I join him downstairs, the tension in the air feels almost suffocating. Seth is slouched at the kitchen table, his keys in one hand as he stares blankly ahead.
"Feel like talking?" I ask gently, pouring water into the coffee maker.
He turns to me, his gaze sharp and raw. Without a word, he holds up his keys.
"Don't forget those," I say lightly, trying to ease the tension.
His body stiffens. "Can I just drop out?"
My stomach churns, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "Seth..." My voice is measured, though it's a struggle to keep frustration at bay. "You're almost done, dude, a little more than a month and a half away and boom you've got your diploma."
He doesn't respond, his face pale and drawn. The sight of him like this tears at me, but I hold myself together, swallowing the urge to cry.
"I know," I continue softly. "God, I know this is hard for you, Seth. Maybe I can call the school? Tell them you're sick for the week?"
Still, he says nothing. His silence cuts deeper than any words could.
"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Are you?" he fires back.
I cross my arms, hesitating. "No," I admit, "but that's not always a bad thing. We can talk about it." I pause, gauging his reaction. "Even if you want to talk to someone else?"
"About what?"
"About everything you're going through. It might help."
He shakes his head. "You're going through a lot too."
I exhale sharply. "We both are, but it's my job to hold it together for us. I'm not into the whole psychoanalytic thing, but if you need someone, I'll find you a good counselor. Whatever you need."
His wide eyes lock onto mine, his voice breaking as he asks, "Who's gonna be here with me if you're gone too?"
The question punches me in the chest, the sheer vulnerability behind it taking me by surprise.
I step closer, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "I'm not leaving, dude. I'm never leaving. You're my best friend." My voice cracks, and I bite back a sob, my throat tight with emotion. God, it hurts so much to see him like this.
He nodded slightly, still unable to show me he was okay. So, I did the only thing I could—I stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. I held him so tightly it felt as though I was trying to keep him from slipping away. Seth stiffened at first, caught off guard, but I held on, hoping to anchor him. "I'm here," I whispered, my voice shaky with suppressed emotion. After a moment, his arms wrapped gingerly around me, his hesitation melting into acceptance.
"I've got you, man. No matter what. I'm not going anywhere." My words came out firm, a promise forged in my chest.
"Promise?" he murmured, his face damp with tears pressed against my shoulder, soaking my shirt.
I took a steadying breath, willing myself to be strong. "Absolutely. I promise." I patted his back gently, trying to reassure him as much as myself. "We'll get through this, bud."
We stood there for what felt like an eternity, an unspoken understanding passing between us. My fingers brushed the baby hairs at the nape of his neck, grounding me in the moment. Finally, Seth sniffled and pulled away slightly, just as the sharp knock of a fist pounding on the front door shattered our bubble of calm.
Both our heads snapped toward the sound. Seth wiped his tears with the sleeves of his shirt as I straightened, trying to regain composure. "I'll get it," I said, moving toward the door. My hand hesitated on the knob. I inhaled sharply, steeling myself. Okay. One, two, three… You're fine.
When I opened the door, a tall boy with cropped black hair and warm brown eyes stood on the porch, shifting awkwardly on the heels of his sneakers. His gaze flicked to me, and he seemed startled, like I wasn't who he was expecting.
"Yes?" I prompted, tightening my grip on the door to keep the cold out.
"Uh, yeah… Is Seth here?" His voice wavered slightly, his hands retreating behind his back.
"Who's asking?" I replied, my tone cautious as I instinctively sized him up. His eyes darted past me toward the archway leading to the kitchen.
I heard Seth's familiar grunt before his footsteps echoed behind me. "Embry," the boy said quickly, just as Seth appeared and slid past me.
"School?" I asked pointedly, crossing my arms as I eyed the two of them. Neither was carrying a backpack, which immediately raised my suspicions. My brows furrowed.
"Yes," Seth sighs.
My brows furrow once I realize that neither of them have backpacks on. "Without your backpack?"
"We left them at Jared's," Embry said smoothly, rocking on his heels again. "We're heading there now, then straight to school."
Seth avoided my gaze, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His entire body was taut with unspoken frustration, the storm inside him threatening to spill out. I wanted to push further but knew it would only make things worse. Instead, I held out my fist, and Seth reluctantly bumped it with his own. "No trouble," I said, my voice softer this time, though I doubted my own warning would stick.
He nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. "I'll be home for dinner."
"Love you," I called after him as the two of them walked off.
Seth glanced back, his expression strained as he forced a small smile. "Love you, too," he said, and I watched them until they disappeared from sight.
I am watching them but appearing not to, my heart is hammering but I keep my gait casual with no hint of hesitation.
I come back into the house. Going back into the thought of Seth's emotional hurricane, pulling me into his vortex and, with each day, I feel the winds clipping at my core. As tempting as it is to get wrapped up in it, it always ends up being a push and pull kind of thing, which is seriously wearing on my emotional state of mind. I was always pretty adept at hiding my broken insides. When the frustration builds and I think I might literally lose it – I take a long deep breath. I want to shout, have a tantrum and beat my hands on the ground until I see bone and blood. I would love to vent, let it all out. But I am learning to deal with it, just slowly.
There were times I felt like the world was slowly disappearing in front of me. Or maybe it was just me who was fading away. Those moments it didn't mattered anyway. Because my empty burning lungs and my heart hitting my chest so hard I thought it will break my ribs and rip apart my skin were the only thing I could think about.
And the void. The black hole in my head, deep inside my soul, slowly swallowing all my hopes and dreams. That was the worst of those moments. The realization of the vacuum, the nothingness, the absurd of my existence.
Those times kept me awake at five a.m. and made me wonder: why am I living for anyway?
Maybe for me. Maybe for Seth. Did it really matter?
And when I couldn't find my answers on the ceiling, the anxiety turned into panic.
I needed to have some sort of relief before I threw up thinking too much about it all.
"Fuck!" I shout at…nothing. I hurriedly glide up the stairs back to my room to finish the smoke from this morning. I glanced at the clock and saw it was already going to be eight o clock. My eyes stopped again at the frame turned over, blinding myself from the reality of life now-a-days. My heart twisted and sunk with nerves as I waited for a sign of something, that my prayers are answered and I'm just in a dream. My breaths came in sharp pants and I tried to gain control, but nothing was working. It hurt. It HURT! I tried to breathe calmly, but every time I thought it was over, reality would swoop the rug from right under me again. Slowly, the panic and anxiety attack flowed away, and yet I still shook. My eyes, now closed and aimed towards my clasped hands, slowly opened. Trepidation swelled through me as I slowly raised my eyes yet again to the framed picture, still turned over in the same spot.
I mutter another explicative under my breath, shaking my head hoping some peace would reach me soon and start back down the stairs. My eyes shift around as I stalk out through the side door, I catch something out of my peripheral. I now look directly onto the bright blue backpack nestled in between the recyclables and the trash can. My eyes, glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As I blink, they drip from my eyelids down to my cheeks. I bite my lip with brute force, attempting to hide and sound that wanted to escape from my mouth. Tears just continuously flowed and dripped from my chin. I was too disappointed to cry or wail, I just stood there next to the house, as still as a statue while the magnitude of this realization from earlier hit me again.
He's not going to school.
I couldn't do anything. I was just as lost as he, in the torrid vortex of it all. Depression was like a seed in this household, just waiting dormant, for the right conditions to grow. To send out the roots to choke the hope out of our hearts. Only death could release me from the pain I felt for my brother. But I made him a promise, I am not going anywhere.
I just wished my mother knew how much we loved her and cared. I recall how she walked, like the soles of her feet kissed this world so lightly. My safe haven, the only one who truly saw past my flaws as to what dwelt inside. Her voice was the only salve that could ever erase my pain completely. I still seek her presence every day, fearful of losing her completely, but not being able to come to grips with what she's done to us. If a bird, butterfly or moth strays close to me I like to think it's her. She had always said that's how she'd come back. I guess, that means she is haunting me. Technically. But there are days I fill with chaos and noise to keep her ghost at bay.
Absent mindedly I struck a match and lit the joint I perched between my lips and continued numbing myself.