Chapter 21 Oom Spirals
The silence lasted three days.
Three.
Full.
Days.
Oom Eisaya counted them like they were personal attacks.
Day one had been denial.
Day two had been overthinking.
Day three—
Day three was where dignity went to die.
“…I am not okay,” Oom announced, lying flat on the living room floor of Aunt Cherry’s house, staring blankly at the ceiling fan as it rotated like it was mocking her.
Yada didn’t even look up from her phone.
“That’s been established.”
“No, like—really not okay.”
“Still established.”
“I think I’m going through emotional withdrawal.”
“You are.”
“From a person I am not officially dating.”
“Correct.”
“Who also has two personalities.”
“Allegedly.”
“Not allegedly,” Oom groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “I have proof. Emotional, physical, psychological—”
“Okay, we don’t need a thesis.”
“I could write one.”
“I believe you.”
Oom turned her head slightly, glaring at her cousin.
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I am taking this exactly as seriously as it deserves,” Yada replied, finally glancing at her. “Which is: mildly concerned but mostly entertained.”
“I am suffering.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I have been ghosted in both timelines!”
“That’s… actually impressive.”
Oom sat up abruptly, her hair a mess, her eyes tired, her entire being radiating chaos.
“I haven’t seen her properly in three days.”
“You saw her in the club.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“She was physically present.”
“She ignored me.”
“That’s emotionally absent.”
“Exactly!”
Yada snorted. “Okay, fair.”
Oom flopped back onto the floor.
“I used to get emotional support at night.”
“That’s a sentence.”
“I used to get ignored during the day, which was fine because I had balance.”
“You had imbalance.”
“I had a system!”
“You had a problem.”
“I had a routine.”
Yada raised an eyebrow. “You had a nightly girlfriend who didn’t remember you in the morning.”
Oom covered her face again.
“…when you say it like that, I sound insane.”
“You are insane.”
“I am emotionally complex.”
“You are emotionally unstable.”
“I am—”
Oom paused.
“…I miss her.”
Yada didn’t respond immediately this time.
Didn’t joke.
Didn’t tease.
Just watched her for a second longer than usual.
“…both of her?” she asked quietly.
Oom swallowed.
“…yeah.”
And that—
That was the truth.
---
The problem wasn’t just that Bam had distanced herself.
The problem was that she had disappeared completely.
Night Bam?
Gone.
Day Bam?
Technically present.
Emotionally unreachable.
And Oom—
Had nothing left to hold onto.
No soft moments.
No quiet whispers.
No unexpected hugs.
No—
“…this is actually horrible,” Oom muttered, sitting up again.
Yada stretched lazily. “So what’s the plan?”
“There is no plan.”
“There’s always a plan.”
“I am freefalling.”
“That’s not a plan.”
“It’s a lifestyle.”
Yada rolled her eyes. “You’re going to confront her eventually.”
Oom froze.
“…no.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You can’t avoid it forever.”
“I can try.”
“You will fail.”
“I believe in myself.”
“I don’t.”
Oom glared at her.
“You’re supposed to support me.”
“I am supporting you.”
“How?”
“By pushing you toward inevitable character development.”
“That sounds like suffering.”
“It is.”
---
The next day didn’t help.
Of course it didn’t.
Because when Oom walked into the club room—
Bam was there.
Again.
And once again—
Nothing.
No glance.
No acknowledgment.
No reaction.
It was like Oom didn’t exist.
And that—
That hurt more than anything else.
“…I’m going to lose it,” Oom whispered, gripping her notebook like it had personally offended her.
“Don’t lose it here,” Yada whispered back. “At least wait until we’re outside.”
“I might cry.”
“Don’t cry here.”
“I’m going to cry.”
“Don’t—”
“I’m crying internally.”
“That’s acceptable.”
Oom stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Bam because looking would make it worse.
But not looking—
Also made it worse.
Because now she was imagining things.
Overthinking everything.
Did she look at me?
Did she almost look at me?
Did she deliberately not look at me?
“…this is torture,” Oom muttered.
“Yes,” Yada said. “This is emotional torture.”
“I used to be hugged.”
“You were held hostage.”
“I liked it!”
“That’s concerning.”
---
Halfway through the meeting, Oom snapped.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
But internally—
Something cracked.
Because she realized something very important.
Very painful.
Very real.
Bam wasn’t just distant.
She was—
Choosing to be distant.
And that meant—
This wasn’t accidental.
This wasn’t confusion.
This was—
Intentional.
“…okay,” Oom whispered to herself. “Okay.”
Yada glanced at her.
“That’s not a good ‘okay.’”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“I’m processing.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I’m evolving.”
“That’s worse.”
Oom stood up.
“I need to go.”
“Don’t—”
Too late.
Oom was already walking out.
Again.
Because staying—
Was worse.
---
This time, she didn’t expect Bam to follow.
And she was right.
No footsteps.
No voice.
No presence.
Just—
Silence.
Oom leaned against the wall outside, her chest tight, her thoughts loud, her emotions finally catching up to her in a way she couldn’t ignore anymore.
“…this sucks,” she whispered.
Her voice cracked slightly.
And she hated that.
Hated how much this affected her.
Hated how much Bam affected her.
Because she had fallen—
Hard.
Fast.
Completely.
And now—
She had nothing.
No answers.
No closure.
No—
“…this is so unfair.”
Her eyes stung slightly.
She blinked it away immediately.
Because crying over someone who didn’t even acknowledge you?
That was—
Humiliating.
“…I hate this.”
“You don’t hate it.”
Oom froze.
That voice—
Not Bam.
Tantan.
Oom turned slowly.
“…what.”
Tantan leaned casually against the opposite wall, her expression calm, unreadable as ever.
“You’re just not used to losing control.”
Oom frowned.
“I never had control.”
“You had structure.”
“Not anymore.”
Tantan studied her.
“…you like her.”
Oom laughed softly.
“That obvious?”
“Yes.”
“…great.”
“And she’s avoiding you.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know why.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s driving you insane.”
“Yes.”
Tantan nodded once.
“Sounds about right.”
Oom stared at her.
“…are you here to analyze me or help me.”
“Neither.”
“Then why are you here.”
Tantan’s gaze flicked briefly toward the club room.
Then back.
“Because something changed.”
Oom’s chest tightened.
“…you noticed too.”
“Yes.”
Oom exhaled slowly.
“…do you know why.”
Tantan didn’t answer immediately.
But when she did—
Her voice was quieter.
“She’s remembering.”
Oom froze.
“…what.”
Tantan held her gaze.
“Things she shouldn’t.”
Oom’s heart dropped.
Because that—
That explained everything.
And made everything worse.
“…oh.”
Tantan straightened.
“You should talk to her.”
Oom shook her head immediately.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You’re avoiding the inevitable.”
“I’m protecting my sanity.”
“You’re delaying the breakdown.”
“I’m already breaking down!”
“Then finish it.”
Oom stared at her.
“…you’re not helpful.”
“I’m honest.”
“That’s worse.”
---
That night—
Oom didn’t wait.
Didn’t go.
Didn’t hope.
She stayed in her room.
Curled up on her bed.
Staring at nothing.
Because hoping—
Had started to hurt too much.
“…I miss her,” she whispered again.
And this time—
There was no one to joke about it.
No one to deflect.
No one to distract her.
Just—
The truth.
She missed Bam.
Both versions.
And she didn’t know how to get her back.
Or if she even could.