Denial
That night, sleep proves elusive. Esther’s been lying in silence for hours, tossing and turning under her rosy pink duvet, willing herself to rest. Between the carbs and wine she consumed, and an emotionally-fraught argument that is still unresolved, she should have knocked out as soon as her head hit the pillow.
But Esther is too frustrated to sleep.
As understanding as Esther is—inhumanely accommodating and with the patience of a saint, not to toot her own horn—she has her limits. While Lucy dropped their disagreement in lieu of a beautiful, haunting kiss, Esther could still sense her despondency. Her hopelessness.
Lucy still believes Esther is completely delusional.
Lucy would never say that, of course. She is sweet and supportive.
She makes Esther laugh when she’s upset and holds her when she cries.
She pretended to call her on her birthday because no one else did.
Lucy would never tell Esther she’s wrong to hope, or that her feelings aren’t valid, or that she should give up.
But Lucy doesn’t have to say it. Because Lucy lives on in Esther’s heart.
Lucy’s love, her laughter, and her curiosity flutter against Esther’s ribs.
Her resignation, her hopelessness, her reluctance to talk about anything worth talking about resonates within Esther’s sternum.
Beyond that, Esther can feel Lucy’s determination to move on, and oh, it aches through her whole chest, like the worst heartburn.
Esther is so tired of people leaving her.
Are you okay?
Lucy’s concern almost hurts worse than her doubt.
Tears burn streaks down her temples and dampen her hair, but Esther doesn’t answer. If she tells Lucy what she’s feeling, Lucy will say the right things to calm her down. She’ll make Esther see sense, all while feeling loved and supported.
Esther doesn’t want to see sense. How could she possibly feel loved when—given the chance—Lucy would leave her, just like everyone else who claimed to love her? What can Lucy’s support be worth, if it comes with a gentle reminder that she thinks Esther is foolish?
Why does Lucy refuse to hope?
If Lucy is truly dead, where is her body?
How can Esther kiss her, and hold her hand, and look into her lovely eyes if there’s no hope?
If there’s no chance that Lucy could come back, why are her doors—her body—still in Esther’s dreamland?
If Lucy’s truly dead, how can Esther feel all of her emotions like a rope around her heart?
Even if Lucy already gave up on herself, Esther will not. There has to be a way.
East, you awake?
Esther stays quiet, stifling her sniffles, wallowing in her spite.
How dare Lucy tell her not to hope? All these months of sharing a brain, a body, a heart, and Lucy still doesn’t understand Esther.
Doesn’t she know that if anyone could spin a hopeless, frustrating situation into a chance of happiness, it’s Esther?
You know I can tell you’re only pretending to sleep, right?
Silent as the grave and unyielding as a headstone, Esther lays still until sleep finally takes her.