~Chapter 21~
I don’t know when it started.
Or maybe I do, I just don’t want to admit it.
I felt like I was stretched out inside myself, that my skin remained the same, but underneath…
it kept expanding, breaking, cracking, like old wood that takes on water and swells until it bursts.
I look at myself in the reflective glass of the elevator.
The cold light. Shadows around the jaw.
Thicker neck.
I don’t recognize the boy I knew.
I’m no longer light.
I’m no longer free.
I’m no longer “handsome.”
I’m nothing.
I've felt the lump in my throat since morning.
I've been moving it with saliva and breath, but it won't go away.
I don't know if it's crying. Or panic.
Or nausea.
Or both.
When I get to the room, Emy says something.
I can't hear it.
Sergio laughs briefly.
I can't hear it.
Theo lights a pack of gum, breaks it with his teeth.
I can't hear it.
Just my heart.
Like a hammer on the wall.
I feel warm.
Then cold.
As if someone took my blood and poured it back into my veins, but otherwise, heavy, dirty.
My breath shortens.
I try to inhale.
It goes nowhere.
The air refuses to come in.
I lean against the table.
My hand slips.
I hadn’t expected it to shake.
And then it breaks.
My body gives way before I can lie.
My knees hit the floor silently, but everything inside me screams.
I don’t make a sound. Because if I do, it breaks completely.
I only feel the cold floor and my weight…
my weight pulling me down, down, down, to that place inside me where the light hasn’t been on for a while.
And then I hear Emy.
Not that strong, energetic voice.
That other one.
The one she uses when someone is on edge.
“Cassian.”
Not the blaming tone.
Not the “why didn’t you tell” tone.
The “I know” tone
My whole sternum cracks when she puts her hand on my back too.
She doesn’t pull me.
She doesn’t lift me.
She doesn’t break me.
She’s just there.
With her warm palm and fingers that barely move, as if to tell me: breathe.
Sergio approaches, but doesn't put his hand.
I feel him.
That painful silence, because he wants to come, but he knows that his touch would be too much
Theo stands back, his hands in his pockets.
And his eyes…
God, his eyes are wet, but he's standing straight.
Don't make me fall even deeper.
They all know.
It's about the fact that I've lost myself and I don't know where to look.
Air.
Inhale.
Not enough.
Emy presses her forehead to mine.
And says softly.
"Come back. Not to us.
To you."
That's it.
That's all it took.
I'm breaking down.
Not in a scream.
Not in big tears.
In small tears.
Silent.
The ones that hurt the most.
Sergio sits down next to me, not touching me, just next to me, a few inches away.
Theo comes up behind me and puts something on my shoulders.
A jacket. I can't even see which one.
Just the light weight.
A sign.
"You're not alone. Even if you're lost." But with unspoken words
I breathe.
Hard.
But I breathe
And it hurts.
And it's the most vivid thing I've felt in a long time.
---
A few more minutes pass and I get up
Emy looks a little surprised but then she gets worried and that makes me get out of here.
"I'm going to the bathroom" I say and leave or run to the bathroom in my room.
I go into my room and then into the bathroom, take off my shirt and get in the shower and turn on the cold water.
Inhale
Exhale
"You're doing fine Cassian", I say softly
There's a knock on the door and then Theo comes in.
"Brother... stop please" he says and comes towards me.
He turns off the water and puts a towel on me.
He looks at me and I see a tear come out of his eye but he quickly wipes it away
"Sorry" I say softly
"For what?
" He says and approaches me
"Because I ruined your vacation, and all this nonsense".
... "I don't want you to see me like this.
"
My voice sounds foreign, as if someone else was speaking from my throat.
Theo slowly moves his head.
“I see you exactly as you are. Not as you think you are.”
I run my hands over my face.
My eyelids burn.
My throat still won’t let air in completely.
“Theo… I don’t know… what I’m doing anymore. Who I am. What game I’m playing.”
He gets up and brings another towel, and puts it down again.
He doesn’t force contact. I let him.
“You kept it all inside,” he says, “Because you thought if you stopped for a second, you’d break.
”
Silence.
“And I broke.” I say softly.
“And yet… look at you.”
He takes my hand and places it on my chest.
That irregular, scared beat.
Live.
“You’re still here. You’re not lost. You’re just tired.
”
And only then do I cry.
Not violently.
Not theatrically.
But quietly, with my chin trembling, tears falling onto my shirt, almost without me feeling them.
he holds my head on his shoulder and says nothing.
He knows.
Sometimes words hurt.
After Theo helped me get up and into bed, after I changed, he left the room.
Now it's just me.
In a room I didn't think would hurt me so much.
I try to sleep but my thoughts are on Emy's face, on everything about her.
.. I feel like I'm being lied to and I don't like it, it hurts even more.
I get out of bed and open my suitcase, I put a bottle of Jack Daniels in there before I came here, for any occasion.
I take the bottle and unscrew the cap.
I take a big gulp and feel it burning my lungs.
I giggle at this and get up with difficulty, I reach the door and close it. With the Key.
I lean against the door for a second. The floor moves a little, or it's me.
My hand shakes, but I don't let go of the bottle.
I hold it like it's the only stable thing in this rolling world.
I inhale.
It doesn't smell like alcohol.
It smells like fear.
I pick up the bottle again.
I don't drink. I just look at it.
This Jack wasn't bought for the party.
Not even for "let's have fun."
I packed it because I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that there would come a time when I would need to not feel.
And what annoys me the most is that I was right.
I press my back against the door.
The silence in the room is not silence. It's noise in another language.
Emy.
I see her in my mind.
That look when she said “I see you.”
When she held me from falling.
And… yet.
Something was wrong.
Not with her.
With…
us.
With the way she knew.
Too well.
Too fast.
Too deep inside.
Like she had the key to something inside me that I’d never touched.
I swallow hard, and the taste of alcohol rises back up, bitter.
“Am I lying to you?” I ask the camera.
The camera doesn’t answer.
Of course.
It would be too easy.
I close my eyes for a second.
Too long.
And then I feel.
Not pain.
Not panic.
Not anger.
Empty.
That big, round, cold emptyness.
That doesn’t hurt.
It just makes nothing else exist.
I lift the bottle.
I’m going to take another sip.
Not so I can lose.
So I don’t feel like I’ve already lost.
But before I can drink, I hear something.
Knocking.
Two.
And a pause.
Not a normal knock.
It’s a signal.
Code.
Between us.
Sergio
I open the door.
He’s there, his back against the wall, his hands in his pockets.
He doesn’t look at me.
He looks at the bottle in my hand.
He doesn’t scold me. He doesn’t take my bottle. He doesn’t say, “Stop drinking.”
He just says,
“Not alone.”
That's it.
And in those seconds…
I don't feel saved.
I feel found.
I lift the bottle of Jack Daniels closer to my eyes and stare at the liquid that glows in the pale light of the lamp. It’s like a small fire in my hands. I try to turn it into a weapon against my thoughts, but it’s useless. Each sip burns, but not enough to melt what I feel.
Sergio sits in the corner, silent, with his arms folded. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. He knows. He knows he doesn’t have to talk, just be there. And that annoys me more than any words can. Because I don’t want to be seen like that. I don’t want to be weak.
I feel my heart beating chaotically, as if it’s trying to shout something I refuse to hear.
Panic begins to grip me, but not in the classic, predictable way.
It’s a deep, cold panic that makes me feel small, useless, lost. To no longer be who I was.
My body is foreign to me, too big, too heavy, and every movement is an effort.
“Cass…breathe,” Sergio says softly. His voice is calm, firm, but not intrusive.
He’s not there to fix me. He’s just there to hold me.
I look at him, my eyes flashing with anger and frustration, and I let go of the bottle.
A few drops fall onto the carpet, and the strong smell hits me harder than I expected.
I feel my body shaking. I feel like a broken box that can’t be put back together. Everything that was orderly inside me has collapsed. And then I realize it’s not their fault. It's no one's fault. It's only mine.
Sergio approaches, slowly, without rushing me. He puts a hand on my shoulder. He doesn’t force me. And yet, his presence is a kind of anchor. “Come here,” he murmurs, and I, with difficulty, let myself be pulled toward the bed. My body doesn’t want to, my mind does, and finally I give in.
I throw myself onto the bed, wrap my arms around my knees, and breathe. The air is heavy, heavy with guilt, fear, and helplessness. But as I feel Sergio’s shoulder close, a small part of me, the part that still believes it can be okay, begins to break free.
“I’m not judging you,” he says. Simple. No further explanation. And that’s enough.
I lay my head on the pillow, my eyes closed, I feel like I'm not completely alone Even if I are. But I don't admit it