37. No that’s not crying you hear
Nevaeh
I t’s been a week. Six days to be exact, since I was kicked out.
This past week, I’ve done nothing but watch cartoons with August as he ate microwavable meals and snacks.
I’m glad Harvey has the same kitchen expertise as me because that means the pantry was filled with readymade meals. It took August a long time to get on a proper diet after we escaped the coven, and I couldn't have let some menial heartbreak mess up his schedule.
I was prepared for when August would ask why we weren't living in the kingdom anymore, but he never did.
I had a whole story mapped out about how the coven was looking for us, so we were playing a little game of hide and seek, but I forgot to consider August isn’t as na?ve as other kids his age. He never asked because he knows we were kicked out.
Now, every morning I put on a strong front and I spend all my time watching TV with August, making sure he feels safe and loved. I smile and laugh with him. I listen when August talks about his favorite colors. I make animals of gold smoke so my little boy doesn't feel lonely when he plays. I do everything to keep him occupied and entertained.
And when my son is sound asleep, unaware of his mama drowning in her pain, I let myself break down into violent body-shaking sobs to ease the constant ache in my heart.
I haven’t slept more than five hours since we came here because my nightmares decided to make a comeback. The lack of sleep is starting to worry August, but I've promised him I can handle it.
I'll be okay. We'll be okay.
All I want August to worry about is what movie he wants to watch before bed. No matter how much he wants to help, I won’t burden my little boy with my mess. He is a kid, and I will do anything to make sure he gets to be one for as long as possible.
When August finally falls asleep after yet another Disney movie, I tuck him into my bed again tonight. He has refused to sleep alone since we came here and it’s like we’re back to square one. Back to learning life all over again.
I’m tearing apart the kitchen trying to find where I left the coffee mug and somehow end up with a swollen forehead. I smacked myself with the cupboard.
Typical .
What little composure I have over my emotions shatters completely, dragging me back to the memories that hold nothing but loneliness and hurt. My knees buckle and I fall to my knees, muffling my cries behind my hands and screaming silently.
I'm done faking it. I'm done keeping myself together because everything sucks and everything hurts. My brain has never felt this foggy, my body is begging for rest... and he’s not here.
I’m banging my head on these stupid cupboards because he's not here. It hurts, but what hurts more is that he’s not here to put his hand over my forehead to save me from the pain. My fingers are bloody from picking on them because I miss his hand in mine, miss having his rings to anxiously fiddle with.
I keep stumbling around this unfamiliar house and hitting my pinky toe on every hard surface because he’s not here to stop me from bumping into things. I can’t even breathe right when my anxiety gets the best of me because he’s not here, demanding me to breathe for him.
He’s not here, and I hate it.
These last six months made me addicted to his presence, and I never thought I’d have to live my life without him. I want my Angel back because I’m even more broken and bruised without him, and I was just starting to heal.
He was the medicine for my soul, and I want—no need him to come back, but that’s the worst part.
No matter how much I need him, no matter how much I can’t be without him, he doesn’t want me . He doesn’t need me and maybe never did, and that’s something I have to learn to live with.
I have to sit back and watch myself drown, slowly getting worse, falling into the familiar hole of never-ending nothingness. One more push or even the slightest nudge would shatter me, and I know this time, I won’t be able to glue myself back together. Not on my own.
I don’t remember passing out, but jolt awake when I feel a blanket over me and a tiny body snuggling into my chest right there on the kitchen floor.
A night filled with nightmares and crying is not an option anymore with August beside me, so I lay there, stroking his head as he sleeps, holding me.
Looking down at the innocent little boy, I once again shove my heartbreak as far down as possible. This kid deserves a better parent than a broken woman.
Fuck, Anxo and his entire kingdom.
I have what I need right here, and if he doesn’t want me— if he doesn’t want us —then that’s his loss.
I will survive bloody toes and blue foreheads, but he won’t survive his mate hating his existence.
I'm willing to nurture this anger and betrayal until I piece myself back together and take care of Visha for good. And then... I will close the book of my past, including Anxo and his every memory.
Fuck it all to purgatory.