Chapter 29
The familiar smell of oak clouds all my waking senses as my eyes slowly open.
The loud ringing sound gradually dissipates from my ears.
I blink profusely, trying to clear my blurred vision.
My head feels foggy from the deep sleep I was in.
Confusion doesn’t take long to wash over me as I regain consciousness.
Strong arms are wrapped tightly around my body, cradling me close. A deep, rich voice whispers above me, “You are okay.” I take a moment to realize that it’s Theo’s voice.
I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again, remaining still as I scan my surroundings.
It’s dark here, except for a small light shining nearby.
Tilting my head up, I see Theo looking down at me.
Although it’s hard to see clearly, I notice his brows relax, and a small smile spreads across his face. He looks relieved.
I search my brain for answers to what happened and where we are. I try replaying what I can remember, but I draw a blank. And when I try to speak, words won’t form.
“Shhh, it’s okay, Olive,” Theo whispers softly, squeezing me gently.
My eyes shift back and forth, searching for answers. I yank his arms off of me, acid burning through my esophagus. I lift myself too quickly, my legs almost giving out. I spread my arms, trying to balance like a baby learning to walk. My legs feel like Jell-O beneath me.
Theo tries to reach for me, but I swat his arms away aggressively. My equilibrium feels out of whack, causing me to sway back and forth. I wait a few more seconds, trying to give my body time to regain its strength. I take a few wobbly steps.
From my peripheral, I catch Theo quickly standing behind me. “Olive, please don’t,” he pleads with remorse. Just as I slightly turn, attempting to form words to ask him what he’s talking about, my eyes catch on her…
Disbelief rattles through me as I stare at Nora Ray’s lifeless body. It’s within seconds that the events of the night erupt in my mind, replaying everything that happened, each moment like a bullet wound to my feeble heart. My hands fly over my mouth just as my legs give out.
Theo wraps his arms from behind me, saving me from collapsing to the floor. I slowly crumble onto my knees, with Theo crouched behind me, arms still wrapped tight around my waist.
My eyes stay fixed on my sister’s cold, pale body.
The realization hits me hard: Nora is dead because I couldn’t save her.
She is gone forever. I try to scream, but my throat feels constricted as if a python is wrapped around my neck, slowly tightening its grip on my airways.
A numbing emptiness replaces the ache in my chest.
I no longer struggle as Theo pulls me into his embrace, cradling me like a fragile child.
My eyes remain locked on my sister, and the warmth within me evaporates, replaced by a numbing cold that grips my heart.
Tears that long to escape break free, cascading to the floor like delicate icicles in a silent winter.
The moment Nora died, a part of me left with her, leaving me hollow and adrift in my newest friend: grief.
I lay restless in my bed, replaying the night that changed everything for me. When it’s not consuming my thoughts, it haunts my dreams. Three miserable weeks have passed since my sister’s death, and things have not improved. If anything, they’ve only gotten worse.
The days blend together; I often find myself unsure of what day it is.
Sometimes, I forget she’s gone and reach for my phone to call or text her. Then the reality hits me all over again—a painful jab to my chest that knocks the breath out of me. First comes the shock, followed by disbelief, dread, and finally, a wave of weariness.
My mind seems to be working against me, or perhaps it’s the lack of sleep and proper nutrition. I can’t remember the last time I had a full meal.
Once, I loved eating, but now I have to force a granola bar down my throat just to keep my body from shutting down. It’s strange how the body and mind interact. During traumatic events, one craves nourishment while the other insists on starvation. I don’t know; maybe it’s different for others.
But how can I eat or focus on my health when I am constantly reminded that my sister is no longer here?
I feel guilty for eating, hell, even breathing, for that matter.
Life can be so unfair and cruel. She had so much life to live and spent most of it protecting me as best as possible. I am not worthy of living on, am I?
I’m not suicidal by any means. I would never leave my sweet Lottie behind; she needs me.
Plus, Danielle would hold it against me and attempt to whoop my ass once we were reunited in the afterlife.
But I won’t deny that it’s crossed my mind, not doing it, but what it would feel like.
In a sense, it sounds peaceful, with no pain or suffering.
I don’t think people understand that mental pain is just as detrimental as physical. It’s a nagging ache that takes over.
Honestly, I feel very much dead internally. Nothing but a vessel. Danielle keeps telling me this is part of the first stages of grief. I couldn’t help but laugh at her statement when she told me. How the fuck are their stages to this?
And what the hell happens in the next stage?
I learned quickly that grief is my enemy.
No one will change my mind about it. I’ve tried to fight it off, but it’s clever in how it works. It beats you down first, then swallows you whole. And I’ve had no choice but to drown in it.
Imagine being stranded in the middle of the ocean, with no land or people in sight. You focus on staying afloat and screaming for help, but heavy waves continue to form and crash around you, pulling you under repeatedly. You fight for air until your body loses every ounce of strength.
Eventually, you stop fighting and let the ocean current pull you under.
You watch as your body sinks further away from the surface.
Panic sets in as you breathe in water, filling your battered lungs.
Darkness creeps in, and just as death taps you on the shoulder, you blink and find yourself back, floating once again in a deserted ocean, drowning all over again.
Grief feels like living in your own hell.
Nora Ray was pronounced dead at 3:44 a.m.—Jake’s birthday. The paramedics estimated she had been gone for about two hours, judging by her decreased body temperature and the discoloration of her skin.
It was heartbreaking for the police to determine that it was an overdose, especially since fentanyl was found scattered around the scene.
I can’t help but feel responsible for that; I had dumped her purse in a moment of panic.
In her hand, there was also the piece of foil with a burned substance on it, a stark reminder of the struggles she faced.
Why didn’t I notice the signs that were so painfully obvious?
I knew she was struggling with Jake’s death and the weight of our past, but I never imagined it would drive her to purchase the same lethal drug that took Jake from us.
She had promised me she would get better and heal, and I believed every word she said.
In my mind, I’ve replayed countless scenarios, trying to piece together the moments leading up to this tragedy.
I remember her laughter that sometimes felt hollow and her eyes that would occasionally betray a deep sadness.
But the cruel truth remains that I may never fully understand why she felt this was her only escape.
The uncertainty gnaws at me, leaving a void filled with regret and sorrow that I can’t shake. It feels as though I’m trapped in a nightmare, wishing desperately to turn back time and somehow save her from this fate.
Watching them try to get Nora’s body down from the treehouse was the hardest part.
Theo tried to pull me away, but I resisted; I felt I had to witness it.
I deserved every ounce of pain and trauma that came my way.
They had to cut part of the door to make the space larger.
Once they succeeded in widening the entrance, they realized they needed more hands to safely lower her down the ladder with no accidents.
Theo offered to help, but they refused, stating that it would interfere with the scene.
Mom was hysterical when she realized what was happening.
At one point, as they placed Nora’s body into the ambulance, I watched her, my expression stone-faced, as she ran around yelling at the police for answers.
At that moment, I felt nothing but anger towards her for the upbringing she had given us.
Did I blame her for Nora’s death? No. But a part of me believed she, along with our absent sperm donor, had played a role in it.
Theo urged me to get checked out by the paramedics to understand what had happened to me.
I explained to the EMTs how things unfolded, and Theo shared his perspective on finding us.
They encouraged me to take a drug test, which I did in the second ambulance that arrived.
To my surprise, I tested positive for a small amount of fentanyl, likely from digging through her purse and then touching my face.
I must have wiped some residue on my nose or mouth, resulting in an overdose, especially since I had no tolerance for it.
Theo found me just in time and saved my life.
That’s just another reason I’ve been avoiding him.
I can’t face him right now. How could he want anything to do with me after witnessing what he did?
I feel like I’ve selfishly burdened him with my problems and trauma, dragging him down from the peaceful life he once had. I’ll never forgive myself for that.