Page 117 of Wicked & Wildflower

“Avoid you guys. Avoiding coming home.” She swallows. “I…I just feel so tired all the time, and sometimes, the thought of making small talk, or pretending I had a good day, or that I’m doing anything with my life is too much. I watch my phone ring with you, or Mom, or Leo, and I’m so fucking tired. I can’t get myself to answer.”

“I understand. We all understand,” I respond softly. “You could always tell us that.”

“You’d worry.”

“We’re already worried.”

She sighs. “I’ve tried coming home. Last year for Mother’s Day, I’d booked my flight and everything. I hailed a cab, got halfway to the airport, and then asked him to turn around. The thought of getting on the plane, spending all that time alone in the air, and then stepping foot back in California after so long…”She shakes her head, eyes glazing over with some faraway memory. “It felt too heavy. I couldn’t bring myself to even try again.”

Those words gut me, but I try not to let it show.

“I get it. This time, you won’t be alone.”

She looks so…numb. She refers to her feelings as heavy and tiring but can’t seem to associate them with any emotion, like she doesn’t know how to feel at all. She looks so small in her bed, surrounded by heaps of blankets, staring across the room but seeing nothing.

My mind reels backward as a sense of déjà vu floods me.

“Get out of bed, Elena.Please.”

“She needs more time, Everett,” my mother says, voice breaking with tears as she stands in the doorway.

My sister has been wasting away in the guest room of my apartment for two weeks now. She doesn’t eat. I don’t think she sleeps. Doesn’t read or write. Certainly doesn’t shower. She doesn’t even speak. She stares at the wall, seeing nothing.

She didn’t go to her apartment. Not the place she last spoke to him.

Not my parent’s house—her childhood bedroom, the place she spent her whole life loving him.

She came to my house, somewhere safe, with as little association to Zach as possible. I welcomed her at first. Ineededher. I let her wallow. Stare at the wall. Rot away if that’s what she wanted. But when she didn’t show up to the funeral, when she refused every meal I made for her, when she ignored my parents’ calls— I hit my limit.

The only time I’ve seen any ounce of emotion from her is when August tried to visit. A rage I’d never seen her possess flashed across her face.

“Keep him the fuck away from me,” she’d said.

Everyone told me to give her space. Give her time. She’d come around eventually.

It has been over two weeks since Zach’s death, and as unfamiliar as we are with grief, Iknowthis isn’t fucking normal. She’s not even in this room. She might as well be dead too. I feel her more deeply than they do, so I don’t give a shit what my parents or my brother say.

She needs to get the fuck up.

“Elena, please. Take a shower. Go for a walk. Do something.”

Dead eyes and silence are my only response.

“C’mon, Lena. For us,” Leo murmurs from beside me, tears streaming down his face.

“Talk to me. Look at me.” I grab her face, tilting her head to face me. Nothing. “Fucking do something, Elena!”

My fear and hopelessness hit their boiling point, rage spilling over. The smallest flash of recognition passes through her eyes, but it’s gone an instant later.

On my knees next to her bed, I hold her limp hand. My face falls into the mattress, and for the first time since I was told my best friend died, I cry.

Because I think I lost my sister too.

I can’t ever let her get back to that place, and the way she looks right now is hitting too fucking close.

“We shouldn’t have let it go on this long, Lele,” I say. “We hoped starting over somewhere new would heal you, but it’s clear you’re not healing at all. We should’ve been here for you more.”

“I didn’t want you to be,” she whispers.

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