Page 32 of Quarantined
At least, without the obligations to my siblings and my schoolwork, I haven’t felt overloaded. The panic attacks have been infrequent and few and far between. When they do strike, they are all about my fear of losing Raven in my life. Fear that she is moving on without me, and I can never do the same.
I have had to rely on Xanax over the summer. I hate doing that. Fuck. I need her to come back, even if it is just for my mental health.
How much longer am I going to be able to withstand this?
There is a constant desire to ask Reid how she's doing, what she's up to, but I force myself not to. I’m even staying away from her Facebook page, so I have nothing to feed my obsession with.
The obsession grows anyways. Never stops. Nothing works. Not time nor space. Nothing I do fills the void. I can’t stand living like this anymore.
I have made a pact with myself. I am giving it till the end of summer. By the time my senior year of college starts, I won’t have these feelings anymore. I won’t let myself.
I vow to move on with my life.
CHAPTER 5
August 22nd, 2015
-----------
Raven
Tonight’s the big night—Mom’s fashion show. We have been working towards this all summer. It’s going to be huge for her clothing line.
I have been in Paris for almost four months. And for most of the time, this is what I worked on.
I did leave Paris for a short time in between.
My second week here, dad called to see if I like to visit him in South Africa. I got the feeling that he was competing with mom. He barely ever called me before, much less, to invite me to visit him.
Either way, he flew me out to South Africa and took off the week to show me around. It was beautiful. I got to see the townships where my dad worked. I was heartbroken with the conditions and stayed a few extra days to volunteer.
Suddenly I had a new respect for dad, despite our broken relationship. However, conversations with him were still like pulling teeth. The only discussion we had in common was about the eldest Sinclair son. It seems like we are both in agreement about our admiration for him.
Once I got back to Paris, Reid flew out to join me. I am relieved to have him here. My mother has been tolerable, but her narcissism can still take its toll. After years apart, I now struggle to find a comfort zone with both my parents.
Reid serves as the much-needed buffer. Not to mention, I need to have a familiar Sinclair face around to feel at home.
We spent most of the summer partying and working.
We helped my mom with her new store and her upcoming fashion show. We got to meet other designers, models, and work with people from the industry.
I have been doing the kind of work that I dreamt of—and living the type of lifestyle that suits me. Paris has been magical for me in all aspects, except for one. The eldest Sinclair boy, Milo.
Milo kept in touch with me for the first couple of months. He offered to come to Paris. After I told him not to come, he didn’t contact me. I needed the space.
The night of my seventeenth birthday party solidified why I needed space from Milo. That night, in my high and drunken stupor, I thought I dreamt of Milo.
It was only when I woke up the next day, I saw an envelope from Milo and smelled Milo’s familiar cologne on my comforter. Realization dawned on me that Milo was there in person, not in my dreams. Despite my promise to keep an appropriate distance, I made the situation worse. Much, much worse.
I don’t remember everything. What I do remember is, tellingDream Milothat I love him—and begging him to never leave me. The next morning Milo left without saying goodbye. When I opened the envelope he left me; I knew just how much I freaked him out.
I found a printed itinerary for a summer in Paris. A very organized printed agenda.
My guess?
After hearing my declarations of love, Milo determined that my teenage infatuation was out of control. And in typical Milo fashion, he went into a fix-it mode. He probably called my mom to see if she could take me for the summer. Then stayed up all night researching and putting together a “summer of fun” itinerary for me in Paris, completed with open-ended flight tickets.
And bolted in the morning, before he had to face me again.
