Out of the shadows

Chapter 1

The shadows of her anxiety are on display in the quiet, still, dark of night when the first tears spill over. Curled into herself, huddled under layers of blankets, she feels small. Fragile. Insignificant. She falls apart alone; breaks into a thousand pieces over everything and nothing all at once.

She can't pinpoint it – can't find the one singular thing to call out and shut down, push back, tuck away – so instead, she curates a list of her own insecurities.

Balancing work and life: the pressure of responsibility as captain, mother, friend, survivor. The utter exhaustion that finds her on most days; especially days like this, when she's been burning the candle at both ends.

Grief for what she's lost, and for all she's had to let go. For the things she still doesn't really understand, the things she can't yet come to terms with because it doesn't add up between her head and heart. The mourning that comes with relearning her history and understanding how it might shape her future.

Because despite the love of her chosen family, the desolate ache of loneliness presses heavily on her chest. There's a piece of her heart missing and she's not sure the puzzle will ever be complete.

Which brings her to Elliot. She would be remiss if his name wasn't included in this daunting inventory of which she is taking stock. She dares not even whisper his name because to let it materialize as it escapes her mouth, however quietly, breathes life into her longing.

Oh, she wants this – she knows that much, and she thinks he does, too – but she is terrified that they will somehow fail. That he will abandon her, that – despite knowing her worth – she is somehow undeserving of love. That they will discover too late that what they are to each other was never real. The tie that binds them is gossamer, delicate; it can bear no more weight, and if they can't move from that goddamned parallel universe to this very real one, she is certain she will shatter.

Disappointed she's allowed any part of her life to be dependent on another person. On romantic love. It's the proverbial double-edged sword: to crave companionship – and the accompanying happiness, stability, domesticity – somehow makes her a lesser woman because she's been self-sufficient in every other aspect of her life. She's relied only on herself, why should this be any different?

She feels inadequate; fears she will never be enough. For Noah, who deserves the unconditional love she never received. For Elliot, who is lost and untethered, looking to her as a beacon.

I am not enough.

It knocks the wind out of her, takes her breath wholly away until she remembers how to fill her lungs, gasping desperately as she sobs.

Through the fog, she recognizes this as her body's way of forcing her to process the things she refuses to acknowledge. The things she keeps just below the surface – sometimes deeper – because they're just too much and she simply doesn't have the capacity, the fortitude, the desire to face any of it.

There is no one to pick her up, dust her off, set her shoulders square. She'll put on her own brave face, convince herself everything is fine, and it'll work for a while.

Until the shadows creep back in and she's lost in this darkness again. Swallowed whole by the overwhelming exhaustion, grief, fear. Buried beneath mountains of anger, bitterness, despair.

Olivia allows herself to suffer, forces herself to endure the hollow, empty feelings. She lies in the quiet, still, dark of night and weeps until her tears run dry because she knows that this is temporary.

That the ache will dissipate, and there is catharsis in the release.