Trying To Endure

Chapter Fifty-Nine

SONG: Adele - Skyfall (slowed)

Trigger warning: panic attack.

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April Levesque

I blink rapidly. My heart beat drowns out the ear-splitting music. "I... It's—It's complicated, Trev."

"Complicated?" I cower, my rear hitting the hem of the table. "This is not fucking complicated—"

"Stop—"

You wanna know something?" he snaps harshly. "Elias didn't know you until I told him about you, told him about all the things you did like those group of guys you took down years ago, and how you post on your socials to raise awareness for issues. You're a passionate activist and I loved it—"

"Treyvon."

"Zavian and I thought you would be a good influence in our movement—"

"Treyvon."

"—but I never fucking thought that you're willing to be quiet about an assault."

Nausea surges to my throat. Take your time, Little Sis.

"Hey!" he shouts. "We're not done here!"

Leave me alone, I wanted to say, but the implore restricts my breathing.

I can't seem to breathe. Perhaps it's from the suffocating closeness of the drunken crowd, or perhaps it's due to my stuffy nose.

"April, what the hell!"

The music is secluded to the point where it's nearly inaudible. The guests lessen as we near a booth at the far back, near a corridor leading to the bathrooms.

"I can't talk," I whimper, limbs weakening. Breathing ragged and vision darkening, I feel nauseous and dizzy. What is wrong with me? The unpleasant stir grows and grows, the roots to the seed nowhere to be found. Take your time, Little Sis.

"You're a hypocrite!"

I halt in my track, chest heaving as if an iron ball slammed into it.

"You're a fucking hypocritical bitch!" he hollers in pain. "My best friend was raped by your friends. You know about it and you're choosing to stay silent. You're a coward, April. A coward!"

It's okay, Little Sis. It's not, Mike. Treyvon is right.

I am a hypocritical bitch.

A coward.

Thousands and thousands don't care about the consequences for their actions and get killed when they are trying to be heard. They knew silence is insanity. You knew. Your words are you at times, other times it's what I wish to hear. The latter helps me not to break down.

Coward, coward, coward.

My arms were clutched and pinned to my sides by the right, whilst the left guy steadied my convulsing and protesting legs.

Inside an empty booth, I revolve to Treyvon, ashamed. Tears pool mine at his escaping grief, pain, sorrow and betrayal.

"I hate you," he says, struggling to breathe, tears sinking into his lips. They ripped open my shirt. "I hate you more than Camila."

"I'm—I'm sorry," I managed.

"Sorry?" he spat, disgusted. They unfastened my bra. Music roared to hush my cries, my whimpers. "Sorry isn't enough. Why the fuck didn't you tell someone?"