Trying To Endure

Chapter Fourty-Six

SONG: Cynthia Erivo - Stand Up

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Derek Matthews

Thomas found a hidden elevator in the wine cellar. He found another passageway in the guest wing of the Manor. In total, three entrances to the undercroft so far. Aunt Marlene and Grandma were intrigued. Luke claimed ownership of the undercroft. This mansion was Mother's, and regardless if he is Everston or not he, once again, proclaimed that its' benefits is needed sometime in the future.

In my bedroom, I call April.

"Hey, peasant," she greets.

I involuntarily break into a smile. "Hi. What are you doing?"

"Homework. You?"

"In bed."

"Having a wank?"

I chuckle. "Just in bed with the dogs."

"Hi, boys!"

I frown at Duke's howl. "You rarely do that."

The silver-collared Doberman grunts. Okay?

"So, guess what?"

"What?"

"I got my fifteen minutes of fame. Yay."

I mildly sit up. "What?"

"Paparazzi took pictures of us yesterday. Type your name."

The speaker on, I type my name on Google's search box. Beside my Wikipedia tab, on the left is a stream of articles with pictures of us. "Fuck," I mutter. "I'm sorry."

"My face isn't clear, so that's good." Black face mask and cap.

That doesn't mean the press won't find out. "I'm still sorry."

"It's fine. It'll go away, right?"

"It usually does. Don't worry, you'll be invisible."

Our call lasted for four hours. My phone is piping hot, hence I transferred the conversation to an iPad. An A4 notepad and blue-biro pen out, I scribbled intentions for the Industry as we chatted. In front of the desk is a stack of Aunt Marlene's work — her old ideas, incompleted aims — in case I get a block. Wilfred's diagram is neatly rolled, resting on a nightstand.

Wanting to refashion the Manor into an orphanage or a hotel for the homeless is now preposterous — not when mysteries chilled the mansion. Not when a colossal cavern is far, far, far down below to the point the circle of life is undetectable.

April was comfortable enough to not yank up her sleeves when they glided down, comfortable enough to show her scars. It makes me proud of her — to witness her breaking down that wall and instead using the wall's firmness to heal. Her laugh caused me to snicker. It was so contagious, tears sprung and my abdomen ached. An endearing sound, really. The cure to my troubled ears — haunted by the blood-curled cries and wails. We had breaks of silence — not awkward; it was surprisingly congenial. We could sit in a room and be quiet for a year, and it wouldn't be a problem. We'd love each other's company, as it is a relaxing support. A silence that is rare to find in a friendship.

Friendship ... Feelings are a fucking pain in the ass. I do like her. But she is trying to heal from her first break-up, her ex-friends, her mental health, and Mike. 

Even if I wait, would she want me? 

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Azrael:

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