Hugo's POV
I awoke to the insistent buzzing of my alarm clock, swiftly silencing it before it could disturb the peaceful slumber of my beloved Cindy, curled up beside me like a contented bear in hibernation. Taking a moment, as I always do, I marveled at her delicate features, cherishing the sight of her sleeping form. Her arms lay gently across my stomach, a tender embrace even in her unconscious state. A soft smile graced her slightly parted lips, a hint of dried saliva adorning her cheek—a small imperfection that only added to her charm.
With gentle affection, I peppered her face and arms with tender kisses, relishing in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Though she stirred slightly in her sleep, she remained blissfully unaware of my ministrations, allowing me to savor this stolen moment of tenderness.
Today, while Cindy had the luxury of a morning free from lectures, I found myself facing the demands of academia. I recalled her playful complaints about an afternoon lecture she had no intention of attending—an endearing display of her spirited nature that never failed to amuse me. I cherished these moments, reveling in the sound of her voice as she animatedly recounted her grievances.
But beneath her lighthearted facade, I couldn't ignore the faint shadows that lingered beneath her eyes—a testament to the toll of her recent endeavors. For the past week, she had taken on a part-time job at a club with Lele, citing the allure of a lucrative paycheck. Despite my earnest attempts to dissuade her, she remained steadfast in her decision, unwilling to relinquish her newfound independence.
Our disagreement over her employment had ignited a fierce debate—one that underscored the depth of her determination. Though I couldn't fathom her reluctance to heed my advice, I respected her autonomy, even as it tested the bounds of our relationship.
In the midst of our discord, I couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at me—a nagging suspicion that her involvement with the club harbored unseen dangers. My encounter with a certain individual named Nether only heightened my apprehension—a fleeting interaction that left me wary of the company she kept.
Despite my misgivings, I couldn't deny the allure of her spirited nature, nor the depth of my affection for her. Though our differences threatened to drive a wedge between us, I remained steadfast in my devotion, determined to navigate the complexities of our relationship with patience and understanding.
As I watched her slumber peacefully beside me, I couldn't help but marvel at the depth of my love for her—a love that transcended our differences and endured in the face of adversity. And as I prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead, I found solace in the knowledge that our bond was strong enough to weather any storm.
I quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Cindy's sleep. She looked like a starfish sprawled out naked on the bed, which made me chuckle. After covering her with the bedsheets and planting a kiss on the back of her neck, I got dressed.
It was only 6 am, too early for any lectures, but I had something else on my mind. I needed to talk to Silas, or at least give it another try. The situation between him and Cindy had become ridiculous. Neither of them seemed to know what had happened between them. He also cut me out eventhough i didn't do anythig to him.
I'd tried reaching out to Silas multiple times, but every time I went to his house, he wasn't there or refused to answer the door. It had been two and a half months since this saga began, and with spring coming to an end, I decided to try again, hoping Silas would be home and willing to talk.
I knocked on the door, but there was no response. "Maybe they're still asleep," I thought, giving it another try with the same result. Just as I was about to leave, the door cracked open, revealing a tired-looking Madam Redwood. It was a shock to see her like this, as I was used to her being an early bird, always elegant and joyful. But now, she looked anything but radiant, with dark circles under her eyes, messy hair, and still dressed in her pajamas.
"Oh, Hugo," Madam Redwood greeted, her voice low and cracked.
"Good morning, Madame Redwood," I replied, clearing my throat. "How are you?"
"I am okay, son," she responded.
I couldn't find the words. She didn't seem alright.
"Silas is not here," she added.
"Oh, okay," I replied, though my concern grew.
There was a palpable silence between us, neither of us ready to delve into conversation. I felt a deep worry for her. Our families were close, and I'd known her all my life. She seemed hesitant, avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with the tissue in her hand, while I stood there, waiting for her to speak or close the door.
After a moment, she spoke again. "Hugo, do you have some time? I want to talk to you."
"Yes, sure," I responded.
She invited me in, and we sat at the kitchen table.
"It's safer here," she explained, "if Silas comes in. He normally doesn't come to the kitchen." She wiped her nose with an overused tissue.
"Would you like some tea or coffee? Oh, wait, you're a coffee guy. Give me a minute, I'll make you some," she said hastily.
I was about to refuse, not wanting to disturb her, but she was already heading towards the coffee machine. Minutes later, I found myself sipping on a cup of coffee and munching on some toast and omelet. Madam Redwood seemed to be in better spirits for some reason.
"It's been a while since I made breakfast for someone. My husband is away on a business trip, and Silas, well, he... um... I really don't know where to begin," she said.
Setting my cup down, I recounted, "For some reason, he stopped talking to both me and Cindy, and then he vanished. They had a fight, and he was surprisingly rude."
"Hugo, I fear it runs much deeper than the spat with Cindy," she confided, her tone grave.
My stomach churned, and I turned to her, concern etched on my face. "What do you mean, Madame Redwood?" I inquired, my voice tinged with worry.
"He... um... he's been acting the same way for months now. We thought everything was fine after therapy, but in the last five months, I've noticed him reverting back to his old behaviors," she responded, her eyes welling up with tears.
"Therapy? Same again? Did what again?" I was confused; I had no idea Silas was in therapy, let alone why.
"Therapy?" I asked. "What therapy?"
She hesitated, her demeanor distant.
"Well, I can't share much because Silas wouldn't approve, but when he was four, his teacher noticed troubling behavior. At first, I dismissed it, but on his fifth birthday, he stabbed two kids with a pencil over his toy cars. He showed no remorse. That's when we sought therapy and medication," her voice broke.
Her appearance was as though she'd seen a ghost.
"I'm so sorry, I had no idea. He never mentioned it," I replied.
"We kept it private, especially as he seemed fine with Cindy. Everything seemed normal until recently," she explained tearfully.
I embraced her, waiting for her tears to subside.
"What made you think he's regressing?" I asked softly.
"He obsessively cleans his car collection to vent, but a few weeks ago, he lashed out, slamming me against the wall until I lost consciousness. When I woke, he was gone. Mentioning therapy or meds triggers him," she confessed, her pain evident.
I was baffled. He always appeared composed. "He seemed okay. I never saw him lose control like that. I don't understand," I admitted.
"Nor do I. His psychologist suspects something triggered this relapse, but Silas refuses help," she lamented.
Guilt consumed me, burning like a relentless flame. How could I have been such a terrible friend? I was too absorbed in my own life to notice my best friend's struggles. Sorrow, worry, and guilt tore at my soul. How could I have been so blind? So oblivious?
The truth was undeniable: there's no smoke without fire. The argument with Cindy was just the tip of the iceberg, and I had no inkling of what triggered Silas's mental health decline.
"I'll take care of him. I'll persuade him to seek therapy," I promised Madame Redwood, determined to make amends for my negligence. Her demeanor brightened slightly at my assurance, her complexion regaining some color.
"Thank you, son. And please, don't tell Cindy. He'll never forgive me," she pleaded.
"Don't worry, Madame. I won't," I assured her, holding her in a comforting embrace.
I left after finishing my coffee, but Silas didn't return. Initially, I brushed it off, thinking it was no big deal. But as time passed, I realized the situation was much darker than I'd thought.
Dizziness overwhelmed me as I pondered what could have triggered Silas so intensely. What could have happened to him?
Arriving at university, my mind was elsewhere. I couldn't focus on lectures, my thoughts consumed by how to approach Silas and address the issue. It dawned on me that I didn't truly know my own best friend.
Grabbing my phone, expecting a message from Cindy, I was surprised to find a notification from my weather app. Surfing! The thought struck me. Silas never turned down a surfing session, and the waves were perfect this Saturday. It could be just what we needed—a therapeutic, reconciliatory surfing session.
It felt like the perfect plan, a chance to reconnect and address the underlying issues. This surfing session would be the whole package—a blend of therapy, reconciliation, and simply being together.
I found myself grinning widely at my phone, the heaviness in my chest easing slightly as I mentally prepared for our upcoming getaway. But a voice interrupted my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.
"You're such a nerd. Who gets excited over a weather app? I hope Cindy's rubbing off on you," Phoebe teased, her familiar voice breaking through my reverie.
Turning around, I saw Phoebe, her face radiating happiness. "Oh, look at you, all cheerful," I quipped.
"Yeah, I am. Guess who had an amazing night?" she exclaimed, punctuating her words with a quirky dance.
"You?" I guessed with a smirk.
"Hell yeah," Phoebe confirmed, her grin widening.
"Good for you," I replied, though my mind was elsewhere. As I began to walk away, Phoebe called out to me again.
"Yeah?" I turned back to face her.
"I hope it won't mess up your thing with Cindy," she said cryptically.
"What?" I asked, confusion clouding my thoughts.
"Gregorie's back from the dead," she clarified.
"Okay, Phoebe, it's too early for your guessing games," I responded, a hint of irritation creeping into my tone.
"Nothing, just saying," she shrugged before sauntering off towards the library.
"Weird, weird girl," I muttered to myself, shaking my head. With that distraction behind me, I headed back to my lecture room, attempting to focus on the teacher's explanations.