Day +... Does it even matter?
Cold tiles press firmly against my back, my bottom threatening to fall asleep as it rests sluggishly against the shower floor. The vent in the bathroom hums its steady tune, each deep huff a reminder that I've been in here way too long. Tepid water beats steadily against each marbled tile, the slow whooshing sounds melodic as each bead of water travels towards the drain.
How lucky, really, for the water to know exactly where to go, what to do. Each droplet happy to flow independently or in unison with one another, their purpose clear.
My face is puffy and painful, the heavy steam clouding my vision. There is a sullen, dull ache that sits in my chest at the base of my throat, which is a little sore from all of the wretched, soundless sobs it has endured. I attempt to clear the lump that has settled there, a painful ball of disuse, to no avail. The water—when it was hot, initially—felt soothing against my lifeless skin, the steady stream steaming and persistent, bringing a flushness to the surface of my body. Now, the water feels cold and listless—just like me.
It's been a little over three weeks since the funeral and I am still transitioning from feeling searing pain to feeling... nothing at all.
I'm not sure which is worse.
I close my eyes and think about all that transpired since Mia's last breath, every event a blurry, dazed memory. We were all just going through the motions, doing what we needed to ensure that Mia's service was beautiful and meaningful. Condolences were spoken and tears were shed, yet at the time I remember feeling detached—unwilling to accept that any of it was real. This was... this was someone else's reality. Not ours. It couldn't be ours.
Of course, the days coursed forward, each one tugging at the loose thread of our sanity, our resolve. We've been unraveling slowly, the strands holding us together tangling upon themselves when they should have tried to tie together—tried to form a knot connecting us to make us stronger. I've called off work more times than I can count, and I'm positive I'm in trouble. Not surprisingly, I can't bring myself to care at this point.
Does anything matter?
Soaked hair rests heavily on my body, clinging to my back, my shoulders, my face. Heavy arms wrap around my bent knees, a natural instinct to hold myself together. Pruned fingers trace slow paths along my legs, desperate to feel... something. Anything.
I'm just... I'm not ready to get out of the shower. I know as soon as I do, the heavy silence will sit upon me, suffocating and relentless. Each day is harder than the last, and even though we live together, Logan has never felt further from me.
I know the onus is on me to diligently be there for him, to be the rock he needs me to be. He's the one who lost a daughter. But he's... he's not ready. He doesn't cry, he doesn't wallow, he doesn't even talk, really. He just stares at the wall, the looming shadow of depression darkening his features and clouding his soul.
Before the silence set in, I could allow the distractions of my reality to redirect my thoughts from my emotional inadequacies—my inability to deal with prolonged exposure to the premature death of innocent, beautiful souls. Now, with nowhere else to look or deflect, I have no choice but to look within myself.
Turns out, my worst fears were absolutely true. I'm a barren wasteland, a shell of whom I once was. I don't... I don't even know how to be what Logan needs because I don't know what I need.
A cold shiver runs through my body, and I can't decide if it's a result of the now-freezing water or just the numbness that has overcome my very being.
Pins and needles prickle against my skin as I begrudgingly bring my body to a stand, my muscles aching with disapproval. Mindless hands turn the shower handle and grab a plush towel, tired feet carrying me out of the bathroom. Haunting silence envelops me, cocooning my dread-filled body.
A thin strip of light illuminates the dark hallway, lighting the path towards our bedroom. The irony isn't lost on me—the fact that the only lit area is the one crawling with icy darkness, its menacing tendrils wrapping around every nook and cranny of our once sacred space. The door creaks as I push it open, every sound and nuance amplified by the weighty stillness of the air.
Magnetic eyes find Logan immediately, his rigid form sitting on our bed, facing the wall. He does nothing to acknowledge my return, now accustomed to my use of long showers to escape reality. His hair is long, disheveled, with dark tresses slightly curling at the base of his neck. The beginnings of a beard—wild and unpurposed—further darken his sullen face. Dark circles hover beneath his eyes, almost balancing out the deep-set lines of pain that rest above his furrowed brows. His chest rises and falls slowly, as if each breath is an absolute burden to overcome.
Maybe it is.
My heart aches at the sight, my love and concern for him my only reminder that I am actually alive. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing the air to expand my withering lungs.
He needs you.
I change into some pajamas, frowning as I realize that my bottoms feel a bit looser than they ever have. Nimble fingers untie the gray strings, tugging at their length before forming a new, more snug knot. One of Logan's long, loose t-shirts hangs off my body, somehow providing me with more comfort than the real thing sitting a few feet away.
Apprehensive steps lead me towards him, my bottom finding its way right next to his. My knee rests against his thigh and my head leans on its own, too heavy to hold itself up. It finds his shoulder, nestling into place against him. He's sturdy and warm, despite the coldness emanating from his body.
Moments pass, only our soft breaths heard above our still-beating hearts. Timidly, his hand lands upon my thigh and I close my eyes at his touch—realizing it's the first time he's initiated any contact between the two of us in... I don't even know how long.
"I... I don't know what I'm doing," he whispers, his voice rough from disuse.
I swallow back the lump in my throat before responding, "Me neither."
After a few more minutes of silence I continue, "But whatever we need to do... we need to do it together, Logan."
Glossy, green irises find mine, and for the first time in weeks, I witness a tear fall down Logan's face. The sight cracks my resolve, and I can feel my throat constricting—trying not to cry.
Be strong.
A moment passes before he slowly nods, wordlessly acknowledging the fact that up until now, we've been suffering alone—when we should have been suffering together.
"I miss her, Logan," I admit, "But I miss you too."
Hot, heavy tears stream down his face, his expression crumbling under the weight of my admission. Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close.
I can't remember the last time we hugged.
His arms tremble slightly, trepidation coming off of him in waves. I hold him tightly, trying to absorb the distress that is bouncing between us. Tears fall freely from my eyes, each heavy drop falling onto his white t-shirt.
"This isn't fair to you," he mutters between muffled tears.
Despite myself, a small, strangled laugh escapes my throat, taken aback from the incredulousness of his statement. "Not fair to me? Logan, you lost your daughter. I can't even—I know that what I'm feeling is only a small fraction of what you're feeling. And that petrifies me, because I know I'm feeling so much."
Logan rests his forehead against mine, soft huffs escaping his nose, his heavy breaths hot on my face. My heart flickers at his proximity, throbbing at the juxtaposition of emotions it's enduring—pain, loss, longing, and fiery, fluttering hope.
"I don't want to lose you too," I whisper, my voice trembling.
A deep, strangled sob slips away from his throat, his resolve further loosening as I hold him. His tears spur mine on as well, both of us succumbing to the despair and devastation we have been trying to avoid confronting. We hold one another as we cry, the action painful yet liberating.
His hand curls into my t-shirt, holding me still against him as he crumbles before me. I aim to steel myself, to be the anchor I know he needs. Every gasp of air is a wordless cry towards the heavens, begging for an explanation for the senselessness of it all, the futility in which we fought, in which we suffered.
"I want... I want to be there for you, but I don't know how. I feel like... I feel like I have nothing left to give you. I'm empty. Totally empty," he stammers.
I close my eyes at his words, knowing all too well the weight and meaning behind him. Years of loss and suffering have slowly brought me to this precipice of hopelessness and despondency, my feet teetering at the edge of the cliff for so long. The winds of fate pushed us over together, and now we have to fight to find solid ground once more.
Together.
"I know exactly what you mean," I mutter between sniffles, "I feel the same... but I feel a little less empty when I'm close to you."
He pulls back from my grasp, red eyes gazing back at me. For the first time in quite a while, I feel like they're finally seeing me. Endless pupils dance across my face, his expression softening with the ticking clock. A rough hand lands on my cheek, his fingers tangling in my hair as he steadies me.
"I love you," he whispers, sincerity shining from his eyes like the beacon of hope I've been searching for.
His sentiment is met with a loud, sharp cry, a visceral reaction to what I needed to hear the most. My body trembles under his gaze, and he pulls me into his arms once more—a place I finally feel safe.
"I love you too," I whisper.
***
A/N:
How's everyone feeling? I tried really, really hard to capture just how desolate things are for Lauren and Logan while a glimmer of hope shines in the distance.
What do we think is next for them?
Will they get through this?
Anyone forgiven me yet for the emotional rollercoaster that is DIA? Too soon?
On a lighter note, DIA has over 50k reads! I can't believe it. Thank you to all of my lovely readers and know that your reads, votes, and comments mean the world to me.
Love you all!
If you enjoyed this chapter, vote for it by clicking that tiny star at the bottom of the screen. I appreciate it!
—Elise