reticent

56

• AMALIA •

"Amalia." Mason says as I walk into the house. I wipe my tears before I look at him, and his eyebrows immediately crease with concern. "What's wrong?" He asks, closing the distance between us in a few easy strides.

     "Nothing." I say.

     "You can talk to me, piccolo orsacchiotto."
(T—Little teddy bear.)

"Just leave me alone, yeah?" I reply, stomping up the stairs. I throw my bag on the floor when I get to my room, then lock the door and find that my legs no longer want to hold me up.

I collapse in the middle of the familiar space, sobs wracking my entire body. I curl up into a ball, hide my tear stained face between my knees and cry harder than I ever have in my life.

     I've lost many things in my life—my voice, my fucking sanity and freedom and independence—but somehow losing Archer hurts way more than any of that.

     I cradle my head, sobbing so, so hard.

"Amalia." I hear the knock at my door, followed by my dads soft voice.

"Go away!"

     "Sweetheart, please let me in." He says.

I shake my head, even though he can't see me. I drag myself up, messily change into pyjamas and then crawl to the spot beneath my bed.

I wrap my arms around myself, converting into a small ball, and cry again.

•
TW: SELF HARM

When I go to the toilet, my eyes land on my razor.

It's so very easy to pick it up and slice it across the sensitive skin on my wrists.

•

We have another family dinner that night. Everyone is crowded around the dinner table, talking. My dad directs me into the seat between him and Xander, asks me which of the many foods I want, then puts it all on my plate for me.

My arms—covered by my hoodie and improperly bandaged—buzz with a roaming ache as I lift my fork up to shovel some food into my mouth.

Xander smiles at me. "Are you okay?"

     I nod.

     "Are you sure?" He asks me.

     I nod again.

     I eat some more food.

Cole laughs at something someone says, and I clench my eyes shut. His tone is easy as he responds, and for a moment I'm jealous that he can still talk to people normally. But why wouldn't he be able to be? Everyone doesn't have to change just because something bad happened to me. They'll live their lives, and it's rude of me to expect them not to.

"I'm tired." I whisper, becoming dizzy. But no one hears me because my voice is so quiet. So I say it louder. "I'm tired." But still, my voice is barely above a whisper.

I look straight ahead, finding Silas there. She's looking at me, small dots of concern placed within her expression. "Amalia's tired." She says.

It goes quiet.

"Sweetheart, do you want me—" My dad begins, only to be cut off.

"I'll take her to bed." Silas says.

"I can go by myself."

She ignores me as she stands, rounds the table and urges me to stand, too. Then she leads me out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into my room.