Patient A-3

Chapter 38: How Dare You

The journey home was silent. Not a single word dared to break the heavy tension lingering since we left the restaurant. As the car finally came to a stop, I wasted no time, swiftly hopping out of the car and speeding to the front door. The urgency to shed this tight dress and rid my eyes of makeup propelled me forward. Most of it has been washed away by tears, leaving me certain that I must look like a complete mess.

Swinging the door open with force, I slam it shut before the guys can step inside. My heavy steps echo as I stomp my way to the stairs, but a firm grip on my arm brings me to a halt. Lifted off my feet for a moment, Wrath gently sets me down, his hands now firmly on my shoulders, preventing any escape. "I shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he admits, his eyes flicking between mine with a hint of remorse.

"You don't take me seriously," I bite back, my anger still ablaze and unwilling to wane. "You talk to me as if I'm some clueless child, and it's nothing new. You always speak to me like that, Wrath."

I'm prepared to pivot on my heel and storm away, but there's one more thing that I need to get off my chest, despite the cringe it causes once it leaves my lips. "And why don't you want to be my boyfriend? I understand that you have an issue with me being related to those awful people," I push through the words, acknowledging the connection to my parents, my voice catching as tears begin to spill once more.

"But I'm not my father, and I'm certainly not my mother. I'm my own person, Wrath. What's so wrong with me that you can't stand the idea of being my partner?" I cry out, a mixture of frustration and hurt evident in my tone, hating how vulnerable and desperate I must sound.

He winces, a pained expression crossing his face, and he harshly swallows as if searching for the right words. I wait in silence, anticipating a response, but he remains silent, his gaze wandering around the room as though expecting the house itself to reveal an answer. My chest tightens, and I pivot on my feet, retreating back up the steps so I can cry without an audience. He doesn't make any move to stop me.

Cierien softly calls out my name but makes no move to stop me either. Their hushed conversation follows me as I ascend the stairs, but I pay no heed this time. Reaching the top, I swing open my door and rush into the bathroom, where I quickly lock myself in. Confronting my reflection, I take in the smeared mascara and blotchy concealer. The floodgates open and I collapse to the floor, curling myself into a ball as I release every pent-up emotion from the tumultuous days that have passed.

In the solitude of the bathroom, surrounded by my own reflection and echoes of my sobs, I grapple with the uncertainty of what went wrong with Wrath. Despite my efforts to understand him, to care for him, it feels as if he remains elusive, unyielding. The frustration intensifies, the weariness settling in as I confront the relentless cycle of trying hard and receiving little in return.

Cierien is a comforting presence, but a nagging doubt lingers- what if Wrath decides to leave? Would Cierien follow suit? Would he choose Wrath over me if push came to shove?

The weight of unanswered questions and the uncertainty of my relationships cause me to choke out more sobs, the room echoing with the sound of my cries. It's all too much, an overwhelming torrent of emotions that feel unbearable. I yearn for a return to when everything was normal, a time when, though imperfect, life wasn't laden with such confusion. I didn't have to think so much. I didn't have to feel so much.

The door trembles under the persistence of someone trying to get in, and I instinctively cover my ears, oversensitive to the sound of the door blending in with my loud weeping. "Avalyn, open the door," Wrath's voice reaches me from the other side, but I remain huddled on the cold tile.

Despite knowing he can't see me, I shake my head. I'm aware of the perceived drama of sobbing on the bathroom floor instead of communicating like a grown-up, but at times, it feels like a compulsion I can't control. The tumultuous nature of my mood disorder urges me to sabotage the relationship with hurtful words, to end it all abruptly, and to push them out of my life. It's a call for impulsive action. Instead, I choose the nonverbal route, succumbing to scream-crying on the bathroom floor as a form of release.