Sicko

He runs the palm of his hand over his tight abs. “I’ll have a chat with him.”

Storm raises one thick eyebrow. “Really?” I watch the exchange between the two of them, and for the first time ever, I feel like I’m missing something, or that someone isn’t telling me something.

“Why the secrets?” I ask just as Orson dives into the pool and Storm packs away his laptop.

“We don’t keep secrets, remember?” Storm announces clearly, while carefully placing his entire life into its satchel.

I wait for Royce.

But he never returns.

Later that night I’m in my room, listening to music on my speaker. I still haven’t seen Royce since he disappeared earlier today when we were near the pool. One minute he was with us and the next Dad is taking him away. Something has shifted in the house, and I’m still not sure how or why. After hanging with me for a few more minutes, the boys also drifted into the house. I figured they were going to have that chat with Royce. I don’t want to text them or go knock on Royce’s door. I don’t want to be annoying, even though they annoy me.

Flipping over to my side, I tuck my hands under my face. Tomorrow better be better. Today sucked.

She can’t know. Leaving her is going to cripple me, but I have no choice. Not now. Not ever. And not when it comes to her.

I wake the next morning with stiff limbs, stretching my arms above my head. I’m hoping Royce has calmed down from whatever he was upset about. I want to tell him that we don’t have to go to Matty’s birthday—it was just an invite. I always feel the need to talk him down, but that’s only because he has somewhat become my responsibility, as much as I have become his. We both take care of each other, we always have.

Jogging down the stairs and making my way into the sitting room, I catch both Mom and Dad standing in front of the fireplace, in a hushed conversation. Their chatter instantly cuts out as soon as I enter.

“Morning,” I say nervously, glancing between the two of them. Once again, that same niggling feeling is there. Something doesn’t feel right.

Mom turns to face me. “Honey, I don’t want you to—” Her voice catches in her throat, a teardrop slipping down her cheek. She breathes in, and then out. “The police will be here in a second and I would like you to not stress out.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when you’re standing there quite clearly stressing out, Mom…” My heart rate quickens, my palms slick with sweat as I cross my arms in front of myself. Mom is always composed, trapped in a society where she thinks perfection is the only way to exist. This isn’t perfection, this is fragility. You’re handing humanity a weapon to use against you if all you expect is perfection.

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ear. I watch as she fidgets with her rings, her bracelet, before going back to her hair. “It’s Royce. We woke this morning and he’s gone. His room is tipped upside down—” Her voice once again catches in her throat and she moves to the other side of the room to gather a handful of tissues. Pressing them to her nose, she blows loudly. There’s a knock on the door.

Dad moves between my mom and me, his eyes remaining on mine. That same chill slides down my spine. When he prances past me, he moves in slow motion. His chest is out in confidence, a slight close-lipped smile. I get that he’s trying to reassure me, but nothing is going to help.

Mom takes my hand in hers, but everything is moving slow. Caught in the confusion of it all, I tug on the palm of her hand. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s Royce,” she murmurs, swiping the stray tears with her tissues. “He’s gone, sweetheart.”

Four Years Later

“Like family to me.” Has to be the most overused term in history. Family. Six letters, one meaning, but double-sided. Family could be the reason why you trust someone, or it can be the reason why you’d never trust anyone again. I already know what side I sit on.

If you struggle to sleep at night, someone is thinking of you. Like an anchor, tugging on your soul to keep it in this world, as opposed to losing yourself in purgatory. Isn’t that what a dream state is? Purgatory for your head and the messed-up shit that happens inside of it? The place your demons meet with your sanity, and they fight about who will win. Will it be your nightmares or the actuality of peace? I like to think of my life as purgatory, where every day I struggle with both sides. The good, the bad, and the demons I can’t get rid of. Unfortunately. I would say that I’ve been healing in purgatory for the past four years, but I haven’t. My soul is trapped in Hell, unwilling to move on. I’ve blocked people out, shut down, and turned to things I shouldn’t to pacify the raw hunger I feel for the one person I should never have lost