Chasing Shadows | ✓

Chapter Fifteen

I WAS STUCK IN A NIGHTMARE, STRUGGLING TO GET BACK TO REALITY.

Being confined at home for a week felt like hell. My mind was anxiety-filled; like being hooked up to an electric fence. Not enough voltage to kill, but sufficient to cause constant pain and discomfort. My thoughts were scattered, like a storm was whirling around inside of me, all the while the only clear thing that came through was, You're pathetic. . . Just give up. . . You know you would be doing everyone a favor being dead. . .

Over the week, the loneliness I felt grew steadily, until it dominated all of my emotions. There was an invisible hand clasped over my mouth, making it hard to even breathe. Each breath felt like a struggle, like I was fighting to even stay alive.

Loneliness sounded like such an easy thing to fix, right? Find a friend or family member. Reach out to someone who cared. But what were you supposed to do if no-one cared? What were you supposed to do when you had no-one?

With each day that passed, I felt like I was drowning. Each morning, I laid in bed, wondering if I should even bother getting up. Victoria tried her best to cheer me up, but her efforts were futile.

How much darkness could one take without light? I had been doing it for years, and each time that I felt like I had hit rock-bottom, life would come slamming into me, knocking me further down the black abyss of my mind.

The weight of everything pressed down on my shoulders and it was a struggle to even walk from my bed to my bathroom. It was too much. All of it. And somehow, I was still here. But the darkness only grew darker; the pain grew sharper and I began wondering if things would ever get better.

On the last day of my suspension, I staggered into the kitchen, a little after noon. Victoria was sat at the table with her magazine spread in front of her, sipping from a small cup. Her hair flowed down in soft waves, stopping just above her shoulders. The contrast between her dark hair and pale skin only served to make her appear all the more ghostly; her dark green orbs speaking of horror and turmoil.

"Trevor," she blinked in surprise, "You're up."

I grunted a reply before immediately heading for the cupboard with drinks. The shelves were covered in wine bottles, arranged neatly.

"Trevor. . ." her tone turned into one of hesitation and disappointment, "You're going back to school tomorrow. Don't you think you should stop drinking, at least for today? You don't want to go in drunk tomorrow."

"Piss off," I muttered and took a large swig of the bottle. I tipped my head back, my throat eagerly welcoming the bitter liquid.

I wiped the small dribble off my chin, and shot her a glare, "I don't see how it's any of your business anyway."

She grew silent for a moment before speaking up, "You know, believe it or not Trevor, but I do care about you."

A hollow chuckle escaped my lips and I staggered forward on my feet, "Really? You care? I don't even give a shit about myself and you want me to believe that you do?"

Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she replied, "You may not be my biological son, but that doesn't matter to me -"

"Once you get father's money, am I right?" I interrupted with a sneer, "Don't sit there and tell me you're with him because you love him."

Her face turned sad and nostalgic, the opposite of how I thought she was going to react.

"Your father and I knew each other when we were younger actually," she said, surprising me, "We went to school together for years but we never spoke. He hadn't ever even looked my way before."

My grip loosened on the bottle, "I didn't know that."

She picked at the corner of her thumb, pulling at the skin while she gave a sad shrug, "Not many people do," she murmured, "I was from a poor family so not many people knew who I was."

"Don't tell me this is the classic story of some poor girl liking the rich boy," I jeered, uncaring of her feelings, "I've heard enough of those to last me a lifetime."

A bitter smile crossed her face, "What if I said it was?"

"Then I'd tell you, you were pathetic," I deadpanned, taking another swig, "You should have ran away when you had the chance."

"Perhaps," she agreed quietly, surprising me, "But despite everything, I do love him."

"This is the shit you call love?" I scoffed, "I may be fucked up in the head, but even I know this isn't love."

"You're not messed up in the head Trevor," she chastised with a frown, "And stop using such vile language."

I raised a brow, "Look at me. I've spent the last week drinking everything in the house. I don't think I've even showered once, but you want to sit there and tell me I'm okay?"

The aching in my skull ebbed and flowed like a cold tide, yet the pain was always there. The harsh smell of drink was reeking off my clothes, and I knew by the way she had crinkled her nose when I walked in that she could smell it too. Empty beer cans and whiskey bottles lined the floor in my room and I hadn't stepped outside in nearly a week.

"You're hurt," she spoke, her tone soft, "But the person you're hurting the most is yourself. Unleashing anger on to others only causes more pain for yourself in the end."

I stood still, unable to reply.

"I understand where you're coming from Trevor," she soothed, "As a teenager, and even as a child, I was angry. I was angry at the fact that we lived in a shabby, broken down cottage that didn't even have running water. I was angry that people would come and taunt us, or even steal from us. Not that we had very much to begin with."

"I didn't know that," I muttered, not knowing what else to say, "I'm sorry."

Victoria shrugged, "It's in the past now.  But I caused those around me to suffer. Why? Because why should I be the only one in pain, right? Why should everyone else get to laugh and smile with their families when I couldn't?"

I slumped against the counter. My eyes shifted to the side, becoming glazed in a glossy layer of tears.

"How did you. . . Move on?" I croaked, "How did you deal with. . . with the pain? The anger?"

"I know reacting is a million times easier than responding," she smiled softly, "When we feel hut or attacked, it's instinctual to put our backs up against the wall and bare our claws. But peace only comes when we're able to remember that the pain inflicted upon us wasn't a result of us necessarily."

I let out a disbelieving scoff and Victoria shook her head.

"No, Trevor. They were a reaction from someone who wasn't able to respond, and in turn reacted. . . The hurt just spreads like wildfire with a big old bucket of compassion waiting within us to put that fire out." 

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Don't forget to vote or comment if you enjoyed! I feel like this book is so shitty lmao 💀 Kinda just wanna throw it in the bin and never see it again 😂 but i hope you're all doing well and keeping safe! thank you for reading! xoxo