Page 14 of Anything But Lonely

For me, it was my mom and her cancer.

For Ava, it was her sisters and alcoholic mother.

It’s something that bonded us, an unspoken connection between us.

And it’s why it’s so hard to convince her that everything is fine. She has the ability to see right through the mask I wear—the same one that others often fail to even notice.

Because she’s worn the same one.

The thought is what has me sitting up, swinging my legs off the bed, and feeling my feet press against the hardwood of my bedroom. Ava sensing something is wrong brings everything to a clear, uncomfortable focus. Pulling my phone from my ear, I check the date and time—Sunday night.

I’ve been in bed for almost 36 hours, the realization instantly cutting through the numbness in the form of hunger pains, a relentless thirst, and a pain in my bladder.

“I am,” I sniffle for effect. Maybe she’ll think I’ve been crying. Feeling. Like I promised Rumi I’d do. “I mean, I’ve been better,” I add, throwing in a self-deprecating laugh. “This all really sucks.”

“I know, Em. I’m sorry,” Ava says, and guilt coats my throat.

What does it say about me that I’d rather convince my best friend I’m grieving rather than just grieve?

“I’ll be okay.” I tuck some hair behind my ear before feeling my bangs sticking up, down, and sideways around my forehead before noticing the fuzzy feeling in my mouth.

I need to brush my teeth.

“Don’t rush it,” Ava says as I slowly stand from my bed. Goosebumps form over my exposed skin, and the cool air on my legs and arms instantly makes me feel more human than a second ago. Walking over to the bathroom, I open my cabinet above the sink to grab my toothbrush and toothpaste, only half-listening as Ava tells me all the same things that the voice in the back of my head tells me.

You can’t run from the feelings.

They’ll follow you.

They’ll be here waiting when you inevitably come back.

Mom wouldn’t want this for you.

I don’t know if it’s Ava or my own mind that says that last one, but it has me slamming the bathroom cabinet a little too hard.

“Em, what was that?” Ava asks.

“Nothing,” I quickly reply, ready to change the subject—ask about how she’s doing, about her family, about the baby. Anything.

But before I can, my phone buzzes in my hand. Bringing it down to check the text, I’m surprised to see Liam’s contact displayed on the screen.

Liam is a friend from high school, one I’ve stayed in contact with over the years. He’s currently on tour with none other than Cross My Heart, his band being their opener.

We haven’t talked since he called me a few days after my mom died, apologizing that he couldn't be at the funeral because he was going to be in Nashville.

He’s always been a good distraction.

Our friendship has always been strongest when one of us needs an escape. Sex, drugs, alcohol—it never really mattered. We were each other's judgment-free detour from reality.

There's love there too—platonic on both sides. The kind that doesn't ask questions or expect more than either of us is willing to give.

I think we both know we aren't built for romance. Or maybe we just don't have the energy to let someone close enough to expect anything from us. With each other, there are no expectations. Just a familiar place to disappear for a while.

Seeing Liam's name light up my phone feels like a lifeline.

Not because he'll ask if I'm okay.

Because he won't.