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That’s how it’s felt since Xan left weeks ago.
Lonely. Empty. Miserable, even.
It’s true that we were practically separated for seven years, but even back then, I saw him every day. In his garden, with Kir, at school. He was always a constant in my life.
Now that he’s gone, I feel like my air supply is slowly diminishing and will one day dim to nothing.
That morning, I cried for so long after reading Xan’s text that Dad thought something was wrong with me.
But Xander didn’t stop there. No. He left me a gift in a green box in front of my room. When I opened it, a small silver kitty came out and climbed into my hand.
With the kitty was a note.
I never told you how sorry I am that Luna died. It’s a few years too late, but it’s time to move on and embrace a new life.
P.S. You’re mine.
Xander
I fell to the ground, hugged the kitty, and cried again. I cried so hard that I thought I wouldn’t stop crying or missing him.
I didn’t. Stop missing him, I mean.
Considering the nature of his rehab, he’s not allowed any contact with the outside world except for a weekly call with a family member, as in Lewis.
I always go to his house on that day, lingering outside as a creep until Ahmed opens the door.
While Lewis talks to him on the loudspeaker, I remain completely shut in the background, just listening to the tenor of his voice and boxing it for later when I’m alone and all I think about is him.
Lewis offered me to talk to him, but I shook my head, because if I did, I’d just cry. I don’t want to cry and disrupt his rehabilitation in any way.
And I’m always on the verge of crying when Xander’s first question is, ‘How is Kim?’ It’s as if he awaits the weekly calls to ask about me, my therapy, if I’m eating, if I’m doing better at school.
Lewis answers all his questions with a smile while I battle with the need to drive to wherever he is and maybe kidnap him or something.
He doesn’t need to worry about me. I’ve been healing, slowly but surely.
I think my actual healing process started the moment Jeanine left the house, and it only thrived after she and Dad signed the divorce papers. None of us went to her exhibition. Even Kir preferred a mac and cheese night with Dad and me than to celebrate Mum’s success.
And she did succeed. The articles praised her and the critics fell at her feet. She sold out with millions of pounds for a single painting.
That’s what Jeanine does best and what she should’ve been doing since the beginning.
In all the interviews she took, she said that she and Dad agreed for an amicable divorce. I scoffed and moved along.
She didn’t even try for Kir’s custody. It’s like she was somehow looking for this chance at freedom, a chance where she gets to disappear into her studio and forget she gave birth to children.
Samantha, on the other hand, didn’t leave peacefully. She tried to keep her promise to Lewis and ruin him, Dad, and all of us. Even Jeanine’s career.
There were nights where I wanted to hide beneath the blanket, shaking with the fear that she’d cause a ruckus and soon enough, everyone at school and in the country would judge me and Xan.
I lied to him the other day and said I don’t care. But I actually do. I don’t want to be labelled as his sister in any way.
And I don’t want to have to leave all our friends behind.
Instead of surrendering to that fog, I joined Dad and hugged him, then I talked to him about those thoughts. That’s my weapon against them. The moment I talk about them, they lose their lethal edge and disperse into nothingness.
Then, one morning, I woke up to find Lewis at the steps of our house, smiling with triumph.
