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The kids are uneasy. Maybe they’ve picked up on my mood, or they got used to having Octavia around.
They’re not the only ones.
Fuck it. I put them in the car and drive out of town, to the nearest mall. We eat in the food court, and I watch as they play in the indoors playground with tons of other kids and stressed-out parents.
I rub my hands over my face, bury them in my hair, tug. I had painkillers for breakfast, but this fucking headache won’t let up. I keep seeing Octavia’s pale face, the fear in her eyes. Was that from last night at her house, or from my dreams?
Impossible to tell. Reality is again getting mixed with the nightmares, and I’m too tired to tease the threads apart.
After Mary falls from the plastic slide and starts wailing in the way that indicates an urgent need for a nap, I grab them both and drive back home.
Home. It feels like that sometimes.
When Octavia is here, my mind helpfully suggests. Then it feels like a home.
Fuck off, mind. Not in the mood today.
And when are you in the mood?
Shit.
The kids get into a fight when Mary doesn’t let Cole change the TV show they’re watching—something with squishy green blobs Cole likes for a Japanese anime she wants. I always thought those kids with the huge eyes look like fucking aliens rather than cute, but whatever.
Cole minds, though, and starts wailing like a banshee.
I manage to calm them down, and we watch another show together for a while. Couldn’t tell you what it’s about. Talking fruit loops, maybe? The kids seem entranced.
Until Cole climbs over Mary to reach me and she bursts into a sobfest, complete with snot and endless tears.
Christ. If I didn’t love these kids more than my life…
But I do, so I get some quick dinner into them and tuck them into bed.
How many times have I picked up my phone to call Octavia today? Every time one of the kids said something funny, every time they had a fight, every time I sank into anger and sorrow.
Every time I turned and she wasn’t there beside me.
But I told her to rest, and what kind of a boss would I be if I didn’t stop bothering her during her day off?
Being her boss sucks ass. I want to call her as a man who cares for her, to ask how she’s doing, as a guy who likes spending time with her.
In the end, I settle for a text message. “How are you holding up?”
I get no reply.
And another night stretches in front of me. I don’t fucking wanna face it, not alone, and since I can’t have Octavia, I cuddle with my whiskey bottle on the sofa, letting the TV play whatever the hell is on.
I finish the bottle, then cave in and take my sleeping pills. I manage to fall asleep in the early hours, only to wake up time and again with that familiar sick dread in my stomach that has nothing to do with the booze I consumed and everything to do with Emma.
And Octavia.
Because every time I close my eyes now, it’s not Emma’s dead face I see, not her body lowered into the ground.
Not mine, either.
It’s Octavia’s, and that scares the motherfucking shit out of me. It scares me more than anything else has, because this time it really is up to me to save her.
When Monday morning rolls in, I call John, desperate for news.
