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In reality, Barry should have at least three months of off days, but he’s not the type to take free time for granted.

The clouds part for a moment and the sunshine bathes the kitchen nook where we have breakfast every morning as well as half the kitchen.

I take a moment to enjoy it, and the memory that pops up is evidence of how far I’ve come.

April 2nd

The sound of the front door opening brings me back to life and has a dark hole of dread opening in my chest, swallowing every good emotion I’ve had in the past week.

The beauty of Hannah’s garden isn’t enough to battle the pure terror that imprisons my brain and body. It was enough to have me wasting fucking hours walking through it and then sitting at the pretty kitchen nook, staring at it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid fucking Sunny.

There’s not enough time for me to get my shit together, to not make my failure another thing they have to deal with, before Barry and Hannah walk into the kitchen hand in hand. They’re smiling, right up until Hannah sees me, and then her face loses all traces of happiness.

“I-I-I was l-l-looking at the g-garden and f-forg-got t-to m-m-m-make dinner.”

You sound like a fucking imbecile, stuttering because you can’t face the consequences of your actions. Get your shit together, Sullivan.

I squeeze my eyes shut, push the heels of my palms against them hard enough that tiny sparks of light start to appear.

It’s like he’s right here.

Not more than a thousand miles away.

Here.

Standing next to me.

In my brain.

In every moment of peace I’ve fought to find.

“Sunny.”

The nickname that’s more my name than anything else comes out of Hannah’s mouth full of compassion.

Which I don’t deserve.

And pity.

Which I hate.

“Don’t fucking baby me!” I snap at her before I can stop myself, and the instant panic has me stumbling back.

Hannah’s eyes widen before her face relaxes, but my gaze jumps at the tiny movement of Barry’s fingers curling into a fist, and no matter what I know, it’s enough to have my knees giving out.

“Jesus.” Hannah cries out and hurries over to kneel with me on the spotless kitchen floor.

I’m being dramatic, blowing all of this out of proportion, making a mess⁠—

You’re already a mess. You’ve already fucked up their lives, came into their home and took up their space. Clearly you don’t care about anyone but yourself.

It’s been a week, a fucking week.

How long is his voice going to be in my head?

“I don’t know, sweetie.” Hannah’s voice breaks through, and it’s only then that I realize I said it out loud.