The fear that keeps me carrying around a Xanax in one tightly-rolled fist (not to be taken because maybe it's actually a Klonopin and I don't want one of those. They take too long.) The very same fear that finds me forgetting to breathe until I have a headache and then I don't want to do anything save for sleep.
What is the fear of? Sam asks again. He always asks as if this is a fresh question or better yet, one that might have an answer.
Does August know?
Why do you think he knows and we don't?
He is singular in his separation from the Collective.
Does Lochlan know?
I think he does but he won't admit it.
Because if he says it out loud then it's true and I am crazy after all.
And why wouldn't he say that out loud?
Because then there's a problem.
But there is help for that problem.
He would rather fun it away.
Fun it away. Forget about it for now. Distract. Let it go.
But it doesn't go. I can push it under the water but it floats back up almost right away.
Is there a time when it didn't come back up right away?
Will you tell me when?
When I'm in someone's arms.
I cover my face. No. Well, maybe. Lochlan. But it goes away for August, Joel and Ben too.
Yes, Joel. You want honest, here it is. It sucks, doesn't it?
How does that make you feel?
You want to know why it doesn't go away for you. I can tell.
If you want to share anything, go ahead, Bridget.
I don't. This is your barometer. I didn't want to come in.
And so you thought it would be a good time to pick apart my mind?
Everything hurts, Sam. That's why we're here.