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The day I watched Khaos being wheeled out of the hospital, sedated and all alone inside his head, was the day I was discharged. My parents waited anxiously outside my room while I dressed in the sweats Sam dropped off.

As if I was still a teenager, they hauled me off to their car and drove me straight home. It’s not that I wanted to be alone, back at my apartment where every inch of space reminded me of Khaos, but stuck with my parents wasn’t much better. Suffocating in fact.

My mother hovered incessantly for weeks, watching me with fearful eyes, wondering when I would break. What she never realized was that I was already broken. My parents took home an empty shell of their daughter, her soul tethered to another that was nowhere near.

The first week, I didn’t get out of bed.

I laid there sinking into my mattress until the cushion molded around my form, permanently dented.

Mother would bring me food every hour just to pile up on my nightstand, but she never relented.

When my stomach finally cried angrily at me for the neglect, I reluctantly gave in.

Day five, I showered. Then laid back down.

Day eight, I pulled myself out from under the covers and decided to take a jog only to get a breath of air that wasn’t contaminated by carbon dioxide.

Shutting the front door on their pleas to stay in and reminders of the horrors that lie just beyond was the most satisfying feeling I had in the last couple weeks.

The silence was blissful, and the freedom was invigorating, if only for the few seconds that I forgot why I was back with my parents in the first place.

My legs moved of their own volition, bringing me to a place my subconscious never stopped thinking about.

I stood still at the start of the dirt path that led deep into old memories and traumatizing tragedies.

Yet, I still put one foot in front of the other, sinking further into the forest that changed my life.

I sat there for hours in the frigid cold of late January, watching the frozen river where Oliver kissed me ten years ago.

With that moment playing on repeat in my head, I wondered how different our lives would be right now had I just kissed him back.

If I could have just had the smallest amout of bravery to face him after that kiss, even if it meant breaking his heart. If I just didn’t run...

Only I did and I can’t take it back. I can’t change time and reverse the damage I’ve caused.

Before frost could sink its claws into my skin and burden me with a cold that would burn for eternity, I went back home only to be met with frenzied chaos. My parents were frantic with tears and incoherent rants about how I can’t just leave for hours without communicating with them.

This is when I knew I couldn’t keep staying there, but even with the countless hours of persuasion, they still didn’t let me go back home.

I had a job I needed to return to. While I’m rotting away inside my childhood home, Justina is thriving in the glory of my misery.

Her victory at the cost of my downfall ignites a small, angry flame inside of me.

Old Ash would have done anything to pull herself back up, brush her knees off, and continue to fight.

The new Ash? She’s defeated... completely and utterly fucked by life.

This realization forces me to do the one thing I’ve been putting off, the one thing my parents have been begging me to do; seek help.

Day fourteen, I finally see a therapist.

At first, I second guessed my decision, the mere thought of complaining about my life when Khaos had been through so much worse felt childish.

I hated the sympathy, the wide, surprised eyes, the astonishment my life had brought out in my shrink.

I felt like I didn’t deserve it, that everything I had been through was just a taste of what real pain felt like.

After my third session, I finally came to accept that I should be more forgiving with myself and allow those painful memories to be acknowledged. To stop neglecting my pain and nurse it, coddle my soul because it’s been abused for so long by my own hands.

With each session, I revived my old self, little by little gaining pieces of me back and as I continued to get out of bed, take care of myself, and learn how to heal, my parents became more tolerable.

By week five, Sam and I were watching movies on our couch in our apartment back in the city.

As my life began to feel normal again, I quickly felt myself spiral.

There was a natural instinct to fight off the fact that life is moving on without Oliver.

.. without Khaos. I’m picking the pieces of myself back up and putting them together while he’s broken and shattered, stuck inside a hospital .

“Just ask his mom, Ash.” Sam finally encouraged me after days of cocooning on the couch. “Then go back to work. I love you, but I’ve been seeing way too much of you lately.”

So that’s what I did. Three months of silence from Khaos was enough to drive me insane. I had to know how he was before I stepped foot back into the office.

“You need to focus on yourself. Get back to work, do something with your life. It’s not productive to sit around and wait for Oliver. You’re young, you shouldn’t be wasting this time. You don’t get it back. Just let him go.” Mrs. Matthews pleads.

“I can’t.” My words fumble from my lips, cracked and broken.

“Honey, you don’t even know if he’ll return as the same person. What are you going to do if he doesn’t want you in his life?” She asks.

Her question was like a rotten seed, planted and taking root, soiling everything good that lived inside me. What if he didn’t want me back? What if the mere thought of me triggers him? What if I’ve lost him all over again?

I left the Matthews’ house feeling worse than I did going in. No update, just more pain. The only thing left to do was move on.

So that is what I did.

My first day back at the office was awkward at best. After missing a full three months, the news of what happened with me had died down and settled.

All that lingered were judging stares and curious whispers.

I felt like a circus freak, being watched by every person I passed as if I was anything other than a normal human.

What was worse was the demotion I received after being pulled into Blane’s office.

“Welcome back, Ashton. I don’t want you overwhelmed with work, so I’m giving you the piece on Britney Spears. We’ll ease you back into the swing of it, yeah? Anyway, take your time settling in.”

No “hey, sorry I sicced Justina on you and outed your entire life story” or “We’re so sorry for what you went through, I hope you’re doing okay.” Just a good, old punishment for missing time and screwing up a piece he never cared about in the first place.

Britney Spears ; overdone and dragged out, no story left to tell. Thanks...

Now, here I am, covering my tenth article filled with fluff and heartless nonsense. I thought going back to work was going to help take my mind off the fact that my life will never be the same again, but all it’s done is bore me. At the very least, I haven’t had to face Justina yet.