Page 134 of The Truths We Burn

He leans closer into my body, pulling himself further from reality and deeper into a fantasy that will never be real.

I panic as I place my hands firmly on his chest, shoving him back from me with all the force I can conjure up.

“Silas! I’m not Rose!” I shout.

It feels cruel to say out loud to him; I feel cruel just existing in the same space as him right now. I’m not going to pretend to understand what he’s battling inside, but I know this isn’t him. This is his mind playing tricks, his brain putting him through a slow form of torture.

He blinks a few times, grabbing for his head and squeezing too tightly to be comfortable.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he mutters. “No! That’s not right. It’s not right. You can’t do that—”

I know it’s not me that he’s talking to; it’s something much darker.

I never thought my stay at Monarch’s facility would be anything other than a nightmare. I want to forget I’d even stayed there, but right now, being there helps me in this situation.

Because I think of Eddison, the old man who sat by the window.

When he suffered from severe hallucinations, the nurses would do something called grounding. They would try to help him focus on the things that were real instead of the things that weren’t in order to prevent a psychotic episode.

I keep my distance so he doesn’t feel any more trapped than he already is.

“Silas, it’s me, Sage,” I say softly, “We are in your house, and you are safe. I know it feels real, but it’s not. They aren’t real.”

His breathing is erratic as he grits his teeth, starting to pace.

I know how damaging a full episode would be for him. He could be trapped inside of it for a few months, years even. I don’t want it to get that far, but all I can do is try to bring him back. To remind him that this is his illness and not the real world.

“We are in your house, Silas. With your mom, your dad, Caleb, and Levi. We are real, and we are here for you, do you understand?”

Silas Hawthorne is the prime example of love not being enough.

If love was enough, he wouldn’t seek out trouble and darkness. His parents’ love should have been enough to keep him grounded. Keep him in line. But it isn’t.

If love was enough, Rosie would still be alive. Because even if you took away all the love in my heart for her, all the love from Rook, Thatcher, and Alistair, Silas would have enough stored inside of him to last for an infinite amount of time.

It would have been enough to save her.

If only love were enough.

It physically hurts me watching him fight it. And I can do nothing but watch and hope he can pull himself away from it. That he can come around and not accept his delusion as reality.

The pacing slows, and he inhales through his nose, out through his mouth, over and over again until his breathing regulates. The mental exhaustion on his face is evident, and I can see just how tired he is.

“Silas,” I say gently, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m fine,” he breathes. “I’m fine. I just, I need—” He stops rubbing his temples.

“Can I help? What do you need?”

“Sleep. I just need to get some sleep. What time is it?” He reaches deep into his front pocket, pulling out his phone and lighting the screen up. “I gotta take my meds.”

I release the breath I was holding, relieved that he’s still taking his medication. I knew that hallucinations were a part of his everyday life, and sometimes they were worse than others, but I’m still concerned.

“Maybe you should think about talking to your doctor about a new medication or a different schedule? Or even talk to your parents about it. Rook?”

He snaps his head up towards me, making eye contact. “It’s not the medication.”

“Then—”