@delxsive
the hours grow, and the lengthening minutes bring only pain. everything is prolonged and disjointed; misty knows the feeling well. first comes the tears, then the devolution into crippling anxiety – where she stays, suspended in panic, ALONE – until, finally, she slips to fitful sleep. there is no hiding it from her family members, who watch from afar with concern creasing their faces; they ask, but she refuses to talk. there is too much cigarette smoke in her mouth. it makes her nauseous.
what has she done? misty cannot put words to her actions, nor to her feelings. every explanation contradicts itself, and the dissonance of it makes her head ache. but not as much as her heart. can she say that she feels as scared now as she did when her mother was first diagnosed with alzheimers? fear cannot be measured equally, for it BLEEDS into everything. how can she live without her mother? how can she live without ivory?
that is the reality that keeps her awake at night. that is the reality that robs her of her stability. and it is that which sees her on the porch at nearly one in the morning, lighting up the first of many cigarettes of the new day. the smoke stings dry, bloodshot eyes that stay wide despite that they are heavy from exhaustion. her forehead rests in the palm of her hand as she leans against the railing, and she stays that way until headlights cast harsh shadows across the foliage.
misty squints against the bright light. is that…? the door opens and out stumbles the familiar form of her…well, she’s in no place to define what they are right now. forty-hours, and the answer isn’t any clearer. ivory staggers over the pavement, and immediately she knows that something is very, very WRONG. ❝ ivy–! ❞
