I think the cosmic horror genre has it very well figured out with its exploration of our fear of the unknown and the unexpinable. For me, it’s the scariest type of horror, and I’ve been experiencing it all throughout the day. Right now, as I stood in front of her hotel room door, I was feeling it in a whole other level.

  Were our roles reversed, I think she’d be able to find the right words. She had always found the best way to gently guide me when my fears and mental hurdles got the best of me.

  That door, it was a barrier between me and what felt like an eldritch horror, but the thought of Abby possibly needing me pushed me to walk forward and cross it.

  The room was dark despite the sun still being out, hidden behind thick curtains, and the air was very heavy and dense. It was like I was walking into an ancient chamber, me being the first person to visit after it had been hidden from the world since its creation. I could barely make the figures of furniture as I walked down the corridor to the main chamber. There, I found a huge bed with a small body huddled under the covers, sleeping, perhaps.

  I sat by her, still thinking about what to say, but she didn’t react to my presence.

  I discussed with myself whether I should shake her or not, concluding it was best to talk to Abby right away than letting her rest if she was asleep.

  “I told you, I’m not hungry. Leave me alone,” she spoke weakly from her cocoon.

  “It’s me Abby, Violet,” I told her softly.

  The bed shook as she rustled her way out and sat up, staring at me like I was some sort of ghost.

  “Violet?” she asked coarsely.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m here.”

  She still seemed incapable of believing I was really there. She reached out to me with a pointing finger, aiming to poke me as confirmation I wasn’t an illusion. I grabbed that hand and ced it on my p.

  “Your dad told me what happened. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, he did?”

  She looked down and fell silent. Then, quite armingly, her body started to convulse as she began sobbing and mumbling that it was all her fault.

  “It is!” she argued when I told her it wasn’t. “If I hadn’t told them about wanting to be a teacher, then… then…”

  “…In that case, I’m just as guilty.”

  She looked at me and froze up for a moment.

  “Why would you even say that!?” she shouted.

  “It was me who gave you the idea.”

  “Wha—? No! Don’t say that! You didn’t do anything wrong! It was me! Me!”

  “Abby, you only told then what you wanted to do when you grow up. Don’t you think that, if you hadn’t told them, they wouldn’t separate because of something else?”

  “But if I had kept quiet, then they wouldn’t have argued, would they!?”

  “From what I understood from your father, things were barely holding up.”

  “…W-what?”

  “I’m really sorry, but… I think things between your parents have been really bad for a long while now.”

  She hadn’t been talking and her father hadn’t had the courage to tell Abby all I’ve told her, and right now, as her head hanged emotionlessly, I was wondering if I had done the right thing by telling her myself.

  I’d give her a moment to mull things over and open the curtains and window to let in some very needed fresh air and light. I turned and she gasped once she saw my face. I too almost gasped when I saw hers. Pale, sunken, with her eyes bulging and dark circles around them. Even her frame was skeletal.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “It’s nothing, don’t worry about—”

  “Was it your dad?” she asked.

  “W-what!?”

  “Violet, please!” she urged as she crawled on the bed towards me. “If it was him you need to tell me!”

  I raised my hands and denied the accusation. She kept pressuring me, so I eventually sat by her and told how I got my bursted lip.

  She hugged me and gave me a thousand apologies, saying she wanted to tell me about what was going on amidst her words.

  “…Why didn’t you?” I asked, my own emotions starting to overflow.

  “I’m sorry Violet. I’m so sorry.”

  “We are friends, right?” I asked, also starting to cry and clinging to her. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to! I really wanted to! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, but… I couldn’t! I’m so sorry!”

  “Aren’t we friends?” I practically yelled. “Isn’t that what friends are for? Aren’t we?”

  “Maybe that’s why! I didn’t want you to—”

  “I was worried sick! At times I thought… I even thought… you… like mum…”

  “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

  We cried our eyes out, colpsing on the bed and holding onto each other like if us letting go would make the other vanish.

  We cried, and then we got silent, but we still didn’t break our embrace.

  Lying in bed with her, I realised just how exhausted I felt. I also realised I somewhat missed being like this with her. Was I all right in the head?

  “Violet?” Abby called, softly.

  “Yes, Abby?” I answered back in the same tone.

  “Sorry, you were so quiet I thought you were sleeping. Erm… thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  “…Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, I really do. Thanks for chasing after me.”

  “…Do you think we bothered the other guests?”

  I was getting uncomfortable with her words and changed the subject to another that was also bothersome, just in a smaller scale.

  “Don’t worry, these walls are practically soundproof. And erm… I promise that, when I’m hurting about something, I’ll share it with you right away,” she said, pressing her face on my chest.

  “Oh…Ok, thanks. Please do,” I answered a bit flustered.

  “Will you do the same?” she asked, revealing her eyes to me.

  “Huh? Well, yeah…sure. I promise I’ll do that too.”

  Satisfied with my answer, she hid her face again. It was a brief glimpse, but I think she was looking a bit better than before.

  With that in mind, I decided I’d be moving things along. The topic I chose to tackle was her refusal to eat.

  “Sorry… I haven’t had any appetite.”

  And as a result, it was only bones that I was feeling as I rubbed her sides and back. Not good. Not good at all.

  “How about you and your dad come have dinner with us?” I asked, remembering that her dad too looked like he needed a good meal in his stomach.

  She initially refused, not wanting to cause me any more problems, but I easily convinced her when I said I’d feel more at ease if she came and ate even if just a little and that I’d make the meat stew she liked so much. I think I even heard a growl coming from her after mentioning it.

  There was just one final hurdle now, and that was having Abby taking a much-needed bath.

  “Ah! S-sorry…” she said awkwardly as she pushed herself away from me.

  “It’s fine. I only realised it now.”

  By “now” I meant ever since she uncovered herself when I woke her up, but I wasn’t going to tell her that, ever.

  I told her I’d pick her a change of clothes, so she should take her time bathing to wash away her two-week grime. It was very worrying seeing how shaky her step was as she walked.

  “Oh, right!”

  I also had to send a message to dad so he’d let Mr. William know I had managed to salvage the situation, at least for now.

  Somehow… I did it.

  How did I do it? I didn’t know, but I was pleased, nonetheless. Maybe she really needed me? That was an embarrassing thought—and quite frankly, vain, but perhaps that was it?

  Walking out of the hotel was another very disconcerting experience. Abby and I were holding hands, but she was also hugging my arm after having silently begged for it with her puppy eyes and me being too weak and worried to refuse. Add the way we looked, the fact we were being escorted by two grown men and the amount of attention it garnered, you can guess how uncomfortable I was feeling. I can’t talk about Abby though. She had half her face pressed on my shoulder and was looking slightly down, so it was impossible for me to see what expression she held.

  Luckily, we were being driven by her father, so we got some privacy until we got home, the exception being the short stop at a supermarket to buy extra ingredients for dinner.

  “You might wanna keep the coat on, William. We don’t have AC.”

  I was slightly taken aback from how casual my dad sounded talking with his boss, but there was still some hesitation when saying his name, so maybe they had become friends during the hour and a half they had been alone at the hotel bar?

  Is that even allowed?

  My tired mind was getting side-tracked, so I shook my head and made the effort to focus on what was important: making the food.

  However…

  “Sorry, but I need you to leave my arm,” I spoke softly to Abby.

  She gave me one of her looks, but seeing me not budging under it, she mostly released it. She was still pinching the fabric of my sleeve.

  “Why don’t you go py something with our parents in the meantime? I think your father would be happy with that.”

  She exchanged a look with her father, who was unaware of our conversation, before giving me a nod in agreement and walking over to them.

  I got behind the kitchen counter, pulled my sleeves back, put my apron on, and got into my chef mindset.

  Now, stew isn’t a particurly complicated thing to prepare and cook, even when you want it to be tasty. Even so, I must confess, this time I put a lot more care than I usually did without noticing. The only reason I realised that was the fact it took me almost double the time it usually takes to get to the step of just letting it simmer. I considered my tiredness being the culprit, but no. It was undoubtedly the extra care I put into it.

  “How are things?” my dad asked as I sat with them at the table. He was now more like his usual self despite looking very tired.

  “Sorry,” said Abby meekly after I gave him the update. “I should have helped…”

  “No way!” I told her as cheerful as I could without making it sound forced. “That kitchen barely has enough space for my dad to work in there, let alone you and me.”

  Even with that said, she looked a bit gloomier.

  What a pain.

  “If you want to help me that much, can I count on you to help me do the dishes?”

  “I’ll do it,” she said sounding a bit more enthusiastic. That made me think that, instead of just trying to treat her with all the care in the world, I should act in a way more like our normal. That would certainly make things easier for me.

  “So,” I spoke to all of them. “Who’s winning?”

  “They are!” my dad procimed, not too bothered. “Mr. Will is first, Abby is second with half of his score and I’m dead st.”

  Mr. Will took offence being called “mister”, apparently having told my dad to drop the honorific before. My dad apologised, saying it was weird addressing his boss so casually by name only.

  “In that case, call me that only when we are at the office. Otherwise, it’s just Will for you. And that goes for you too Violet.”

  “Huh? Oh, erm… ok,” I stumbled.

  If it felt weird my dad calling his boss by name alone, then it was even weirder to be so casual with someone who was more than twice my age, but it really wasn’t something I could argue, I felt.

  I kinda zoned out of the conversation after that point. I had a set of eyes transfixed on me across the table. Probably because of my bruises. I felt like picking up my chair and go sit by her side, but I had to get up and serve the stew in a bit, so it wouldn’t be worth it.

  Maybe I should ask if she could stay over?

  She certainly seemed like she would want to, but judging by our conversation about her wanting to help me cook, that would be something she would be troubled asking.

  Guess I’ll wait and see.