Somehow, Amity stumbles her way up to her bedroom. She’s tired. No, she’s exhausted. She’s run out of words to describe how worn out she is, but she just keeps feeling it. She’s been up for, what? Eighteen hours now? Nineteen. She can do better. She used to be able to do better.
It’s Friday, sure, and she’s had a lot going on this week, but still. Nineteen hours? A Blight should be able to do better. She should be able to do better than this. She should be able to do better than fighting her way up to the sink, brushing her teeth, staring at herself through hazy, bloodshot eyes. She should…
She startles, jerking her head up at the last second to avoid cracking her forehead off the mirror. Falling asleep standing up again. Time for bed, Amity.
She crawls under the covers, soft mattress easing the aches out of her stress-knotted body. She turns out the lights, stares up into the darkness. Her eye is still twitching. Whatever. As long as those headaches don’t come back…
It seems only moments later her alarm is blaring and her mom is shouting, pulling her up out of bed and to… what? What’s she doing today? A glance at her wall. School first, then student council, then… Oh, no, she’d have to ask to leave early again. Hopefully, they won’t be too angry with her, but she can’t be late to work. Then, homework. then, do it all again.
How many years? When did this start? Has it always been this way? You chose this, sweet flea. Don’t you want to succeed?
Not for the first time, Amity wonders what she’d have to do to escape all this. She doesn’t mean forever, nothing that drastic, she just… she needs it to stop. She needs a break, just for a second, just to catch her breath. Surely, that’s not too much to ask. Just a quick break and—
“Haha, Amity’s falling asleep in her cereal again!”
“No, I’m not!”
“You’d best not be, sweet flea. You have a unit test today, remember?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Don’t sound so put out about it, dearest. More coffee?”
“Please.”
“Amity, you don’t look so good.”
“Luz, please, not now.” Carefully, she trades one stack of books for the next, balancing her pencil crab on top of the whole thing and praying she doesn’t fall down the stairs again.
“Amity, for realz, you look like you’re about to fall over.”
“Yeah, well, I feel like it, too. Now, get out of my way. I’m going to be late for class.”
“Hey, there, Boots.”
“...Eda?”
“The one and only.”
“What…?” Her head is pounding and the rest of her isn’t doing much better. Couch, she’s on a couch.
“You fell asleep on Luz at lunch. Hardly made a peep on the way home, but I think you were awake for at least part of it.”
“I… student council…”
“You look like the Titan’s ass, kid. Just sleep.”
“Hunter?” Willow kneels down in the closet doorway, peering underneath the bottom shelf. Hunter’s curled up under there, wedged in one of his favorite hiding spots. Willow’s sure she doesn’t know them all, probably doesn’t know even half of them, but she knows enough to find Hunter so long as he doesn’t really want to stay hidden.
“Go’way, Willow.”
“It’s almost dinnertime. Ms. Camila wants to know if you’re hungry.” He huffs, which probably means yes. “We don’t have to come out or anything. I can bring you a plate. There’s… space… in here. I don’t mind sharing with the vacuum.”
“I said, ‘go away.’” Dull violet eyes stare fixedly at a point in the middle of her forehead, Hunter’s go-to place for when he can’t make eye contact.
Willow shoves a box out of her way and settles into the new space she’s created for herself. Hunter’s skinnier than her, and more flexible, so it’s not the most comfortable position, but she manages. “Nope! Staying here until I think you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re in a closet right now.”
“You don’t have to be in the closet.” She can hear him rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well, I want to be. And you’ve been in here for almost an hour. Everyone’s worried.”
Just an hour ago, they’d been playing Mono-poly, a Human game Luz had spent hours teaching them a few days back. Everything had been going smoothly, and then Hunter had a few bad turns, lost all his money to Amity, and screamed at her. It hadn’t been a lot of screaming, just a sentence or two, but Ms. Camila had come in to see what was going on and Hunter had fled.
Amity had offered to follow after him and tell him it was alright, but Willow and Gus had asked her not to. If Hunter wasn’t back in an hour, they said, Willow would go looking.
Well, here she is. Here they are.
“You know no one’s mad at you, right?”
“Mm.”
“I’m serious! Everyone gets angry sometimes. Remember yesterday, with Amity and the computer?” She gives an exaggerated shudder. “And according to Luz, Mono-poly makes everyone mad.” She wants so badly to give him a hug.
He doesn’t move, but she can hear his breathing, fast and shallow. After a long, silent moment, he says, “Go away, Willow. I said I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Okay. We don’t have to talk.” She settles against the wall and takes out her scroll, pulling up her latest book on flyer derby strategy.
It’s nice, really. Just her, Hunter, and the vacuum and mop. The uneven rhythm of Hunter’s breathing and the subtle shifting sounds as both of them get comfortable. She’s gotten through a chapter on defensive strategy by the time Hunter clears his throat.
“Um,” he starts. She doesn’t say anything. “Sorry. About earlier, I mean. And thank you for staying.”
“Any time, Hunter. I mean it. That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The Golden Guard is standing in her living room hyperventilating. The Golden Guard is a skinny teenager with an annoying voice and a stupid haircut having a panic attack in her living room. Keep it together, Owl Lady.
“Kid, I’m not going to tell you again. Hooty’s not going to let you out until I know you have somewhere safe to go.”
“But I— You don’t understand. Belos, he’ll—”
“Kill you? I know. That’s why you need to stay here.”
“No, no, he’ll find you, he’ll find me, he’ll—”
“Hey,” Eda says. It’s just a slight raise of her voice, but Hunter reacts like he’s been slapped, cringing away and disappearing somewhere even deeper inside his own head. “Hey,” she says again, gentler this time. “Listen to me, alright? I’m an adult. You’re a child. It’s my job to protect you, you get me?”
He shakes his head frantically. “No, no, no, no.”
“Yeah. So come on. Stay. Please. Just for the night. We can figure out what to do in the morning, when everyone’s a little less frazzled.”
“But—”
“No buts! Except for the kind that’s about to hit that couch.”
Hunter’s ears somehow cant further back. “What?”
“You. Butt. Couch. Now.”
“...Okay.”
Dawn’s creeping up on them by the time Owlbert returns with Lilith in tow. The kids are both asleep, but Eda’s never been more awake. She feels like she might never sleep again, or at least not while Belos is alive.
“Eda?”
“Yes, Lulu?”
“Why is the Golden Guard drooling on your couch?”
Eda sighs. “I don’t know, Lil, that’s just how he sleeps.”
“Eda, the Golden Guard is—”
She turns to face Lilith, giving up on the dishes she was pretending to wash. “Calm down. Hunter is just a kid, and he’s staying with me until I can find somewhere safer to keep him.”
“He’s the Emperor’s right hand—”
“Belos is trying to kill him.”
Lilith deflates. “Oh. I… I didn’t know.”
Suddenly, Eda’s hit her limit of bullshit for the time being. “Oh, you didn’t know? What didn’t you know? Did you not know, in all your years in the Emperor’s Coven, that something was up with that kid?”
“What?”
“He had a panic attack because his uncle saw him, Lilith. He lost his shit and started rambling about how Belos was going to kill him as soon as he realized Belos had seen him in his mind. Fuck, Lil, he’s sixteen and he’s got more scars than anyone should get in a lifetime, never mind sixteen years. But oh, I totally buy that you didn’t know anything was wrong.”
Lilith balks. “Eda, what?”
“I…” She buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, I know. I’m just a little stressed out right now.”
Lilith glances back to the kid passed out on Eda’s couch. “No, no. You’re right. I…”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Eda sighs again, drying her hands on the dish towel and running them through her hair. “Everything’s fucked, huh?”
“That’s it, baby. In and out, just like that. You’re doing so well, cariño.” Camila runs her fingers through Hunter’s hair over and over in time with the way she’s rocking both of them back and forth. They’re huddled on the living room floor, Willow sitting across from them and the other kids waiting upstairs. Hunter has gotten violent a few times during his panic attacks, and the fewer potential complications, the better. Willow is strong enough to restrain him without hurting him, should it come to that, but Camila is really hoping it doesn’t. The one time they’ve had to go that route was traumatic for both Hunter and Willow. By the looks of it, though, this episode is winding down. Hunter’s sobbing in full force now, and the screaming has stopped.
“We’re right here, Hunter,” Willow calls. “We’re not going anywhere. We love you.”
“That’s right, baby, we all love you and you’re safe here.” She’s not actually sure how much it helps Hunter to hear them talk when he’s like this, but he’d told her once that sometimes the sounds of familiar voices can be grounding when he’s dissociating.
Dissociation, panic attacks, complex PTSD. Between Hunter and Vee, Camila’s learning to speak a whole new language. Books on raising abused children pile high next to her bed, and the Mayo Clinic’s webpage on C-PTSD is bookmarked on her phone. Her kids have been through so much and need so much, but she wouldn’t trade them for the world.
Hunter’s hands twist in the front of her sweatshirt, searching for a port in the storm he’s trapped in. He’s humming between cries now, halting little noises like the ones he makes to soothe himself when he’s in loud or crowded places. “There you go,” she encourages him. “Just like that.”
This time, she’s pretty sure the trigger had been something they’d been watching on TV. One minute, Gus, Willow, and Hunter had been watching some cartoon while the other kids played a board game and Camila made dinner and the next, Gus was running into the kitchen to tell her Hunter was sitting with his hands over his ears hyperventilating. Considering everything he’s been through, it’s not surprising that Hunter has so many triggers, but by God, it breaks Camila’s heart to see him suffer so much.
Hunter wiggles one hand free and wipes his eyes before burying his face somehow deeper into her shoulder. He’s not hyperventilating or sobbing anymore, and she’s going to take that as a win, no matter how small. She presses a kiss to his forehead. “Want to move to the couch, baby?”
Hunter nods, and with Willow’s help, she stands and resettles on the couch, Hunter still in her lap. Really, he’s too big for this, but she’s got a suspicion she’s the first person to hold him in a long, long time.
Willow climbs up next to them and plasters herself to Camila’s side. “Love you, Hunter. We’re not going anywhere.”
You look awful. Look at the way your stomach sticks out. This was a nice dress on the rack, but it’s meant for real girls, people like Amity. People who don’t have to try so hard.
Fighting back tears, Willow hurries to unzip the dress and change back into her own clothes. Loose, soft, nothing to dig into her stomach and hips and remind her of the shape of her own failure.
Glutton. You’re disgusting.
“I’m not,” she reminds herself out loud. Mrs. Camila has a similar body shape and Willow would never think these things about her.
That’s because Mrs. Camila isn’t disgusting like you.
“Shut up.”
“Mija? Are you okay in there?”
“Just fine, Mrs. Camila!” she calls over the thin dressing room door. The dress joins its compatriots on the “to put back” pile. A shame. Willow likes the cut and color, it’s just…
It’s just you.
Willow steps out of the dressing room a little too fast and almost beans Amity with the door. Oh, great. Amity’s found a dress she likes, and of course she looks amazing in it. She’s wearing a tight black dress with something Hunter had told her was called a halter neckline, and it emphasizes all the nothing Amity has to hide. Stupid, perfect Amity who’s a girl without trying, who’s pretty and smart and—
Not helpful, Willow. You’re not being very nice.
Whatever. There must be a dress in this shop that won’t make her look like a lump of flesh pretending to be a witch.
“Willow? Did you not like any of those dresses?” Mrs. Camila looks away from Amity and frowns.
“I’m fine! Just going to look at a few more.”
“...Alright. Find Hunter for me, will you? She’s wandered off again.”
“I will!”
She doesn’t have to look far. Hunter’s standing in front of the human grom dresses staring at them like the mannequins might come to life, even though Mrs. Camila and Luz had already assured them that mannequins don’t do that in the Human Realm. She’s got a wistful look on her face and her hands are knotted in the fabric of her patchwork skater skirt. Willow walks up to stand beside her, letting the silence lie between them for a while.
“Do you ever get jealous?” Hunter asks after a while.
Willow steps forward to look closer at a blue dress with white sparkles. “Of who?”
“Amity. Luz. Other girls.”
Either they’re already out of this cut in her size or they never bothered to order it. “Yeah. All the time.”
“What do you do about it?” Hunter runs the tips of her fingers over a black and white dress with a flared skirt.
“I dunno. Nothing, I guess.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Of course it does. I just… I don’t know. What is there to do?” Hunter shrugs. “Want to help me try this on?”
“Sure.”
“Come on, you grab one! We’ll try together.” She points to a deep red dress. “That one.”
Willow Park is familiar with abuse. It sounds like a dark statement to make, some sort of confession of horrific trauma, but it’s really not. Willow herself has never been abused, rather, she has known all her life that she doesn’t see her grandparents on Papa’s side because grandpa used to beat Papa. She’s always known that, just like she’s always known that you don’t shout or scream without a reason, and you don’t sneak up on Papa even by accident, and you don’t wake Papa while you’re standing close to him.
“I might hurt you by accident, baby, and I never want to do that,” he’d told her so many times, holding her close. He always smelled the same, like his cologne and sawdust from his workshop. Now, whenever she smells sawdust or that cologne, even out in public, she feels a wave of comfort and security, the feeling of being eight years old and knowing that nothing in the world is too scary to handle because her dads will always protect her.
Sometimes, when she’s doing something dangerous or difficult or frustrating, she hears her Papa’s voice in her head. “You can do it, Willow,” he says, or, “Be careful, Willow.” She can’t imagine her life without those voices in her head. She can’t imagine not being able to call up that memory of absolute safety.
Willow Park is familiar with abuse, but she has never been abused.
Hunter has no memories of safety. When Hunter smells something that reminds him of his uncle, he goes pale and quiet. When Hunter has to do something hard or scary, the only encouraging voice is his own. When Hunter’s accidentally startled by Luz, who isn’t familiar with abuse and isn’t careful like Willow is, he turns and drives his elbow into Luz’s nose, breaking it with a crack and a spurt of blood. Then, he hides in the bathroom while Mrs. Camila takes Luz to the emergency room.
Willow has been sitting outside the bathroom for almost two hours now. She’s gotten through half a book on something called hockey, a human sport she wants to try. Hunter hasn’t come out yet, but he hasn’t made any concerning noises either, so she’s going to let him be. He just scared himself, Mrs. Camila had said. He and Luz had both had a bit of a scare, and now they both needed some time to recover. Luz needed an ice pack and some bandages and Hunter needed time.
“Willow,” Hunter calls through the door. “I know you’re out there.”
“I know,” she responds cheerfully. She hasn’t been making any effort to be quiet.
“You don’t have to wait for me.” Hunter’s voice is thick with tears.
“I want to.”
He’s quiet for a long time, and Willow thinks that’s the end of the conversation. Then, he whispers, “Why?”
She presses her hand to the door. “Because I care about you, dummy.”
“...Oh.”
“Yeah. So take all the time you need, okay?”