He doesn’t need to finish that. If he’s not back, he’s in trouble. And sitting around here won’t help anything.

***

The day goes for entirely too long. Lars spends time exploring again, and I spend time going out of my goddamn brain.

Somehow, I get myself into the shower and changed without having a breakdown. Considering it’s getting late, I probably should have left my clothes to get washed, but I’ve reached the point where I don’t think sleep is going to happen, and I’m not so sure we won’t be back on the run at a moment’s notice.

Eating makes me feel sicker, and there’s not a huge range anyway. Barely five minutes have passed before I give in to the need to do something. Anything. Purpose helps me feel only slightly less anxious, and when I step outside to tidy up the yard, the illusion of productivity helps tug Perry from my mind.

Mostly.

That deep, unhinged rattling inside me won’t stop, and it’s taking all my energy to keep it trapped tight. Because Perry is fine. Colin is fine. There’s no point breaking down over something that hasn’t happened yet.

I send a quick mental plea to the universe as I stack firewood and throw metal tools into a pile. Chairs snap closed, and garbage is gathered, and I tug tug tug weeds from what’s supposed to be a flower bed until my frantic hands redden and ache and dirt fills the grooves under my fingernails. I’m barely registering any of it. Barely seeing what I’m seeing, just moving, moving, moving.

The faster I move, the more my anxiety rattles out of me and the more my hands shake. My throat gets so thick I can feel the pressure right down to my chest. I’m freezing cold. My muscles seize. Pressure builds behind my eyes. But still, I grab and throw and tear through the yard like it’s the only tether to my sanity. When the log I’m moving slips from my hold and thuds to the ground, frustration explodes from me, and I aim a solid kick at the wood.

The sudden pain that spikes through me breaks me out of it.

I’m panting, trembling so hard I feel sick.

I can’t hold it in anymore.

My hands feel full of splinters as I hunch over the log, eyes prickling, willing all this to end.

All I can smell out here is wet decay, which clogs up any shreds of hope I had left. Where the fuck is my brother? The way I miss him has carved out a cavern in my chest that only goes deeper by the day. And the more time that passes without contact from Perry, the more I worry that Colin won’t be the only one.