Chapter 66: Will To Live

“How are you doing today, Diva?” asked Mrs. Pentagne, her psychologist.

Diva gave a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Same.”

Mrs. Pentagne smiled warmly, trying to offer comfort. “Tell me about it. How do you feel?”

“I feel the same, Mrs. Pentagne,” Diva spoke up, her voice hollow. “This feeling — I… it has been three months since that incident, but I feel like it was yesterday. And I feel… terrible. I can't forget it for a moment. It's always on my mind like a ghost chasing me persistently.”

Diva had finally started seeing a psychologist on Zinnia’s insistence last week.

For the past three months, she had barely stepped out of the house, a shadow of her former self.

The once vibrant and spirited girl was now haunted by the memories of that fateful day. Her nights were plagued by nightmares, and her days were filled with a numbness that seemed unshakable.

Everything held a reminder of Mysa, and the guilt and sorrow weighed heavily on her young heart. She could not bear to look anyone in the eye—especially her brother.

Mrs. Pentagne noted the lifeless look in Diva's eyes, the way her shoulders slumped as if carrying an invisible burden. “It’s okay to feel that way,” she said gently. “What happened was traumatic, and it’s natural for it to take time to heal. But I am here to help you through it.”

Diva nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I just miss her so much. She was like my sister. I can’t believe she is gone.” Her voice broke, and she wiped away a tear that had escaped.

Mrs. Pentagne leaned forward, her expression compassionate. “Grief is a journey, Diva, and it’s one that no one should have to walk alone. You are incredibly strong, and with time and support, you will find a way to move forward while keeping Mysa’s memory alive in your heart.”

Diva's gaze dropped to her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I don’t know if I can ever move on.”

“You don’t have to move on,” Mrs. Pentagne said softly. “You just need to move through it. One step at a time.”

“Move through it?” she let out a humorless chuckle. “How can I just move through it? Have you gone crazy?”

“Diva, l—”

“No, Mrs. Pentagne. It’s easy for you to say because you are not in my position,” she burst out. “Do you know how it feels to live with the guilt that Mysa died because of me? She pushed to save me when it was supposed to be her! Do you know how it feels to know that you are responsible for ruining your happy family?”

Mrs. Pentagne stayed quiet, waiting for her patient to continue speaking. She needed her to have an outburst. It was really needed.

“No, you don’t know!” Fresh tears streamed out of Diva’s face. “Ask me how it feels. I ruined my happy family. Only if I hadn’t gotten inside her car that day, if only I had listened to her… she would have been alive. I ruined it and I hate myself for that!”

“Honey… It's not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.” Mrs. Pentagne held the tissue paper to Diva, who took it and wiped her tears which still didn’t stop. “Tell me everything. You can share anything, any thought you want to.” Mrs. Pentagne was a family friend of Clave. She knew everything and it was safe to send Diva here.

“I… I just want to share what our lives have been after she left us, Mrs. Pentagne. Can I do that? It’s eating me alive. I need to share.”

She gave a warm smile and nodded gently. “Yes, tell me.”

“Let’s begin with Dad. He is miserable — way more than me. He feels that it’s his fault. He says that he made a mistake, and that’s why we lost Mysa. But I know, that’s not true. Because I am responsible for it, right? His planning was perfect, but I ruined it,” Diva muttered.

“How is Zinnia?” she inquired, wanting to know more about the family situation before treating Diva who was suffering from PTSD and survivor's guilt now. It was evident.

“Mom?” Diva chuckled humorlessly, her tears dried up now. “Mom has been trying to keep the family together. But how can we repair a broken glass?”

“Broken glasses can be repaired, Diva,” Mrs. Pentagne tried to reason out.

Diva shook her head, her voice tinged with resignation. "Not when the glass is shattered into pieces so tiny you can't even tell what it once was."

Mrs. Pentagne leaned forward attentively, her eyes soft with empathy. Diva sat across from her, her hands fidgeting slightly in her lap, her expression a blend of sadness and resignation.

"So… who is this broken glass?" the psychologist inquired gently, sensing the weight of the metaphor in her words.

Diva's lips curved into a sad smile, a flicker of pain crossing her features. "My brother, Draven. He is the broken glass."

Mrs. Pentagne nodded, encouraging her to continue. "How is he dealing with this?" she asked.

"He left all of his responsibilities," Diva explained. "Now, he only stays in my grandma’s house, which is right in front of Mysa’s house. He runs my grandma’s florist shop, ‘Zinnia’s Heaven’, to keep himself busy."

Curiosity etched Mrs. Pentagne’s features as she probed gently, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. "Why is he there?"

Diva's gaze drifted briefly out the window, as if seeking answers in the quiet streets beyond. "Maybe it’s because he finds solace. He misses the connection he made with Mysa by staying there," she replied softly, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. "His heart is there."

###

Draven stood behind the counter of 'Zinnia’s Heaven', his copper-brown hair catching the sunlight filtering through the shop’s front window. His blue eyes, once bright, now carried a deep, distant sorrow.

Each day, he mechanically arranged bouquets, their vibrant colors contrasting with the heaviness in his heart.

An elderly man, a regular customer with a weathered face and a cane, approached the counter. He smiled kindly as he picked up a bouquet of lilies. "I buy a bouquet from you every day. Why don’t you ever smile, young man?" he asked with genuine concern.

Draven's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile fleeting across his face before it vanished into sadness. "Because I lost my reason to smile," he replied quietly, his voice tinged with melancholy.

"Why is that?" the old man inquired gently, sensing the weight behind Draven's words.

Draven hesitated, Mysa’s face flashing vividly in his mind. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening with unspoken grief. "Uh…" He struggled to find words, memories of Mysa overwhelming his thoughts.

The old man noticed Draven's pained expression and guessed softly, "Oh… I get it now. You lost someone really precious to you, didn’t you?"

Draven’s heart clenched at the mention of his precious person. He nodded silently, unable to speak, his eyes downcast. "To be honest, I almost lost my entire will to live."

"Almost?" the old man asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. "So there is something which is giving you the will to live. What is it, if you don’t mind me asking?"

Draven's gaze flickered with a glimmer of hope amidst the sorrow. "Hope," he answered quietly. "A hope that she is still alive somewhere out there."

Before the old man could respond, a harsh, male voice pierced the air. "Dead. For God’s sake, accept it, Draven. It has been three fucking months. She is dead."