The Weight Of Fear
The quiet of the house was oppressive. Finnley sat on the couch, his hands clasped tightly together in his lap, the faint hum of his phone on the table the only sound that broke the stillness. His mind was in a storm—chaotic, disordered, a mess of regret and fear and confusion. The phone lay there, still buzzing occasionally from the unanswered messages, but the thought of even touching it made his stomach twist in knots.
It wasn’t even the first time someone had let him down. Hell, it wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt. But it still hurt all the same, more than he could have expected. Silas had been the one he thought he could trust, the one he had started to think might actually see him, really see him. For the first time in a long time, Finnley had let someone get close, let someone in, even if just a little. He had allowed himself to entertain the idea of maybe trusting someone again. Maybe this time could be different, he had told himself. Maybe I can move past the ghosts of Larz and everything that happened before.
But Silas… Silas had shattered that. Every word he sent, every demand, every manipulative message—Finnley felt it tear him open again. It was like the wounds of the past were being reopened, but this time they felt deeper, more painful. It was all a lie, he thought bitterly, gripping the edge of the couch as the memories of the messages came flooding back. Silas didn’t care. He just wanted to control me.
It made his chest ache with a hollow emptiness, as if there was a space inside him that would never be filled. He had been trying to convince himself that he was ready to try again, that maybe he could face the fear of letting someone close without it all falling apart. And now it felt like Silas had proven his worst fear right.
I’ll never be enough for anyone, he thought, the thought burning like a hot iron. No one will ever truly understand me. Not like I want them to. Not like I need them to.
He didn’t want to be afraid anymore. He didn’t want to live with this constant fear that the moment he let someone in, they’d hurt him, abandon him. But it was all he knew. Philophobia. It had been there with Larz, the inability to trust, the constant anxiety over how deeply he could love and still stay safe. Now, with Silas, it felt like it was suffocating him more than ever. The thought of letting anyone close again felt impossible. The idea of opening up—of risking that rawness—terrified him.
Why did I even try? Finnley closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. The tightness in his chest only seemed to worsen with every passing second. I’m better off alone. No one will ever love me like that. No one will care like I need them to.
His phone buzzed again.
It was as if it had a life of its own, pulling him back to the text thread with Silas. The messages he had read before stung, each word a sharp jab at his already fragile sense of self.
He had tried to ignore it. He had tried to let the silence stretch, to breathe, to not react. But he couldn’t. The fear gripped him like a vice, his fingers shaking as he reached for the phone, his heart pounding in his chest. He unlocked it and opened the thread, bracing himself for what he knew would hurt.
Silas: You can trust me, Finn. You know you love me.
Stop running from this. Stop pretending.
You can’t keep pushing me away. If you do, you’ll regret it.
Finnley’s breath caught, the words twisting inside him, pulling him under. It was as if Silas was accusing him of something—accusing him of not trying hard enough, of being the one to blame for everything that went wrong. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.
You’re pushing me away. The message rang in his ears like an accusation, a constant echo that he couldn’t escape.
That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, Finnley thought bitterly, the words tasting sour in his mouth. I’m pushing everyone away because it’s easier this way. If they don’t get close, they can’t hurt me.
But then another message came.
Silas: You’ll never find anyone who loves you the way I do, Finn. You’ll never be enough for anyone else. I’ve been here, and you’re pushing me away. You know I understand you. You know I’m the only one who really gets you.
It made his stomach turn, the words digging into him, every syllable a reminder of the trust he had let slip through his fingers. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. This is what I’m afraid of, he realized with a sickening clarity. This is why I can’t let anyone get close again.
Finnley’s hand trembled as he dropped the phone back on the table, his heart racing. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t escape it. Every thought, every feeling was tangled up in the fear, in the belief that no one would ever love him like that again. That the closer he got to someone, the more they would tear him apart.
The sound of a knock at the door pulled him out of his spiral. Finnley’s heart skipped in his chest as he reluctantly made his way to the door, his legs feeling unsteady, like he was walking through quicksand.
Illaria was standing there when he opened the door. She didn’t look surprised to see him like this, the fragile shell of control barely holding together. Instead of pushing inside, she just stood there, her face soft with concern.
“Can we come in?” she asked, her voice gentle, a little tentative.
Finnley nodded numbly, stepping aside to let her and Arlo into the house. Arlo stood in the background, silent but solid as ever, a quiet support that didn’t ask anything of him.
They made their way into the living room, and Finnley sank down onto the couch again, not sure what to say or how to explain the whirlwind of emotions that had taken over. They didn’t ask him to. They just sat down, and Illaria looked at him, waiting.
He swallowed hard, fighting the lump in his throat. He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell them how much it hurt, how much he was still hurting, but the words wouldn’t come. How do I explain this? How do I tell them that I don’t know how to move past this fear?
“I can’t do this,” he whispered after a long moment, the words barely making it past his lips. “I don’t know how to stop being afraid of people. I don’t know how to let anyone in.”
Arlo shifted in his chair, his voice low. “You don’t have to do it all at once, Finn. It’s okay to be scared. We’re not asking you to let go of it overnight.”
Illaria nodded, her voice steady. “You don’t have to trust anyone right now. We’re not going anywhere, Finn. We’re not going to rush you. But don’t push us away just because you’re scared.”
The words hung in the air, but they didn’t offer comfort. They were just the truth, and Finnley wasn’t sure how to take them.
The truth was, he didn’t know how to trust again. He didn’t know if he could. What if they left like everyone else had? What if it all fell apart?
And with that thought, the world inside his head seemed to collapse in on itself. He wasn’t sure what would come next, only that the weight of fear—the heavy, suffocating weight—was still there, pressing down on him. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready. Not yet. And he didn’t know when he would be.
But for now, with Illaria and Arlo there, with them giving him space to breathe, he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t sure if that was enough to make him heal, but at least he wasn’t suffocating completely.
Well, not yet at least.
•~✮✩✮~•
The silence that followed Illaria and Arlo’s words seemed to stretch for hours. Finnley could hear his own breathing, shallow and uneven, filling the emptiness of the room. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms as though the pain would ground him, keep him from sinking further into the pit of dread.
Illaria, as usual, was patient. She was quiet, her gaze fixed on him but never pressing. It was the kind of patience that made Finnley feel both seen and unseen at the same time, like she knew he wasn’t ready to say what was truly on his mind, but that she was willing to wait for him to find his words.
Arlo, however, was a different presence altogether. He didn’t speak much, but his silence was always steadfast. His brown eyes were steady, filled with a quiet understanding. In the moments when Finnley felt like he couldn’t breathe under the weight of his fear, Arlo’s calm presence had a way of holding him steady.
“I know you don’t want us to say anything more,” Illaria said softly, breaking the stillness. “But I want you to understand something.” She paused, and Finnley could feel her eyes on him, like they were tracing the edges of his brokenness. “We’re not asking for you to just forget everything or to suddenly trust us completely. We know that’s not how it works.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. His throat felt dry, constricted. He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to hear that they were okay with him staying distant. That was the thing that had always bothered him about people. They said they understood, but how could they? How could they really know the weight of the fear, the sharp edges of every past betrayal?
But Illaria wasn’t done. She continued, her voice gentle but firm. “We’re here, Finnley. Not because we think you owe us trust, but because we want to show you that it’s okay to be where you are. It’s okay to be broken, to be afraid. We’re not going to disappear if you’re not ready.”
Finnley felt a tremor in his chest, the cracks he had so carefully sealed beginning to splinter. The words she spoke were simple, but they hit him with an intensity that made it impossible to ignore. He wanted to reject them, wanted to push them away, but there was something in her eyes—something unwavering—that made him hesitate.
Arlo shifted, crossing his arms as he looked directly at Finnley. “You’re not weak for being scared,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “Hell, none of us are. But you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Finnley felt the sharp sting of his eyes watering, but he blinked it back. He didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to show them how much everything still hurt, how much he still felt like a shattered version of himself.
He wanted to tell them that it was too much, that he couldn’t keep living with this constant undercurrent of fear and self-doubt. That every time he started to let his guard down, it felt like the walls he had so carefully built around himself were crumbling.
But instead, all he could do was shake his head. “I don’t know how to fix it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”
Illaria reached out slowly, her hand hovering for a moment before she placed it gently on his arm. “You don’t have to fix it right now,” she said quietly. “Healing doesn’t happen overnight, and it’s not a straight line. It’s messy. You don’t have to have all the answers, Finnley. You just need to let yourself be. Just... be with us, for now.”
He didn’t know how to explain the weight of the walls he had built around himself, the distance he kept, the way every attempt to break them down felt like a new kind of failure. The fear of it all—of being exposed, vulnerable, open—was suffocating. How could he explain that to them? How could he tell them that no matter how kind they were, he was still terrified?
The ache inside him didn’t disappear, but it lessened, just a little. The quiet, steady presence of Illaria and Arlo was like a blanket over his raw, open wounds. It didn’t heal him, but it made him feel less alone in the mess of it all.
The minutes stretched on, and eventually, Finnley realized that he hadn’t pushed them away. They were still here. They hadn’t left. They hadn’t asked him to be anything he wasn’t ready to be.
“I’m scared,” Finnley admitted finally, his voice so quiet he could barely hear it. “I’m scared of being hurt again. I’m scared of getting too close, because I don’t know if I can handle it.”
There was a long pause. Then, Arlo spoke. “We’re not asking you to handle it. You don’t have to handle it alone.”
Illaria nodded in agreement. “And we’re not going anywhere. Take your time, Finn. We’ll be here, however long it takes.”
Instead of the calmness he should’ve felt from her words, he just felt angry. He was tired of being told they aren’t going anywhere. Nobody understands what he feels inside. It’s the same things from everyone and none of them do anything except regurgitate the words over and over again.
Finn tried to control his breathing and just nodded, not saying anything. He was too tried to deal with them anymore and wanted to leave this night behind. He could already feel a migraine forming from the crying earlier.
“I’m going to bed, feel free to stay or leave.” Finnley told them as he went upstairs to his room. Was he being rude? yeah probably. But honestly he couldn’t give a damn. He was upset and tired and needed space. It felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere with what people were telling him. He needed to figure this out alone.
As he got into bed he replayed the night and realized something, where were Willow and Hayven? He could’ve had their help, he needed their help. He wouldn’t have had to text illaria and arlo, making them come over so late at night. His anger grew as he fell asleep and he made the decision to ask them tomorrow. For now, he needed rest.