Novel & Cerita Confusion Will Be My Epitaph

A slow breath left my lips as I turned onto my side, pulling the pillow closer, as though I could somehow bury the noise inside my head. *Suspended.* The word echoed. Sharp. Final. But it wasn’t the suspension that lingered. It was everything else. “*Mistake.*” I let out a hollow chuckle, my fingers curling into the bedsheet beneath me. Funny. How one word could follow you your entire life. Job mistake. Study mistake. Pack mistake. Mate mistake. I shut my eyes, my throat tightening. Maybe… Maybe even my birth was one. The thought didn’t come with drama anymore.

Maybe it’s better this way Anyways see you on the next confession

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Confusion has always been the heaviest feeling that drowns me in a dark abyss where my screams are muffled. It leaves me feeling like the desperation of finding an exit is insufficient. It makes me crazy about the uncertainty of things. What’s precisely happening? What does a specific something mean, or what did I do wrong? Unlike pain, which fades with time, confusion appears to linger on. It leaves you seeking explanations no matter the years that pass. It doesn’t matter whether you are on your deathbed, or in your last hours of life. You just need that answer.

I stood there, holding my breath, my fingers digging into the edge of my desk just to keep steady. I wanted to yell back, to throw something at him, to prove I wasn’t as confused as he thought I was but the truth? The truth was worse. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Nico. Dimitri. Alexander. It felt like all their shadows lived in my head rent-free, haunting me even when I begged for peace. “I” The words slipped out of me like broken glass, sharp and small. “I don’t know what I want either.” Mark’s head snapped toward me, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

I took, gulping down my beer. “Well, I am not the one who zoned out. What’s wrong with you, man?” I dropped the can, ruffling my hair in frustration. “I don’t fucking know, Eric. I am confused. What am I supposed to say to anyone who asks me? That the wife I buried and mourned is well and alive. Does that even sound sane?”

Another added quietly. “I keep searching for a reason painful enough to justify what happened.” Pain moved deeply through the network. Reflective pain now. The grief of realizing some answers never arrive clearly. My chest tightened sharply. One aware pattern finally admitted quietly. “I thought closure meant finally understanding why someone hurt me.” Another whispered. “But maybe some people leave confusion behind because they are confused themselves.” More silence followed. Then another confession. “I don’t know how to stop replaying things that never received proper endings.” That one spread deepest.

I glanced back at the hall full of people watching us and felt the very specific discomfort of being the most confusing person in a room full of strangers in a world I did not belong to. "You are Seraphina," Caius said again, turning back to me with the careful tone of someone trying to manage a situation that was rapidly escaping him. "You fainted during the opening of the ceremony. Perhaps the fall affected your memory." "I did not faint," I said, keeping my voice as low as I could manage. "I died. On a pavement. In a place called Colorado and before that I signed divorce papers and before that my husband called me an illiterate bar girl and brought his girlfriend into my house and I am st

~ ••••••••••• ~ For quite a while now, I had this certain thought inside my head, and ever since then, I had been brooding over the matter quite a bit. I was wondering, if life was passing me by, or was just trying to run me over. Yes, I can understand that you people are probably getting all puzzled, baffled, mystified and all kinds of tangled up confusion about my impending death; but before getting any weird ideas, do hear me out.

That the unknown is exciting and enthralling? Who said death had to be this morbid. If you’re crying, please stop. What if my death is a glorious celebration? Could you celebrate it for me? Could all of your dance, and sing my favorite songs around my soulless body? Again, Janna, please don’t cry. Don’t mourn. Don’t grieve. I am happy now. Happy. Truly happy. Believe this.” Then he looks up at me with a very confused look in his eyes, “Jenna, I did not write this letter.”

The sound of furniture being ravaged and gizmos being smashed drowned their conversation. I was enraged and I attacked anything I could find but at the same time, I felt offended. The feeling was conflicting and I was drowning in confusion. Maybe I was dead after all. Maybe this was what death felt like— Confusion in mayhem. Maybe death was anger. Maybe death was pain. Maybe death was worse than life. I always thought that it was the opposite. That death wasn’t as cruel as living. That death was peaceful and quiet, where no mate could ever cheat on you and no sister could get the chance to betray you.