Everything went down a rabbit hole on the day my parents died. I only started my freshman year in MIT, which was a great deal in my family. My brothers never went to university for a single reason, we simply couldn’t afford tuition fees. My parents worked day and night since I could remember. Firstly, my mother took me to her wealthy employers of New York elite. While she was frantically polishing every corner of their giant apartments, I had to patiently wait at the kitchen table and pretend I didn’t exist at all. At five, I was sent to kindergarten and the next stop turned out to be Boston. Two and a half months into the semester, my parents died.

At the time, Nick had been working at a fancy hotel as a doorman for half of a decade. Chris moved to Cleveland with the girl he met at deli by accident, and everything went perfectly well for him there. Matt tried for New York University back in the day, but never managed. He was in his early 30s, busy in a furniture warehouse closer to New Jersey. I got to MIT and was simply the pride of the family, which I was ever since ashamed of. My scholarship covered practically all the cost, and my brothers collectively supported the decision to embark on the journey of being the first one in the family to obtain higher education. Our group chat was called “ninja turtles”, and it went quiet on that day.

They didn’t tell me right away. Later I learned that my parents died in the early hours of November, 5th. I got the call in the afternoon, when my then roommate Maddie and I were buying groceries. I saw a curry chicken recipe on TikTok and was determined to make it work. The day was rainy, typically autumnal. When we were walking to the store, Maddie was talking about her neuroscience classes. I was looking at the simple sight of yellowish ground and tree branches like slim arms of black monsters along the alley. I was thinking about the Central Park a few weeks ago, when I went to New York. It was the last time I saw them alive.

The night before we talked, when mother was cooking the dinner, and I was telling her about the CS50 classes. The last thing she told was that I should eat well. In the morning, I sent her the curry recipe and never got a response. I never made that curry chicken in the end.

I was looking for coco milk, because I had no idea where it would be. The store worker told it was in the row five, but I couldn’t see well without glasses, which I forgot. Life was an adolescent mess, when Matt called. We didn’t call, because it was silly. Nobody called. It was considered of bad taste, when we were aliased as turtles and could text. Matt called, and I jumped in surprise, cursing the lad for anything he was to say.

“Sadie,” his voice was muffled and hoarse. A rush of panic washed over me in an instant. “Something terrible has happened,” my world started spinning.

Everything would have turned out better if they had lived. As it was they died of an explosion in the building. Later, the police found out that the tenants who lived right under them were trying to make a pipe bomb. The man who lived on the same floor died too. There were three victims in total. And the two of murderers.

The police told us that they died in sleep. Didn’t even notice. They didn’t suffer. In some bizarre cruel way, I remember thinking that I wished that they knew. I lost them and I lost sight of any landmark that might have led me someplace happier, to some more populated or congenial life.

Their death was a dividing mark: Before and After. And though it’s a bleak thing to admit, I’ve never met anyone who made me feel loved the way they did. I had my brothers, of course, who were left shattered just as I was. But they had their lives more or less set up. Maybe it sounds selfish. But that’s what I thought.

The rain was pattering on the glass, thunder rumbling in the distance. We were staying at Matt’s place after the funeral. Our parents were a pair of jars on the table. Chris went down to get us a dinner. I was nauseous. We were silent, listening to the ticking of the clock, clatter on the street, taxi horns blowing.

The doorbell rang. I felt like I was going to vomit on the carpet.

“It must be Chris,” Matt mumbled, his voice sounding alien, like an echo from another life.

There was a moment of still numbness when everyone understood that it wasn’t Chris ringing on the doorbell. Chris had keys, and we were too overwhelmed to gain back any sense of reality. Though my brothers seemed to lit up slightly on the inside, while I sank deeper into swampy despair.

Eddie was exactly as I remembered him. Maybe just slightly more ragged, like an old T-shirt that had been washed with cheap detergent. But you still loved it in particularly strange form of attachment. One could easily tell it by the childish shadow of excitement that washed over their faces. But all I felt was lump in the throat which threatened to get out.

They went on with excited exchange while I submerged deeper into the past, grabbing myself with arms like with a life raft. It was summer when I turned sixteen. The sweet time in the place that was blown up not so long ago. Two of those who lived there existed no more. The heat was getting under our skin, and we spent long nights agonizing to a desire to peel it off.

I think I had been looking up to Eddie since the very young age when he, with a blazing bruise under the left eye, first came for a dinner. He ended up almost growing into the fifth child in the family, and one could tell the difference only by the skin color. By any other means, my brothers considered him one of them. Me too, but it didn’t last for long.

I had been in love with Eddie, I think, since the very beginning. Or so I thought, though it sounds kind of grim now. The boy just was too dumb to notice, as the boys always are. I looked through those infamous sections in girl magazines, having despised them. I was right, because it never worked. Eddie was a chill brother, who was too dumb to notice anything.

The day we saw each other for the last time was when our skin was melting off. Both Matt and Eddie were a rare sight in those walls by then. Both Matt and Eddie were grownups already, too busy with things I had no idea about. I used to shower a dozen times a day, and dad was threatening to get air conditioning. The night before, I told them about climate change, but he said it was bullshit and recycling had no sense. I was sixteen, angry, frustrated and hot, when ice-cold water ran down my body, bringing a wave of evaporating freshness.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my chest and opened the door. I was instantly taken back by surprise. Eddie started forward with those mist-covered eyes, the thing I didn't understand back then. I never encountered it before, but it's too much to expect from someone at sixteen. I remember saying something and receiving no response. He seemed to be drifting off into the unknown, while leaning on the doorframe.

Well, I was sixteen, childishly young. I thought they went out partying the night before or something. But now I guess I didn't even think. I kissed him. He tasted strongly of sweetness like candies. Obviously dumbfounded with hardly noticeable interest, while my arms ended up circling around his neck. He was a pliant piece of clay under my movements. I wasn't a very good kisser, it was obnoxious at first and braver after. My hands wandered off down his chest and I pulled up his shirt. I was sixteen, but not completely ignorant. His fingers tangled into my hair when my towel fell off, and I felt that wave of lust and excitement washing over me.

It ended as abruptly as I started it. He backed off, and his hazel gray eyes went wide. Mist within dissipated slightly. I didn't realize.

«What the hell, Sadie?»

It was the last thing he said until that very day when he appeared in Matt's living room in the form of a wild beast in an alien environment. I was nauseous at the sight and wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.

What the hell, Eddie?

I was floating in a bubble, despite all the clamor and that horrible odor of Chinese food. I knew that Chris was back, and Eddie was sitting next to me, and they offered me some spring rolls, and vegetable rice, and shrimp bread. But I was in a bubble, setting off to the unknown. I wished to have something to give me a push, when the voice called.

It was raspy and smoky, like an old roadside pub in a basement. My vision desperately tried to find some focus, and my lips failed in an attempt to master a response. Everything was blurry, my mouth was dry, and I didn’t hear the question.

The voice came in again, cut off by another blow, threatening my safe environment. Their dialogue was intensely strong, but all I could get were distant noises when nauseous smell came in, ripping the bubble. I looked up at Eddie, he was saying something to me. Or not. But it was no use.

I just didn’t want to stay there in that place when the wave of queasiness numbed my fingers. It was horrible, and I’m happy I hardly remember that day. I grabbed the edges of the toilet when vomit came in. Matt was there, and I begged him to leave. Tears streamed down my cheeks, not because of anything and because of everything. Damned Matt didn’t leave for how much I begged him.

“You just need help,” he whispered with that soothing, mother-like voice that made me even more nauseous. “It’s alright, don’t worry.”

But all I wanted was to hit him straight in the face, to scream and go numb after all. I don’t know how long it had been. But damned Matt still whispered in my ear, even when he left me in the dimmed room, filled only with the fresh smell of detergent and rain pattering on the window.

Everyone was there. Eddie was there. But I only wanted to disappear, get drowned in the late rain, so I walked out of the window. It was easy, even for me. There’s no place without a fire-escape staircase. It was fresh and wet, just like that summer day. I was also suffocating again.

The rain pattered over my hoodie, caught some touch of dry lips, and was blissfully silent, despite the usual noise of the city. I heard voices through the open window only a few feet to my right, but I would be dead if I heard another form of patronizing by Matt. My phone buzzed in the pocket while I went down the ladder, not trusting myself fully. I think life would have been better if I slipped and went down. It would have been much shorter and deprived of so many moments. Isn’t it the best way to silence suffering?

Unfortunately, my feet touched the ground. I looked up, savoring the moment, because even that was better than being trapped in the same room with a bunch of Chinese food, three brothers, and a guy you were hopelessly in love with.

By the time I got myself a bottle of water in the deli across the street, it was raining heavily. Winter in New York was rarely snowy like on typical postcards. It was like this, chillingly soaking you, but I didn’t mind. I spent maybe an hour in the laundry in the basement and had turned off the phone when the first call came in.

Then came Matt’s voice from above. Bastard, he deserved it. The voices grew closer, but I was sure they wouldn’t get to me when I curled on a small couch. All the washing machines were off, lights were off, I was partially off too. I brought the knees up to chest, trying to suppress the numb feeling inside, when the voice still kept calling for me. I hoped they would get soaked, lost and forgotten until I couldn’t feel anything at all.

When I heard the steady beat of the steps approaching, I thought a string of curses would come afterward. It didn’t though. I’m not sure how much time had passed. I was dozing off, and it could have easily been ten minutes or two days. But the distant patter of the drops reminded of the world outside and reality that threatened to crawl over me again.

The shadow loomed with shiny contours through my half-open eyelids. I could tell it wasn’t Matt. It was there where my detective skills stumbled upon its limit. I had a hope deep inside, when something covered me. It was then when I realized how cold I was. The weather was getting hostile, and this damp place was a terrible choice. But outside was even worse.

I curled under the cloth, surprisingly warm and soft. I wish I could tell that I knew who it was. But I was too exhausted to give it a thought, as soon as nobody bothered me, I was happy. Only that I was nothing of happy.

Silence dripped with the rain, and I didn’t even wonder. It was only that one thought like a drum in the back of my mind. I couldn’t make myself stop thinking. I wanted to fall asleep and see no dreams. Maybe it would be better if it lasted forever. I wished to have a wand and be an expert in obliviation. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. In the same way, I still remembered Eddie’s raspy voice.

It became like that long ago because he smoked too much. Mom always tutted around about it. A pang of pain grew inside the stomach. Though the voice was calm and steady, like a hook pulling me up to the surface. It was definitely the best option out of what I had left. In response, questions flooded my mind, but I couldn’t master any of them. They all stayed in my throat, unsaid, and I just sucked them in.

Why do you still struggle? Why is everything unfair? Why did it happen? And another string of why-questions. It was like being a kid again and asking why the sky was blue. Only adults never knew. I googled it as soon as I could on a school computer.

“Please,” I started softly, also raspy, though I never smoked, only occasionally and only for fun. It was the first word I said to Eddie in so many years. And now I would prefer it to be something else. “Don’t give me in.”

It was a childish fear of being found in a hide and seek game. Only the boys had no clues and never asked for a feat. It was unfair. But I knew if I only could, I would go so much farther, to the end of everything, though I knew it didn’t exist, and the world wasn't held by three giant elephants.

I knew Eddie as comprehensive, to an extent. Maybe I could trust him. Though, till that very day, I didn’t know why he disappeared. Firstly, I thought it was because of what happened. But it was so silly. Then I was over it. Not completely, but who cares?

“Eddie,” I wanted to get hooked up to the surface again and not let myself get sucked in. Or, as I know now, I wanted to find out the truth. “Why did you leave?”

I slightly opened my eyes, but got only the silhouette of his head, countered by the lights behind the corridor door. I hoped he would say that it was because of me, that he was also dying of love, intense and youthful, and decided to make himself a martyr. I know it wouldn’t be the case, but I let myself sink into the pride. One of the few feelings that didn’t hurt.

I wiggled on the small sofa, like an impatient child, because I needed some kind of distraction. A bed-time story to forget about monster under the bed. But Eddie remained silent for a long count of minutes which I considered something like a tiny eternity. I think my perception of time got broken in those days. Hours and minutes never seemed the same since then. Though I still had it marked in my head, Eddie was thinking on the answer. Or simply choosing the one he would consider the best to give me. Maybe if he hadn’t left, everything would be different now. Maybe no one would die. Or maybe everyone.

I opened my eyes, looking around the room. It was a usual style for this kind of facilities, though it was grim. Unfortunately, it was a good excuse to get away with the topic, but I still was left with that thirst for truth. In a certain way I wanted to know, even if it would be horribly devastating. Because it wouldn’t hurt me more than I already was.

Eddie’s rasp voice filled the basement, and I turned, facing the ceiling. It was cracked. I was better. Well, not much. Just didn’t feel like spilling my insides on the floor which was a certain progress. Eddie’s jacket dearingly embraced my body, and there was some caring into it. For a moment I considered staying there forever, though logically I couldn’t, because this place would get filled with people sooner or later.

I slipped a sight down at Eddie, while his eyes remained half-closed. One could think it was some strange form of meditation. Then I decided to try it if I felt like it. Meditation, Buddha spent forty days under a tree. But I had always doubted it was truth, and I never tried at the end. It was cruel of me to leave the guys as such. But they had been suffocating me for the last few days. If I could, I would go anywhere. If I went, maybe I would get some answers to the questions that really didn’t matter.

“Let’s go,” I steadied myself on the sofa, patting my shabby trainers on the floor. The head was going around in circles, like on a crazy rollercoaster. And I never liked them, always ended throwing up afterward.

A sour taste filled my mouth, and I squinted, looking down at Eddie. It was the first time I actually looked at him, not simply acknowledged the fact of his presence. His eyes remained the same, warm with hazel and spilling out the emotions. Though everything else was different, more neat, trimmed, careful. You could tell that he had changed from the last time I saw him. There was no trace of a lost, scared glance and misty canvas over it. No trace of ripped at sides t-shirt and boyish intents of moustache. It was funny, and I would laugh, because if it was for now, I would fall in love with him so much faster. But it wasn’t the point.

I wrapped myself in his warm jacket when we left the place. The rain was still battering New York streets, as if making its own kind of memorable service. Nonetheless, I liked the fresh drops over my face. It was just like a fast shower on a hot summer day. Only everything was different.

I cast a worrying look around, just to take care there was no vigilance. It was like escaping for a party many years ago. But the feeling was hollow and awful. So I just wished to shut it up. The street was almost empty, except the bell ringing on the door of a coffee shop in front. People cuddled there, escaping the worst part of their day. And I envied them. I pulled the hood up.

Probably for the first time in many years, my feet were not steeping on the pavement, but sliding upon it in some bizarre way. Without even an ounce of alcohol in my blood. I grabbed Eddie’s hand, leaning on him, well, because he offered. I was too tired to think of what was appropriate. And I wouldn’t think about it from that moment on.

I also didn’t remember Eddie being so caring and attentive. He was more like a hedgehog, aiming his spikes at everyone around. But it was something new in his manner. I didn’t give it a second thought, as it could be purely for the matter of occasion.

Looking up at him, I wondered if he wasn’t cold. If rain didn’t make him uncomfortable. But I was only able to wonder, not to guess answers. My limit of responsibilities was in great shortage of space. I also wanted to ask about his car and other bunch of things about him. Though he wouldn’t tell me the truth, not fully at least, and I couldn’t master even a single world. Only a sharp nod for his offer. My throat felt like on the first day of a terrible form of bronchitis.

I never talked much and preferred to listen. But silence was so welcoming. Only I thought back then that I needed to find a way to silence myself on the inside. Not to feel, but just think. For as much as I had learned, feelings were terribly hurtful on every good occasion. I knew I couldn't stay with them now. I wished there was an on/off button. I wished to be some nice gaming laptop which served for pure joy, but never knew losses.

I took the phone that Eddie handed me, settling myself on the passenger seat. It was warm, like next to an open fire. It was also way too fashionable and expensive inside. If not the occasion, I would laugh. A natural question of what Eddie had become popped in my mind. But my sharpened senses felt no curiosity. Only a deep, black void.

It took a few blinks to adjust to dark-themed Spotify interface. My phone was turned off in my pocket, and I wished it to stay that way, for it probably had hundreds of missed calls. I scanned the display, Eddie had a missed call, and a dozen messages, a few emails, a notification from the Bank of America, and 56% of battery left. His phone was on vibration. And I think it was the latest iPhone. Bastard.

I scrolled down the list, not really looking for anything in particular. My eyes were like blurry lenses when the songs were all the same. I thought about picking something random and as soon as my finger tapped on the screen, I jumped up with the strong sound of dynamics and unmistakably rock motives.

My finger immediately pressed on pause. I rubbed my eyes tiredly, making an effort to produce at least a single worthy thought. If everything was different, I would laugh. Maybe I would be making jokes of Eddie’s new lifestyle all along. And then of his fashionable apartment on the Upper West Side. I caught the thought that it probably was the case.

But I was like an old Nokia phone that was thrown off the roof. Still functioning, but the screen was cracked, and you couldn’t fix it anywhere anymore, because who would put their hands on such trash?

I put down the Queen’s title, as they loved it so much. “It’s the greatest song ever written in the history of humankind.” So the screen blackened, and I dived deeper into the comfortable seat. This car would probably be perfect, because the last thought was the absence of desire to move anywhere else.

Yellow taxis were arguing for space on narrow streets, while worried parents were running with their children by hand under too small umbrellas. Tall, way too important looking clerks were lifting hands up with a sour face, not to get their Armani suits wet. No one was selling steaming hot dogs. And cafés gleamed with welcoming warm light, when the car rolled the streets, and I wished I had never been born at all.

As the streets changed one another behind dark-toned windows, I couldn't help but notice that even my lethargic brain was able to get a single good guess. I was born here and knew New York as the palm of my hand, where I had a scar between the middle and index finger. In such way, after so many years, I never had a chance to live in places like this, with only upper class boutiques on the first floor and stretched panoramic windows high above our heads. I stole a glance at Eddie. Back when I knew him, he also wasn't a frequent visitor in the places like this. But he was also so very different, and I still hadn't decided which version I liked more. Or maybe I was just good with both of them.

He pulled over at a tiny parking lot of some fancy café. A typical one where they charged you double for your prestige. I glanced up from under the hood at Eddie who seemed completely comfortable and nodded, handing him the phone. The music grew quiet, and the rain regained its presence.

I watched his figure disappear in warm light inside, but I had a terrible eyesight and couldn't see anything more than two meters far. It was just a watercolor painting by some French impressionist. I pulled the legs up to chest and placed the chin on my knees. The ambience was warm, I could feel the air coming, but inside I was freezing with despair.

I caught a glance at the steering wheel. If he hadn't taken the keys, I would drive away, run again and get this thing crashed. I looked out of the window, noting that the weather was only getting more hostile, maybe I could get myself drowned. I could find some pills in Eddie's here and take everything in a heartbeat, or ask to stop at a drug store. I shook my head and blinked a few times. Thinking about consequences wasn't something I did. What a shame to admit.

Eddie appeared at the door, carrying a paper holder with a pair of paper cups. Something on the poster there said about the environment and recycling, storming place. I tried to clear my throat, not to be so silent and self-consumed, but it was not physical. He handed me a steaming cup of tea, and I couldn't help but linger at his words. I hope my glance was full of skepticism, because gosh, Eddie looked horrible with those sweetie pie jokes. It was even painful, and I would even laugh and tell him not to do that again.

I placed the cup between my knees, scrolling through the Spotify feed again, and got some calm lo-fi beats, because, well, they reminded me of something normal. Of Before, because I already knew I was staying in After, without even realizing it.

I threw a whole bunch of sugar in the cup, even though I shouldn't have. Half a year ago, I was told that my sugar levels were too high, and I had to mind my nutrition. So I thought it would be for better, I hoped that tiny sugar bag would kill me. It didn't.

Eddie was driving softly, even carefully, and I saw the west side of Central Park on my left. Was he a movie star now or something? My mind was bobbling with ideas, making me get recklessly distracted. I turned his phone in my hand, took a sip of the tea and squinted at how sweet it was, then had a look at his call register. It was an invasion of privacy, but I had always been way too curious.

Matt. Shon. Jean. Unregistered number. Jean. Carrey. 5th Avenue. Unknown number.

It didn't serve anything. And honestly, I wasn't looking for anything. Because nothing made sense.

«Uhm…» I started, feeling a raspy grating in my voice. «What did Matt say?»

Sure, I felt guilty of what I did. I shouldn't have worried them so much. In the end, they were as affected as me and had even more responsibilities. But I was glad to having grown too selfish to think about it twice.

I chuckled, both at Eddie's answer and at our surroundings.

Firstly, I was guilty of being an asshole with my brothers, but it was very easy to choke someone by being overprotective. In a blink of an eye, Matt decided that he was in charge now, responsible for everyone and everything. He was right actually, I needed supervision, but well, because I didn't agree with him was what led me to those thoughts.

Secondly, because I had been to places like this only on rare occasions hanging out with friends or very long ago when mom took me for work into those fancy places of famous businessmen, stars, and models. I gulped my tea rapidly, suppressing the thought of the past, because now all past was essentially poisoned.

So we spent the remaining part of the journey in silence. All of it I used thinking that it was pretty easy to get hit by the car in central New York. Everything I wanted was to make that screeching pain, the streaming void inside go shut, just for a few minutes. I just wanted to get rid of my feelings because they were growing unbearable.

The car stopped at a parking lot, and well, it was the best way to tell the world that you were hellishly rich. In New York downtown, space was scarce, and only the lucky few could allow it for themselves. From the first look, I knew it. It was right at the western gate, and it made my head go spinning around when I got out of the car. But I was both too tired and too indifferent to wonder. Who cared? It definitely wasn't Eddie I knew long ago, but he still followed my commands like a dutiful puppy and it was enough.

The entrance hall was sparkling with marble and polished mirrors. I got blinded by all the pomp for an instance, not noticing firstly a late night visitor, who in his simple clothes seemed completely out of place. I looked down at my baggy jeans, I probably was even more out of place.

Trying to get used to the new decorations, I got caught by surprise by Eddie's hand and maybe even more by the undiscovered hostility his voice obtained when addressing the stranger. Though for me, Eddie was now almost a stranger himself. Why did he live at that place? How did he get there? Who was he? And what kind of business the man was talking about?

I could make a hundred questions in a minute, but all the same. It made no sense for me already, for all I thought about was to stop thinking. And feeling. And everything.

I caught a glimpse of those glass covered eyes in the distance, when the lift doors closed with a typical clink. It was so posh that I felt nauseous again for a moment. The door opened at a spacious hall, more like a museum than home. I followed Eddie, somehow hesitant in my movements, noting a large, panoramic view over the light adorned city. All vague and smudged right at your feet.

I could spend the whole night asking. Eddie certainly once was someone I knew. We even kissed at an occasion. But I remained silent, as if entranced by the glamour around. Though the truth was I just didn't know what to do.

A long pause filled the space again when my eyes senselessly wandered over the place. As if exploring it, but not noticing anything at all. It was then that I decided that it was a nice place to die. And a single encounter after so many years would be a good end.

I blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light and the new Eddie. He actually looked pretty good as a part of those decorations. Tall, handsome, with a self-assured grin and neat bristle over his chin, Lewis jeans that were great on him and funny teenage Converses.

«Do you maybe have some painkillers? I have a terrible headache.» I handed him back the jacket, trying to seem as normal as possible. «And maybe something to sleep? I have trouble with that too, and I'm really tired,» I squinted at the words, trying to get all the drama out of myself. It wasn't fair, but you gotta use all your resources.

I nodded, still feeling slight queasiness at any food being mentioned. Eddie talked about tomorrow and said a bunch of other gibberish that honestly just flew past my ears. All I could think of was a tiny white pill in my palm. Damn. I couldn't ask for more. It would get too obvious. So I was staring at it, as a prehistoric man was staring at fire for the first time.

«Yeah, better tomorrow,» I kept nodding, almost eagerly, as if I was really looking forward to sharing time with Eddie over that godlike delivery pizza.

I stared at him, several inches taller, looking for some directions. I had no idea about the place. And how on Earth Eddie could afford it. I thought he would probably tell Matt once. But my thirst for knowledge was saturated, as I thought.

When the door closed behind my back, I leaned my head to it in a failed attempt to make it work. But I was exhausted, falling into numb sleep. I swallowed the pill, although it wouldn’t work for some time. Maybe never ever, I thought, rushing to the window handle and pulling it down.

It didn’t work. The window frame followed my lead several inches and stopped. Later I learned that it was on purpose, quite effective, actually, to secure any unfortunate accidents. It was still raining outside, and freezy breeze washed over my face. It came in with horns of taxis and street clamor, even in the middle of the night.

I looked down, peeking out slightly, feeling not only rain on my cheeks. The image downwards was a vague watercolor picture. They always say that your life flows before your eyes the moment before you die. Well, I wasn’t about to die, because the damn window wouldn’t open. Also, because the image of a woman leaning over a young woman came into mind. I read it not long ago, and it wasn’t a masterpiece of a book, but looking down I thought of a formless splash of bone and blood I would become.

Matt would blame himself. Chris would fall into the pit of despair. Nick would cut off the calls. And Eddie… Well, I didn’t know Eddie at the moment, so I thought he would at least be a bit sad.

The window clicked, and I fell on a large, soft bed. In a half-induced sleep, I turned on my phone, the swarm of messages flooding the silence. “I’m ok, sorry,” were the only words I sent to the ninja turtles chat with my eyes closing. My damped clothes started soaking the sheets beneath me, but I couldn’t care less, for the first time in the last days I was falling into blessed forgetfulness.

I woke up sharply, immediately trying to estimate the surroundings. By the dimmed light in the window, it was impossible to tell what time it was. The rain had stopped, but the sky was grayish and sunless. It could perfectly be morning or evening. Or another reality where my parents still lived, and this was my home with Eddie, and I didn’t have to get up for another eternity. It sounded like a fiction book after all.

Firstly, I was surprised to notice a warm, puffy blanket wrapped around me. Secondly, only my lovely, oversized Rick and Morty T-shirt. And the bed wasn’t as wet as it seemed to me late last night. I looked around, searching for a clue. Except for me, there were no other irregularities around. My phone buzzed with messages on the bedside table next to a neat set of striped pajamas. Silky and black, with a Victoria's Secret emblem. Gosh. What the hell, Eddie?

I covered my head with the blanket in a failed attempt to process last night. Now my senses were more sharp and accurate, my head less misty, and the body much more rested and relaxed. My phone kept buzzing with messages, luckily, it had been on silent since the day I got it.

A good stretch helped. A hot shower was a blessing. My hair looked like a bird nest, its usual form. And the pajamas were ridiculous. I looked around, through a slightly open door. I got that feeling that had been following me since the night. It didn’t look like a home, more like model place to show wealthy buyers. Well, it was when my curiosity demanded some sacrifices.

An open kitchen seemed impeccably clean at first sight, TV reporter was talking about some new exhibition at Metropolitan. Grayish tones invaded the space too through panoramic windows that gave out to a terrace and the Central Park downwards. Eddie was pacing back and forth at the terrace, talking on the phone, with a grim expression on his face. Really, I couldn’t make anything of him. Did I even know him before? He seemed like a stranger with a familiar face.

My stomach protested with a prolonged rumbling. I wasn’t a very prudent person, so I peeked into the fridge, finding it half packed with beer. It was to expect. There was also juice. Some milk. Yogurts, which was my choice. Without second thoughts, I licked the leftovers from the piece of paper, covering the cup. It tasted of berries. And opened a random drawer in search of a spoon.

Eddie was pacing over the city horizon like an enigmatic character at a local theater play. Someone who would turn out to be a villain or a savior. For the time being, he was a persona unknown.

For what I could observe, with my senses getting back to a far-fetched reality, he changed just a little on the outside. His frame looked a bit bulkier pleasantly and his eyes remained so much sober as I saw them the last time he was maybe fifteen. But the internal world of him was unknown to me as well.

Meanwhile, I was starving. I was on the verge of starting to lick the yogurt right there and the way it was. Before, Eddie swiftly closed the balcony door, letting the city clamor drown behind it. I jumped right there on the counter, crossing my legs in a yoga pose. The pitiful yogurt tasted divine, especially with a spoon.

“That would be nice,” my voice was still rough and somehow alien, but maybe, just maybe, I had that little chance to get away from reality. “Do they bring only Michelin here?”

I wasn't trying to be sarcastic. It was a fact. New York is the most expensive city in the world, and to allow this one had to be more than rich. Insanely wealthy. And I was sincerely surprised that there were no dollar bills instead of napkins.

“Anything with no seafood would be fine with me,” I grimaced at the memory of yesterday's dinner. I probably should have called Matt and been on my way home. But being there was the best option of escapism that I had.

“So,” I jumped off the counter when Eddie was fiddling with his fancy coffee machine. I took his mug, tasting the bitter concoction he seemed so fond of. “Horrible.”

It was a nice moment to demand a double Frappuccino with caramel topping from Starbucks, but I had a lot to assimilate around there. The place looked more like a hotel suit than home. Obviously, Eddie never tried to make it the latter. It wasn't his style, although I wasn't sure what could be considered his style at that point.

Fancy pastels were a typical ornament of all interior magazines that one could get when waiting for a dentist's appointment. The furniture was placed like in a model house. Not a single dusty corner. Still, there was one thing. Even I could fit the interior, but not Eddie.

I looked up at him, making himself busy with the coffee machine. Probably thinking of a way to start a neutral conversation. Maybe even not to hurt my feelings. So chivalrous. Bad luck, I always felt that intense need to dig to the deepest pit of one's soul.

And it was easier to talk of something else. To trick myself into momentary forgetfulness of reality.

“So you didn't tell me,” I carefully approached him, making it look like I was sincerely interested. Partially I was, but it was just for the sake of forgetting. Maybe here I would find a problem greater than the other that was hovering over me like a stormy cloud.

I placed my hand carefully over his, bringing to a halt the unnecessary fidgeting over coffee. It was painfully obvious that he wasn't up to it, but for me, it was a straw that I was trying to catch in the darkness.

“Why did you leave?” I lifted my sight to his beady cerulean eyes that were fighting to remain steadfast, but still slightly giving in.

A milk carton was playing in my hands as a strange rectangular piece of a puzzle, while Eddie busied himself with the coffee machine. Nevertheless, it was clear to me that he was merely avoiding my sight, my presence and me altogether. A giant, razored with indie patterns mug was swelling in my grip with a tiny pitch black lake inside. I remember exactly the moment when I felt like giving in and vanishing into its depths, when Eddie called again.

“Sure, Mac is fine. I like cheeseburgers with double pickles,” a fresh splash of milk already diluted the darkness in my hands, although I knew that it was there. Hidden underneath the hood was something eluding and cunning, like a creepy floorboard squeaking in Shirley Jackson's novels.

With the mug by my side and on the kitchen counter, I prepared to listen to the story of Eddie’s life. To admit the truth for once, I was set to judge him whatever his words would be. I have never been of a forgiving nature, but quite the opposite. The soreness of his sudden departure had been burning my insides for years, so naturally there was no absolution for him.

The perfect memory of olive spattered eyes came into life, when he tried his best to play honesty and sound sorry. Meanwhile, my fingers tightened their grip on the mug, flowing from his mouth words were the only reason not to break it to the top of his head in an attempt of some semblance of vengeance.

“So that is it? A wrong company?” my reply was an open spit right into his face, because it was something he totally deserved.

I remembered myself wondering for hours that turned into days that turned into months that turned into years. Firstly, if my actions were such a horror to make him run away without a pitiful note. Then, if it was all about some impossible feelings that he nurtured just like me. And finally, it was the fear that something horribly awful had happened, that he could get butchered at a Bronx suburb or hit by a wealthy businessman crossing from Central Park.

It was me who spent hours skimming though newspapers in search of a short notice, reading reports of missing people with an obsession of a smitten idiot. The result was always the same. Nothing. A pitch black lake in my coffee mug, as if Edward Ward didn’t ever exist. His hand was trying to sooth things over mine, but there was no use. His fingers were prickling with cowardice of someone I loved so dearly that it almost cost me myself. So I snapped fires burning on the insides with resentment that never found its exit to do it not.

“Sounds so fucking easy for you,” my fingers escaped from under his as if there were grounds for catching a horrible sickness, indifference. “Do you know how long we had been looking for you? How mom and dad filed a fucking missing report for you? How a damn officer came to ask and look to find nothing? How once, at night, after a party, Matt told me that it was his fault? Do you know how it was?”

It had been flowing through me for years now, so the splashing waved came with rage and hatred in my voice. A fire was burning through meadow irises with the time spent with not a pinch of truth, assuming the worst. I knew I was hurting him in the worst way a friend could. But it was all his fault. Whatever happened, he could have left something behind.

“Hey, Sadie. I’m fine, but have some business to attend for now. Hi Matt, how’s it going? I’ll be back soon, but I’m totally alright. Take care mate. Hello Mr. and Mrs. Fourie, I apologize for my abrupt departure, but everything is alright, and I will get in touch as soon as I can. Has it crossed your mind at least once?”

I thought I was calm, but my words were burning with the feeling never revealed except for a single innocent kiss of a stupidly hopeful girl. At that time, all I thought about was how we would fall in love and start a family, move to a decent place, plan a future, while Eddie had no fucking idea. Because he left just like that. His misfortune was that the girl with silly dreams was no more.

“You are a fucking egoist, Eddie. Selfish dick of a person. Why have you appeared suddenly? Tell me, why?” the eye contact was intensely closing its ranks, reducing the distance between the meadow burning fire of mine and his darkly calm olive to mere inches. “Tell if not an awfully illegal business buys you a place like this. For fuck’s sake, tell me the truth, Eddie.”

The air between us turned heavy, thick enough to choke on it. Eddie's words were hanging like loose threads in an unravelling tapestry, each one bringing to the light more about him than he likely intended. The coffee in my hand, now cold, felt heavier than it should have. My grip faltered, and the mug landed on the counter with a dull thud. I wanted to splash it all over his face and paint it with the years that remained empty in-between.

«You left a letter?» The words rolled off my tongue like something foreign, something I didn’t recognize as mine. They were empty at first, like I was only testing the shape of them, seeing if they could hold the weight of everything inside me. But then... then the taste hit. Bitter. Like burnt coffee. Like all the hours I had spent thinking of him, searching for him in places he had long abandoned. Like hope left out in the rain too long, waterlogged, useless, drenched to the bones.

A breath of laughter pushed past my lips, sharp and dry, devoid of anything soft. «You think a fucking letter was enough?» He stiffened, the muscles in his jaw twitching. I could tell he wanted to brace himself, but there was nothing to hold onto. I had already taken everything. I had taken the past and ripped it apart in my hands, left it bleeding between us. I wanted it to stain all around. It was the pain I could bear.

«A letter, Eddie?» My voice cracked, but I swallowed it down, forcing steel into my spine. «What was I supposed to do with that? Read it like in some kind of soap opera? Like it was a clean break, like you were a good man making a noble choice? Like I was supposed to understand?»

I exhaled hard, my chest tight with something I couldn’t name. «You don't get to stand here and talk about what was best for us. You don't get to tell me you had no choice. Because you did.» I let the words sink in, let the silence stretch, taut and thin like glass about to shatter. "And you chose to disappear."

He didn’t speak. Good.

Let him sit in it. Let him feel it. Let him feel the way his absence had settled into my bones, the way it had wrapped itself around my ribs, squeezed so tightly I had forgotten how to breathe. Let him know that he had turned me into a ghost of myself before I had ever buried my parents.

I turned away, looking out at the city, watching the lights flicker in the rain stained distance. Somewhere at our feet, though, this place felt like literal six feet under. The world kept turning, indifferent and relentless. The taxis still rushed down the streets, the neon signs still buzzed, the people still moved laughing, talking, kissing, living. It was cruel, wasn’t it? That life could keep going like this. That nothing had stopped.

«You were supposed to be different,» I whispered, more to myself than to him.

I felt him shift behind me, a presence more than a person, something hovering on the edge of my consciousness. He wanted to speak. I knew it. I could feel it, the way his breath hitched, the way his body tensed. But he didn’t.

Coward.

«You think I care about your dirty money?» My voice was quieter now, but sharper, cutting through the space between us like a knife. «You think I care where it comes from? You think I care if this apartment is bought with blood?» I turned back to him, meeting his gaze, forcing him to look at me. Really look at me. «None of it matters, Eddie. Not the money. Not your reasons. Not whatever you think you owe my family.»

I let the silence fill in the cracks again, let it wrap around my words like something heavy, something suffocating. «I just wanted you to fucking stay.»

There it was. The truth. The wound left open and bleeding between us. The thing I had never wanted to say out loud, never wanted to admit, because it made me weak. Because it made me small.

Because it made me his.

The air between us felt thick, unbearable. I could see it in his face—the way the words landed, the way they dug into him like teeth. But it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not anymore. Because maybe, just maybe if he stayed everything would be different and they wouldn't die.

I turned before he could say anything, before he could open his mouth and ruin it, before he could give me another excuse, another reason, another half-hearted apology that would only twist the knife deeper. I walked out of the kitchen, through the hallway, past the life he had built without me.

My fingers brushed against the doorknob, but I hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough to let myself wonder if he would stop me. I wanted him to and not to all the same. What I wished the most was to step out and see nothingness. Feel nothing and just disappear.

We carried all we loved to the upper floor
I left one arm empty waiting for your voice

The silence hung between us, thick and suffocating, woven with all the unspoken words, the weight of everything we had just shared. My chest tightened, and I held my breath, feeling the space between us stretch farther than it ever had before. He stood too close, but somehow still impossibly distant. His words, his pain, his regret—they didn’t reach me anymore. Not now. Not after everything.

I looked at him—this stranger, who once felt so familiar, so full of possibility. The boy I had once trusted, the one I thought I could love, now a ghost from a past that no longer fit me. Eddie had wrapped his life in lies, woven them around me like some kind of fragile, broken cocoon. And now, all the truth that had crawled out of the wreckage tasted like ash in my mouth. His words hung in the air between us, echoing, but they made no difference. They didn’t matter anymore.

I wanted to scream, to let the fury and the years of silence come crashing out of me. But instead, I swallowed it all, holding it down, letting the pressure build in my throat. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t even sad. I just felt nothing. Nothing at all. Eddie had been the person I looked up to, the one I believed in. The one who made me feel safe. But now, as I looked at him, I couldn’t see him. Not anymore. He was nothing but a stranger. A stranger I had once called my own.

His apology—his half-hearted plea—was just another reflection of his ego. He spoke of his pain, his regrets, the things that happened to him, as if it could somehow erase the years he had stolen from me, from my family. The words were hollow, empty. He was still just a coward, asking me to stay, asking for my forgiveness without giving me the reason. A coward, I thought again, bitterly. Weak. Selfish.

His eyes shimmered, that old familiar glitter, as if I was supposed to feel something for him. His pupils dilated, a drugged haze creeping into his gaze. I realized then—he had been as lost, as foolish, as I had been all along. We had both been in love with an illusion, a broken dream. My heart twisted with the sharp knowledge of it. It was a weapon I could use, but I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

I turned away, walking toward the door, slow but steady. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t let him see my weakness, not now, not when he had left me and my family to face everything alone. There was no room for softness at this moment, not for someone who had abandoned us without a second thought.

My hand hovered over the doorknob, the weight of all those years pressing down on me. I had spent so long pretending it didn’t matter—pretending I was okay with the silence, with the not knowing, with the absence of answers. But now, standing here, I knew the truth: it wasn’t just his absence that hurt—it was the sharp realization that he had never been the person I thought he was.

My voice cracked, barely a whisper, but it cut through the air, sharp and final: "You’re just someone I used to know. And I’m done."

The door creaked open. When I stepped out into the rain-soaked world, the cool drizzle kissing my face like a reminder that the world kept moving, indifferent to my pain. The city stretched out before me, its lights glowing like distant stars, and for a moment, I let the rain blur everything around. The drizzle felt cleansing, like it could wash away the last remnants of him, of this broken past that I was finally leaving behind.

No more words. No more looking back. The city was all I had now. And it was enough.

***

I sat in the corner of the smoky, dim-lit room, the bass thumping so loud it vibrated through my bones. The music was everywhere, swallowed by the room and swallowed by me. It blurred together, a chaotic pulse I couldn’t escape. My mind felt fogged, lost to the rhythm, the darkness, and the high that was beginning to consume me. I couldn’t tell where the music ended and where my thoughts began—if they ever had a chance to exist at all. It was all just a blur now. The pill burned its way through me, my veins lighting up, and for once, I felt something warm and numb instead of cold and broken.

Around me, people laughed, loud and wild, voices rising and falling with the beat. A group of strangers, faces I wouldn’t remember, but they felt familiar in their recklessness. We were all lost together, wrapped up in this frantic dance, pretending to be alive by numbing everything else. It was easy here. This was the beauty of it. No past. No future. Just now.

I laughed too. Wild. Reckless. The sound felt foreign coming from my mouth, but it was real, at least for a moment. I wasn’t Sadie—the girl who had been left behind, who had been torn apart by memories of loss, regret, and betrayal. I wasn’t the one who thought she could love and be loved. No. I was just another face in the crowd, moving to the rhythm of a night that didn’t care, a night that didn’t expect anything from me.

The lights flickered above, a chaotic kaleidoscope of neon and flashing colors. They blurred, merged into each other like a painting I couldn’t focus on. I leaned into the chaos, letting it swallow me, letting myself melt into it. There was no need for direction here. No need for a plan. I didn’t need to know who I was or who I should be. I just needed to not think. To not feel.

When the high hit, it was like floating—like being untethered. I wasn’t here anymore. My body felt like it didn’t belong to me, light and free. My mind, too far away to be touched, felt as if it had drifted out of my body, looking at myself from some faraway place. Detached. Disconnected. A stranger to my own life.

I didn’t think about Boston. I didn’t think about Matt or Chris, about the promises I’d made to them, to myself. They didn’t know where I was. They didn’t know what I was doing. I could feel the lie inside me settling with ease. It didn’t matter. No one needed to know. No one needed to care.

A drink passed my lips. The ice-cold liquid slid down my throat like a sweet escape. I let it burn, let the alcohol hit my bloodstream, mixing with the drugs, and I lost myself again. Lost in the moment, in the music, in the escape. It was all slipping away, and I didn’t care anymore. For once, I didn’t care about the future. I didn’t care about the past. There was only now. And now felt good. Because now, I didn’t have to be anyone important.

A hand brushed my shoulder, pulling me back from my spinning thoughts. I looked up, eyes still heavy from the drugs, to see a guy leaning close to me. He smiled, too wide, too eager, but his breath smelled like the same kind of escape I was chasing. "You’re looking beautiful tonight," he said, his voice low and almost sweet, but I could tell it was rehearsed.

I raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on my lips. I should’ve said something. I should’ve told him to fuck off. But instead, my body reacted before my mind had a chance. His fingers traced the side of my arm, and I felt the warmth of his touch, the heat of his hand. He was waiting for a response, and I gave him more than that.

“Wanna get out of here?” His hand slid to my waist, pulling me just slightly closer. His eyes flickered with interest, maybe even desire, but it wasn’t that I wanted him. It was that I didn’t want to be alone with myself.

I stared at him for a long moment. There were so many things I could say, so many things I could do to push him away. But why not? What was the point in resisting? I was already lost, drowning in a sea of numbness and noise. And if I couldn’t save myself, why not let someone else drown with me for a while?

“Sure,” I said, my voice soft, the words tasting strange on my tongue. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.

I let him pull me closer, his hands now on my back, guiding me out of the room. The door closed behind me, the noise from the party fading, but my head was already somewhere else. I didn’t know where we were heading, or what would happen next, but at that moment, I didn’t care to know.

A sudden realization hit like lightning, I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to feel anything, especially not Eddie. He had left me once, and the last thing I needed was to have the weight of his hands on me again. I could smell the alcohol and sweat lingering in the air, the heavy stink of desperation sprang over this filthy place like a suffocating blanket. But there I was, just another face in the crowd, just another lost soul.

The guy beside me, tall, with an easy grin plastered across his face, kept moving closer, his hands too familiar, too forward. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. My skin crawled at the thought of him, but it was easier to stay here in this numbness than to go back to whatever real feelings I was supposed to have.

And then I saw him. Eddie.

I hadn’t seen him ever since, something inside felt like years ran between us once more, but the instant my eyes met his, everything stopped. The blood drained from my face as his eyes, dark with something I couldn’t quite place, locked onto me. The air turned thick and charged, pulling everything into slow motion.

He looked different, harder, more dangerous, more― alive in a way that made me feel small. The weight of my past hit me all at once, and in that second, I hated myself for still feeling my chest stop contracting when our eyes met. Still, unconsciously, I wanted the piece of him that he had taken from me, even if I would never admit it.

I was trapped between the thrill of the drugs and the undeniable pull of something I couldn’t fight. The guy beside me noticed Eddie and took a step back, sensing the tension, but I barely registered his presence as Eddie’s voice broke the silence, sneering as he cut into the moment like a blade.

I barely had time to process the words before Eddie’s hand was on me, pulling me away from the guy with the force of something violent and possessive. The moment his skin touched mine, a jolt of warmth ran through, and I hated that I felt anything at all.

His presence swallowed me whole, too close, too familiar. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I hated myself even more for letting him get this close again. For letting him pull me into the past that had broken me.

“You’ve got no right,” I spat out, my voice shaky, but I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t even try. The drugs had numbed me enough to not fight it. I just wanted it to go away, to stop feeling, to disappear again.

Eddie whispered, his breath warm against my ear. His voice was low, almost a plea, and it made my skin crawl and burn at the same time. His words were a thread holding me together, but they were unraveling everything I’d worked so hard to destroy. I was supposed to be numb. I was supposed to be moving forward, not back into this mess. But all I could feel now was the heat of his body against mine, the weight of his hands, and the burning regret that clung to me like a second skin.

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t about to let this happen. I wasn’t going to let him have me again. I wasn’t going to give him any part of me, any piece of the broken girl I used to be.

I was still caught in his grip, the scent of his cologne mixing with the smoky haze of the club. His closeness was suffocating, and for a moment, I thought I might pull away, but then something snapped. It wasn’t anger, not exactly. It was something deeper, something I had buried for so long. The truth, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it was flooding through me, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

Without thinking, I kissed him. It was sudden, forceful, not tender or full of longing. It was like I needed to break something— needed to dismiss this strange tension, the wall between us that had been built so high, so thick, that it had been suffocating us both.

He didn’t pull away. For a moment, I thought he might. But he didn’t. I could feel the confusion in his body, the hesitation, and I realized I was doing it for both of us. This kiss wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about anything soft or sweet. It was about anger. About revenge. About taking something back.

When I pulled away, his breath was uneven, and I could see the surprise in his eyes. But I didn’t care.

I looked at him, and with a sarcastic smirk, I said, “No towel now, too many clothes.”

Before he could respond, I hit him. Hard enough. It wasn’t the kind you gave someone in a fight. It was a slap, a hard strike across his cheek. The anger I had been holding in for years. The frustration, the confusion, the hurt— poured into that single act of violence. His cheek was flushed where the blow came, and for a second, I felt a flicker of something, regret maybe, or just the sharp edge of satisfaction.