I kind of hope I do.
I disassociate. Leave my body behind. But it doesn’t stop the tears. They pour down my face, hot and endless, as if some part of me still knows exactly how shattered I am.
When the car jerks to a stop, I don’t move.
My mother opens the door and grabs my wrist, yanking me to my feet. I keep my eyes down, locked on the concrete. It’s the only way I can stay standing.
Inside, the door slams behind us like the final nail in a coffin. Sealing me shut forever in my tomb.
My father disappears into his study and slams the door so hard, the walls rattle.
“I don’t have the energy to deal with you tonight,” my mother mutters. “Go to your room. I don’t want to see your face again until morning.”
I nod. Wordless and empty. Nothing left to give.
I drag myself up the stairs, each step harder than the last. My feet shuffle like they’ve forgotten how to move. My body is heavy and uncooperative. Like I’m carrying a corpse inside me.
Maybe I am.
When I reach my room, I collapse into bed without even changing clothes. I pull the blanket over me and curl into myself, like the blanket can keep me from shattering completely.
But it doesn’t.
I cry until there’s nothing left. Until my body goes still with grief, like I’ve cried myself out of existence.
And just before sleep drags me under, I swear I can still feel his lips on mine.
Like a ghost.
Like goodbye.
Happy birthday to me.
Nineteen years old.
And I just lost the man I love.
41
SOPHIE
Idon’t leave my bed. I don’t speak. I hide, from my family, from the consequences of my actions, from the truth, the reality of what happened. We were caught. My whole life, everything Theo and I had, set aflame.
My sister knocks on my door at some point mid-day, but I don’t answer. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to face them, or have to hear my parents tell me once again how horrible I am. All I want is Theo. To hear his voice, feel his touch, know we are somehow going to be okay.
We aren’t though, and I know it, deep down inside. The look on his face, the light leaving his eyes as my father threatened him, threatened me… I know what that meant. He won’t risk me, for us. He will step back, step away, to try and save me.
But I don’t want any future that doesn’t have him in it.
I sleep, refuse to eat, and wallow in self-pity until Monday morning. I know I have to get up, have to go to school. Half of me wants to, so that I can see him. The other half, the rational half, knows it’s not going to go the way I want it to.
I force myself up when my mother yells up for the third time, promising to come drag me out of bed herself if I don’t getdownstairs. She’s mercifully left me alone until now, letting me rot in my room. She probably doesn’t even know what to say. She’s broken me enough, done enough damage already.
I roll out of bed, head spinning at the sudden movement. I pull on sweats, the fabric comforting like a blanket, and throw my hair haphazardly into a bun. I don’t even look in the mirror, knowing it won’t be a pretty sight to see.
When I get downstairs, my keys are gone. My mother is standing by the front door, waiting.
“Let’s go,” she says, her voice sharp.
