Another pause, then, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll grab a cab.”
I give her my building and apartment number, then hang up. I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s desperation. Or maybe I’m just tired of carrying it all alone.
When I get home, the apartment feels too quiet, too clean, like nothing here knows how messy I am inside. I flick on a lamp and sit down on the edge of the couch, hands pressed together, elbows on my knees. It doesn’t take long before there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in!” I call out.
Yvonne steps inside, cheeks pink from the cold, a curious look on her face as she shrugs off her coat. “Your place is nice! Why didn’t you decorate?” She finally gets a good look at me and the smile falls from her face. “You look like hell.”
“I feel worse.” She joins me on the couch, turning slightly to face me. Her eyes roam my face, searching for clues. I stare down at my hands before looking at her once more. “I’ve never told anyone this before, not outside of meetings. Not anyone who wasn’t... obligated to care.”
She blinks. “Okay.”
“I’m a recovering addict,” I say simply. “Oxy and coke. It almost killed me. I overdosed. I flatlined.”
Her face pales, lips parting with a soft gasp. “Jesus.”
“I’ve been clean for over a year now, I don’t even drink, but tonight... Tonight I almost lost it. I ordered a drink. A whiskey sour. I didn’t take a sip, but it was in my hand.”
Yvonne doesn’t speak right away, and her expression is unreadable. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need someone to know,” I murmur, my voice shaking. “Someone who isn’t a part of my meetings or my family. Someone who might still look at me like I’m not broken.”
She places a hand gently on my knee. “Mateo, you’re not broken. You’re human.”
Yvonne curls slightly toward me, her eyes soft and patient. I stare down at my hands, which are trembling again, but not from withdrawal. From memory.
“This is why I need a friend more than a girlfriend,” I explain quietly. “I lost all of mine the night I overdosed.” Yvonne doesn’t interrupt. She just nods, giving me space to unravel. “One minute, I was the guy everyone wanted to train with. Next, I was the guy they warned others about. People in the circuit stopped returning my calls. Some made jokes about it. Others just disappeared. Like I was contagious.” I press my thumb against the center of my palm, grounding myself. “But worse than all of that was losing my sister, Grace.”
Her name cracks something open inside my chest.
“She was my best friend. We grew up in each other’s shadows. We used to choreograph dances together in the living room, take turns sneaking each other out of the house. She was always the one person who saw me completely.”
Yvonne shifts a little closer, her hand finding mine. Her warmth anchors me, helps me keep going.
“When I woke up in the hospital... she wasn’t the same sister I once knew. She was devastated. I broke her.” The silence between us stretches, and I force myself to speak through it. “She stopped answering my texts. Didn’t visit, didn’t call. I thinkshe couldn’t look at me without seeing all the pain I caused our parents. She left for Paris before I was even released from the hospital. She wanted to be as far from me as she could get. Grace doesn’t say it, but she’s grieving me as if I truly died that night.” My voice breaks on the last word, the ache behind it too large to contain, pouring out in a shuddering breath.
Yvonne leans in, wrapping her arms around me in a slow, protective hug. Her embrace is quiet and strong, like she knows there’s nothing to say that will fix it, but that being here is enough.
“You didn’t die,” she whispers. “You fought your way back. That counts for something.”
I bury my face into her shoulder, breathing in the laundry detergent scent clinging to her sweater. I stay like that for a while, letting her presence fill the gaps where my courage frayed.
“I just want one person to still believe in me,” I murmur. “To see more than the mistake.”
Yvonne pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes shimmering. “I do. I see you. The real you, Mateo. You’re still here. Still trying. That’s not a weakness. That’s strength.”
Something inside me cracks open at her words, and the breath that was trapped in my chest slips free. I don’t say anything, just lean back against the couch, the exhaustion of my confession washing over me. She stays beside me, her fingers gently threading through mine.
Yvonne’s steady, whereas Vaeda feels like the edge of a cliff during a thunderstorm. One is comforting and dependable, while the other is exciting and overwhelming. For me, for the part of me that craves the rush, I’ll always want Vaeda, but the rest of me knows I need the strength and comfort of a true friend more.
VAEDA
The metronome clicks steadily, echoing off the mirrored walls of Fusion Core, but I can’t focus on the rhythm. My body goes through the motions, arms slicing through the air, hips twisting in a sharp rumba accent, but my mind is a thousand miles away, or maybe just a few blocks. Wherever Mateo is.
It’s been a week. Seven entire days without him showing up for class. No texts, no updates, no excuses, and it’s killing me more than it should. I’ve given him space, hoping he has been absent because of the holidays and the New Year, but I can’t deny how concerned I am. As much as I worry about his sobriety and fragility, I can’t be his salvation. Only he can save himself. The thought of losing everything I’ve worked for just to have a fleeting moment in time with him is stupid.
We’re three weeks out from Paris now, and it’s been grueling days of routines and exhaustion, then lonely nights at home while Gerardo remains in Spain. The pressure to deliver something bold and unforgettable pulses under my skin, but even Greyson’s perfectionism hasn’t managed to break me out of this haze.
