I leaned into the knife. The cold steel touched my skin. A single tear slipped down my cheek and broke against the blade. His laughter came softer this time, cracked and ragged, like he was amused by his heartbreak. Those ice-blue eyes held me like a cage.
“So easy, isn’t it?” he whispered.
“You lied to me,” I said, my voice trembling. “What’s left to lose?”
My fingers found his hand and wrapped around it. I pressed the blade closer. I could feel the drop of blood sliding down my throat.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He stared, silent.
Just watching.
“Would you kill me?” I asked.
Silence.
“Would you?” This time, the words barely escaped.
I thought he might say something. Anything.
But instead, he stepped forward. One step too far.
His hand left mine. The ground left my feet. Air swallowed me.
And just like that, I was falling.
The ocean opened its mouth.
I crashed into the cold.
Salt stung my throat as water flooded in. The waves yanked me under, fingers of foam dragging me deeper, deeper…
My arms thrashed, but it felt like dancing with death. Slow. So slow.
Was this what love was supposed to feel like? Like drowning? Like trusting someone with the weight of your lungs and the silence in your chest?
Like dying just to see if they’d dive in after you?
I wasn’t sure anymore. All I knew was, I didn’t want to breathe unless he was the reason.
And maybe, just maybe... I didn’t want to be saved. Maybe I needed the fall.
And instead of a will for death, he gave me the will to live again.
I. DOLL
Present day, La Maddalena
Theysaytimehealsall wounds, that it brings peace, but I don’t know who they’re talking about. Not me. Not when you lose someone who was your first everything. A piece of you stays with them, buried in the space they used to fill. It doesn’t fade. It doesn’t get better. It just… gets quieter. And every time a memory slips back in, it’s like the wound opens wide again, raw and bleeding.
I told myself a thousand times that I’d move on, that I’d choose myself. But how am I supposed to choose myself when I feel like I shouldn’t even be here? He died because he decided to save me. I’m still breathing because of him. I tried to tell myself that it was selfish of him, choosing me over him, but the truth is, I know there’s nothing selfish about love. Not that kind of love. The kind that makes you put someone else first, even at the cost of your own life.
But why does it feel like that’s still not enough? Why does it feel like I’m failing him every time I think about letting go? Is it wrong to want to move on? Or am I just supposed to wait forever for a phone call that will never come?
This was supposed to be easy, wasn’t it? I’d wait, I’d heal. Butwaiting for a ghost doesn’t make sense. Ghosts don’t love like the living. They don’t touch, they don’t whisper sweet things at 3 a.m. They’re just shadows, fading into the background until they’re nothing but echoes. That’s all he is now. A memory. A ghost.Myghost.
So, ten years from now, when I need someone to love… maybe I’ll just chooseme.
And then, it happened. A phone rang. And every damn time that thing rings, my heart skips. Every time, I think it’s him. But how could it be? How could someone dead still call? It’s been a year. A full, miserable year since I last heard his voice, felt his touch, had him near. And still, every time the phone rings, I’m a fool. A damn fool.
