I make no effort to move, but my fingers curl tighter into the fur blanket beneath me as if it’ll help protect me from what I can’t forget.
I start to open my eyes, but stop halfway. I don’t know what’s worse, seeing the room empty or seeing him standing there.Which one makes me crazier?
The scarf.
The flowers.
The note.
They keep playing in an endless loop.
I swear I can still smell the snowdrops, damp and green, mixing with Andrik’s clove scent.
I won’t let Mark ruin that nickname for me. It’s ours.
Every time Andrik calls me that, I get a little zing, like a group of butterflies are fluttering in my ribcage, settling into their home.
My mind starts turning in on itself. The cabin feels too small, like the air isn’t moving. Sweat starts welling up on my lower back.
What if he’s still out there?
What if he never left?
Is this how I’m supposed to live for the rest of my life?
I press my palms over my eyes until silver stars burst behind them. I tell myself it’s just panic, but then I hear it again—a faint sound against the window.
I hear a soft voice, almost melodic. “You ran for me.”
No!
My throat tightens. I slam my hands over my ears.
“You came looking for me.”
“No.” It barely comes out as a whisper. “You’re not real.”
“You didn’t look back at him; you looked for me. It’s always been me, Lumi. Can’t you see that?”
My chest squeezes painfully.
I know he’s not in this room, but his voice is slithering under my skin like warm oil laced with acid.
“You gave me your scarf. You ran after me. What else will you offer me, little dove?”
“Stop.”
The word fractures the silence like a stone through brittle glass.
I collapse into myself, curling small, rocking like it might shake his voice out of my head.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
I repeat over and over until the words don’t even sound real anymore.
The room spins around me. Shadows move where they shouldn’t. And that’s when the doubt creeps in.
Am I still dreaming? Am I going crazy? Because I can still feel him.
