I push myself off the bed and make for the ensuite, every step leaden.
At the sink, I twist the tap and splash cold water across my face, again and again, as if the shock alone might jolt me back into steadiness.
It doesn’t work.
My chest feels tighter. Each breath skims the surface of my lungs without ever filling them. My hands are trembling against the porcelain, slick with water, my reflection fractured in the droplets that run down the mirror.
Did I truly believe I was deserving of something so impossible?Forgiveness.Her choosing me in spite of everything I’ve done to her. My mind is laughing now, cruel and merciless.No, it whispers,you had to invent it to survive.A desperate mind clinging to fantasy, because the truth is too unbearable.
My throat constricts. I grip the sink harder, knuckles whitening, as if I could anchor myself by force alone. But the voice sharpens. It digs in.
You ruined everything.
You had her—you had all of her—and still you wanted more. You couldn’t be satisfied, could you? Every piece of herself she gave, you devoured. It was never enough. And now look at you. Empty-handed.
The room tilts around me. My heart hammers like it wants out of my chest. My lungs stutter, ragged and thin, no matter how wide I open my mouth. The mirror swims. Blue eyes stare back—hollowed and wild, too wide, too bright. A stranger’s face.
She was too good for you. Always too good. Did you really think she would stay?
The thought cleaves me in two. I gasp, a sound too sharp, too loud in the tiled silence. She’s gone. She’s gone and I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t exist without her.
She is the air you breathe, the voice sneers.And she is not here.
How long before you suffocate? How long before your body caves in on itself? Imagine it—the rest of your life without her. Never again to hear her voice. Never again to touch her skin. Never again to taste her lips.
I choke, bent over the sink. My chest feels caged, crushed inward. My vision darkens at the edges. I am convinced I’m going to die here—die of heartbreak, of the unbearable truth that I’ve lost her.
But then—through the din—another voice, faint but steady, cuts through the chaos.You must survive this, Nathaniel. You must. Because if you die here, you will never see her again.
You can’t die without a final look at her beautiful face.
At once, she comes to me. Her jade-green eyes—clear, luminous, impossible to mistake. Her porcelain skin, delicate yet dusted with those faint freckles I’ve memorized like constellations. And her hair, that fiery copper cascade thatcatches the light like flame. The image sears me with reverence, equal parts agony and worship.
I cling to it, the thin filament of thought, and drag myself upright. My body moves without my consent, stumbling toward the shower. I twist the dial to its coldest setting and step in fully clothed, the icy torrent crashing down over me.
My breath seizes at the shock, but it steadies me. The water sluices through my hair, soaks my shirt, drips into my eyes until I can’t tell if I’m shivering or sobbing.
You have to survive this, I tell myself, teeth chattering, lungs burning.You have to see her again. She is your purpose, your reason for living. Without her, you are nothing.
The water beats down in punishing sheets, ice-cold and relentless. My clothes cling heavy against me, fabric plastered to my skin, and still, I can’t breathe. Each gasp feels jagged, shallow, as though my chest has caved in. I clutch at my shirt, at the soaked cotton pulling tight against me, as if I could rip it free and make space for air. But no matter how hard I drag at it, there isn’t enough space. There isn’t any air.
Why isn’t this working?
Why do I still feel like I’m dying?
My lungs won’t obey me. My throat closes with every attempt at a breath. My heart hammers against my ribs, too fast, too loud.
Panic attack.I recognize the sensation all too well—the suffocating, all-consuming certainty that death is minutes away. It’s been over a year since the last one. They used to come constantly after the avalanche, wave after wave until my body was an unliveable place. My psychologist told me it was trauma made flesh, the nervous system refusing to forget. They stopped after I started fixating on Olivia. She was my reprieve, my balm, the reason I could trust the world again, even a little. Of course they would return now that she’s gone.
I double over, sobs tearing loose, raw and broken. The water hides nothing; I can feel each tremor, each shudder wracking through me. Everything hurts—my chest, my throat, my head—and yet I feel hollow at the same time, like nothing inside me is real.
Since Alex died, I have been drifting, a husk moving through a life that no longer belonged to me.Until her.Until Olivia. She gave the days color again, gave the nights meaning. She made all of it matter. And now—without her—I can’t make sense of anything at all.
I crumple against the marble, hands braced on my knees, breath heaving and uneven. Water streams over my face, mingling with tears, and the thought claws through me:I can’t bear this. I can’t.
And then—through the roar in my ears, through the collapse of thought—her voice slices cleanly through.
“Nathaniel?”
