“I’ll see you tonight,” he adds, softer now.
“Okay.” My voice is barely audible. “Okay.”
The call ends.
The silence is instant. Smothering.
I set my phone on the counter with careful, shaking fingers.
And when it vibrates again with the aftershock of disconnecting, I break.
I fold over the sink, gripping the edge so hard my knuckles scream. Sobs tear out of me. Deep, animal ones I can’t control. Grief, guilt, terror—they all hit at once, a tidal wave with teeth.
This is my fault.
Not Lily’s.
Not Ethan’s.
Mine.
If I’d told Ethan. If I’d trusted him. If I’d—
God.
I should’ve warned him. I should’ve given him the truth instead of scraps, instead of acting like I’m just quirky and anxious and not a goddamn walking target.
He left, thinking I just needed space.
He doesn’t know space is the thing that kills me.
I slide down to the floor, pressing my forehead to my knees, rocking without meaning to. The kettle clicks again, forgotten.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into my hands. I don’t even know if I’m apologizing to Ethan, or Lily, or the version of myself I keep failing.
My chest is a fist around my heart.
I’m leaving Cedar Lake.
I’m running again.
And this time…
I’m terrified I won’t be able to come back.
I don’t know how long I’ve stayed on the kitchen floor. Minutes. Hours. Time gets slippery when panic eats all the air.
At some point, my breathing evens out just enough for thought to wedge itself back in. One thought, small and sharp:
Move.
If I stay still, the memories get louder.
If I move, maybe I can outrun them for thirty seconds at a time.
I push off the floor and stumble toward the bedroom. My legs feel disconnected from the rest of me, like puppeted limbs. The room is still a mess — clothes, notebooks, guitar picks, scribbled lyrics, all in the same exact places they were yesterday before everything went to hell.
I shove the closet door open and drag the duffel bag down. It hits the floor with a heavy thud. I start stuffing things into it — clothes, charger, medication bottle I haven’t touched in weeks, makeup I rarely wear here. My hands are shaking so badly that I pack the same shirt twice.
