Indie
No Time To Die - Billie Eilish
Age Twenty-Two
I’vetriedtocallSaint three times, but the number just goes straight to voicemail.
I went round to his apartment this morning after staying with Regina and Jenna, but there was no answer.
Then I drove by his dad’s house on the way back, and the gates were closed.
It was unusual, as they’re always open during the day, but he could be away working.
Someone might think I’m a creepy-ass stalker, but I don’t care.
I need to see him.
Set things right.
It’s selfish of me to assume he’ll have waited for me—despite him saying he would.
But thereallyselfish and desperate part of me hopes that he did.
That our love would know no bounds, and time would be irrelevant.
I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s moved on, but if he has, I need to respect it.
I asked for this, thinking it would help me work on myself, and in a way it did.
Because in the back of my mind, it was always him.
Knowing that when we finally spoke, I would stand there as the girl he fell in love with, who found her strength again, who wasn’t defined by the cruel actions of another human being.
She might be a little bit scarred, seeing the world as more grey, but as close to me as I could be.
My feet squeak on the wooden floor, echoing all the way down the corridor as I approach his apartment door for the second time today.
I knock a few times, my heart thundering in my chest as I wait to hear his footsteps reaching the door, ears pricked back, anticipating it.
But nothing comes.
All that greets me is a deathly, hollow silence.
It’s been eight hours since I was here, and I peer down through his letterbox, lifting the metal flap to look inside.
The place is in darkness; the air inside it feels chilled, like it’s been undisturbed for a while.
“Saint?” I call, dropping the flap and knocking again. A voice sounds beside me, and I jump out of my skin.
“He’s left,” the man says, leaning against his door with a plate and washcloth in hand.
My eyes narrow on the older man, looking from him to Saint’s door.
“What do you mean?”
“Left last night. He’s been packing up for a couple weeks.”
Static fills my ears, and panic courses through my entire body.
