The walls close in on me as I walk through the hallway. Voices travel up the stairs, hushed and serious. I stop at the bottom of the steps, just close enough to catch a few words without being caught, and sink to the floor.
“I understand ... this morning, yes ... willing to cooperate ...”
The air whirs loudly, a rough scream drilling into my ear canal and scratching my insides.
I should have known. I should have felt it when I was with her, all the times we spoke, and I saw it flickering behind her eyes.
Angry and alive, a small fire ignites, heating the center of me.
I feel it now. I felt it even before the stranger speaking to my dad utters a word I never thought I’d hear:suicide. There’s a chasm in the back of my heart, a void in all the places I usually feel her presence, and I know.
My fingers curl in my lap, and my mind blanks until the only thing I see is one of her stupid poems. A stupid poem I wish I never saw.
It’s not
romantic.
It’s not
glorious.
It’s a ravenous, cold flame that spreads like lava,
and the hardest part to admit is that
some fires
can’t
be
put
out.
Blue
Grumpy: You there?
Grumpy: Everything okay?
Dad: Bluebell, please.
Dad: We need to talk about this.
Dad: Please answer your phone.
Benji: Call me back, Blues.
Grumpy: Blue ...
Grumpy: I’m coming over.
My teeth are chattering when I finally shut my phone off. I don’t know why they’re chattering—I’m not cold.
I hand over my boarding pass, trying to ignore the way the agent stares at my shaking fingers. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to hold them still—they won’t stop. Every part of me trembles.
Most of the seats are empty as I walk in a daze to my spot at the window and curl into myself. A man in a suit watches me across the aisle. Maybe it’s because I came empty-handed, or maybe it’s my hollow eyes. I haven’t checked my reflection. I haven’t cried or screamed or done anything to draw attention. But he stares anyway, like he sees it. The emptiness reaching deep in my chest.
