I click on the contact tab. There is only one thing there: a link to a fan page, that can be reached through DM, nothing else.
My only chance.
I stare at the app. So. Am I really to be the first one to plead for reconciliation?
Do I want him back more than I want to cling to my wounded pride? Eliano’s pride is clearly bigger than mine, because he has stayed silent for twenty-three days now.
"I never beg," I mutter under my breath; these were his last words.
In truth, I was the one who told him to get out, so by rights, I should be the one to invite him back, shouldn’t I?
With some hesitation, I click it, but to do that, I first have to log into my own account.
My old account is still online.
There aren’t many photos on it, but the ones that are there show me and Senu, and that triggers a sudden flood of painful emotions.
Me, a fucking traitor, stares back from the screen, posing next to Senu with a silly grin on my face…
And I’m about to dishonor Senu’s memory even more by reaching out to the man who stopped me from avenging my brother?
No!
I close the laptop and go lie down on the bed.
Senu’s face rises in my mind.
My sweet, gentle, kind brother, who was so caring and selfless. I cannot stop myself. I lie there as tears run down my cheeks. The only person who mattered to me in the entire world, for whom I did not even fulfill the last duty.
I chose myself and my own chance at a happy life.
But then I blew that, too. Damn.
Let us be honest. And I need that inner honesty, it’s eye-opening. I had a few hours’ head start over Eliano and Harvey Bram. If I had turned back, Eliano would never have found me in the urban sprawl. No fucking way.
I was one step away from revenge, and yet I ruined it myself. I dig my fingers into my forearm, scratching the words ‘Justice for Senu’ almost to the point of drawing blood.
Justice will not be delivered.
Me. It’s all on me.
???
The next day is heavy, but what's new.
Guilt and torment return, tied both to the impossibility of my revenge and to the thought of never seeing Eliano again.
From time to time, I put myself through miserable photo-watching sessions.
First, I stare at my picture with Eliano, feeling a traitorous flush creep into my cheeks and a rush of slick flooding my channel. Then, angered by my too-willing body, I fling the album across the room, yes, right where a whole line of other things already lie: pillows, Eliano’s T-shirts, his brush, his shower gel, his hoodie… thrown there during fits of fury.
And then, I open the app.
A truly self-punishing mix: Eliano’s face, then Senu’s.
Back and forth.
What torture!
