Everyone always said Fridays were for living.
I guess they were right.
And I just forgot how.
Chapter One
Elena
The house wasn’t big, butit was mine. A cozy modern bungalow tucked into a quiet street, all glass and warm wood, with enough space to breathe, but not enough to feel lonely. I’d spent months making it feel like me when I had moved in, trying to bring a feel from home, while still keeping it my style. The soft earth tones and the velvet couch that hugged you when you sank into it reminded me of Dad. The candles that smelled like vanilla and smoke had Mom written all over them. The kitchen was always spotless, and that was Max’s trait: everything always had to be spotless. The coffee machine was indeed my most loyal companion, and my bedroom…my favorite escape. It wasn’t luxury in the way rich people boasted, but it was peaceful. And peace was priceless.
But now, as I stood in the bathroom, I realized that this house now felt cold. The light from the single bulb hung like a question over everything, so thin and useless. I’d had time to learn the pattern of my own quiet breath, the tick of the clock, the softsound of the outside world that’ll keep living when I’m not.
There was a sweater on the chair in the bathroom, one I promised myself I’d wear again. I touched the sleeve, and it smelled so faintly of Dad’s cologne. It was the one he wore to weddings and funerals. The smell stabbed me, making the ache in my chest increase, like someone had their hand wrapped around the place inside me that used to be full of light.
It was my fault I was here in the first place, alone, sad, and broken beyond repair. I killed them, and the world kept moving. Grief settled like dust; it was everywhere, unseen, and I learned to live with the grit in my mouth.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub as I let myself look at the photo that I couldn’t burn; the one with all of us laughing, all teeth and sun and a future that looked like a promise. I held it like you hold a warm stone, like a thing you can count on. It felt steadier than whatever was left of me.
I wasn’t dramatic, and I did not want theatrics. I just wanted a quiet, simple end to the slow unraveling of what I had granted permission to finish me. The thought wasn’t heroic; there was no flash of noble light, no grand speech. It was a small, stubborn mercy I owed myself. I could imagine a world without the heavy weight of me in it, and for the first time in a long time, breathing seemed like something that wouldn’t hurt.
The bathwater hummed as it filled, and it looked steady, patient, almost kind. I moved like someone in a dream, watching the steam rise until the room felt like it was breathing for me. I set the photo on the edge of the tub; a piece of paper that would witness what was left of me become nothing…just nothing. The dagger gleamed from where it rested beside the soap dish; silver and solemn, still holding the shape of his gift. My brother had wrapped it in red paper last Christmas, right before the accident. “Because you like daggers, and it feels like I’m protecting you while you’re with it,” he’d said, laughing. The words rolled in myhead now, like a tender cruelty.
I didn’t hate him for cutting me off after their funeral. After all, I did the same to myself. All I hoped was that he wouldn’t feel like he didn’t protect me, because he did. All his life, that was what he did. My only punishment for him for not blaming me as he should was ending it all with the very gift he gave me.
I lowered myself into the water, its warmth wrapping around me like a blanket. The tile was cold beneath my shoulders, grounding, and final. Somewhere, a song played from the old radio I’d left on. It was a classic, something my mother loved to hum when she thought no one was listening. I could almost hear her voice, so soft, so far away. I thought about all the things I never said, all the ways I tried to be more than what I was; a better daughter, a better sister, a better friend, a better human. But I guess some people were born with splinters in their souls, and no amount of love could sand them smooth once life happens.
Life had happened to me a year ago, when my parents left me.
Cutting myself with the dagger didn’t hurt the way I’d thought it would. I had imagined it would sting me back to realization, but it didn’t. So I took it as a sign, and I continued, pressing it deeper and longer, enough for the crimson liquid to pour out of me like it was trying to escape the jail that was my body. My vision began to blur, and the air tasted of metal and memory. I closed my eyes, leaned back, and let the hum of the water swallow the sound of everything else.
For a long while, there was only the quiet, then my phone rang. For some weird reason, without even looking at the caller ID, I picked up. A distant, familiar voice called my name like he was trying to pull me back to the world I had already decided to leave behind.
“Elena?” His voice touched a bruise I didn’t know I had. The ache in my throat folded into a new shape; longing, somethingraw and immediate.
“Ma…Max?” I whispered, feeling the light dim around me.
“Yes, it’s me, troublemaker,” he replied. “You sound…” he paused, like he knew. Like he could see me leave him behind. “I miss you, and I’m sorry.”
He didn’t have to apologize. I was the one who should be sorry. “Max, I…”
“Drop everything you’re doing, Elena. Let’s spend the holiday together, huh?”
I was dropping everything right now, but how could I say that? “Max, we…I can’t,” I whispered, trying to stay awake.
“You can, Elena. Get up and come down to the house. Let’s go back home, please,” he begged. “Please, troublemaker, do it for me, huh?”
Of course, he would do that; he would pull me out of the grip of death with his pleading.
“Let’s go home, you and I,” he added, and it was my undoing.
“Let’s go home,” I replied in a whisper. With that, the call ended, but the sound of it kept echoing through me like a heartbeat I thought I’d lost…a heartbeat I was going to lose if I didn’t act fast.
So, I pulled the plug in the tub, used all the energy I had left in me to get out, and get my towel wrapped around my wrist. I had to find a way to either get myself to the clinic downtown or try not to die here.
I applied pressure, enough, I hoped. It was a funny sight to behold as I looked at the mirror in front of me.Twenty minutes ago, I was eager to die, but now, I was kneeling naked on my bathroom floor, putting enough pressure on my bleeding skin to keep me alive…how utterly ironic is that? How the will to die is just the same as the will to live, and for today...I’ll live.
I grabbed my phone and dialed David. He was a doctor after all, and he would know what to do. As I waited for him to pickup, I let my shoulders fall in…Defeat? Shame? Bravery? I had no idea.
