No response.
• • •
Two days later.
Cassian. Please.
Read.
No response.
I leave a voice memo.
I don’t remember everything I said.
I remember the end of it.
I don't know what I did. I don't know whats happening. I just — please. Please just tell me we’re okay. Tell me I didn't imagine all of it. Please, I love you. Please.
• • •
He doesn’t respond.
I spend a Saturday in my room.
Curtains closed.
Pills on the desk.
Phone in my hand checking for a notification that doesn’t come.
• • •
This is how it happens.
That’s what I know now.
Not all at once.
Just — days like this.
One and then another and then another until the space between them disappears and it’s just one long day with no light in it.
Mara knocks.
I don’t answer.
She sits outside my door for an hour.
I can see the shadow of her feet under it.
She doesn’t leave.
Eventually I open the door.
She’s on the floor with her back against the wall and her laptop and two cups of coffee.
She looks up at me.
