I nod back at her, feeling the heavy weight that lands with those words.
Then she smiles. “But the most important thing, my darling boy, is your spirit.” She places a hand on her heart. “Is it happy?”
I meet her dark eyes, which are wild and full of strange wisdom. She’s always been on my side, in her own way. Despite the chaos I bring to her calm, she’s always there, making sure I still have a soul under all the dirt and blood.
I smile at her, thinking about where my spirit’s been, even with all this shit going on.
Specifically,dick deep in a professor who has me in a fucking chokehold.
“It’s not dead yet.”
SIXTEEN
The bladesof the ceiling fan blur into shadow as they spin above me in the dark. I lock my eyes on one of them and track its circular path, again and again, until it stops being a fan at all and becomes something else entirely. Just a flicker of shadow in the dark, morphing into a shape I can’t identify. But I keep watching it, so I can avoid looking anywhere else… especially inward.
The silence wraps around me in a way that feels thick and suffocating, and there’s something brutal about the way the dark presses against me. But I don’t reach for the lamp. Because this dark silence is also the only thing that feels remotely safe.
So I just lie here, staring up at the ceiling, like sleep might find me. But I know it won’t. It rarely does.
I managed to lose myself in my research today, working on simulations in my home office, and made some progress. But tomorrow, I can’t hide. It’s the student research conference, starting first thing in the morning, and going all fucking day. It’s a full schedule of judging, handshakes, talks, and forced smiles.
A long, heavy breath escapes me, and I shift my gaze to my bedroom door. Just downstairs, there’s a half-empty bottle of rum sitting on my coffee table, and I’ve been thinking about it all night. I didn’t touch it today, even though I thought aboutit… more than once. But these past couple months, I’ve been drinking more and more, just to make it through the day. And I know I shouldn’t.
Iknowit’s a problem. But there’s a part of me that doesn’t care anymore. Or maybe it’s the only part of me that is still able to feelsomething. The static that lives deep in my chest softens when I drink, and the sharp edges of this life dull down just enough that I can breathe without fighting myself. And every day, that argument inside me, of whether to pour a drink, is getting easier to lose.
I reach blindly toward the nightstand and grab my phone, flipping it over.
1:30 AM.
Fuck.
I rub both hands over my face, pressing my palms into my eyes. Then I turn my head towards the window. Pale moonlight filters through the glass, painting silver streaks across my bed and long shadows on the floor. Just past the window, the trees stand perfectly still. My eyes trace their branches, reaching upwards into the sky like long skeletal fingers mid-reach. It almost looks like they’re watching me… guarding my window and waiting for me to break.
Something churns inside me, like smoke curling through my chest with nowhere to go. It moves slowly, creeping in with a heavy presence to take over my body and spread through me. My muscles tense like they’re ready to move, and some kind of pull or pressure builds deep within me. I feel like I’m supposed todosomething… but I have no idea what.
Before I can figure it out, I’m throwing the covers off and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. As I move to the closet, I flick the light on, then grab a pair of shorts and pull a hoodie over my head. Then I head down the stairs, past the bottle of rum, straight to the front door and my running shoes.
Once they’re on, I’m out the door. And I just start running.
My sneakers strike the pavement with dull, rhythmic slaps, like a clock counting down to the moment I can’t hold myself together anymore. I push myself harder and faster, urging my legs to move with more purpose than I feel. Each stride coaxes my muscles to loosen, forces air into my lungs, and tries to shake something loose inside me.
The streetlights cast long cones of light across the sidewalk, catching me in their beams as I pass beneath each one. I pick up speed to slip through them faster, letting the darkness cling to me a little longer. I can’t let the spotlight find me, to expose the cracks, the chaos, and the mess I’m trying to outrun.
My chest starts burning as the cool night air settles deep into my lungs, and I welcome the ache. I want it to spread, to take over me completely and drown out the static. I want it tohurt.
I want to feelsomething.
Anything.
I push harder, running past closed storefronts and dim porches, the old church with dark windows, and past the side streets lined with sleeping houses. And I try my hardest to run past the voice in my head, whispering as it tells me it’s the only one who really sees me.
That this is it.
That whatever is off inside me was never meant to line up.
That some cracks can’t be repaired.
That I can chase equilibrium, momentum, and light—but it all slips through.
