Luca is young. Younger than me by almost seven years. I was only eighteen when Damien trapped me. If I had succeeded in getting Damien locked up, Luca would have been spared this life. And maybe that’s the reason—my guilt—that I hear myself telling him yes. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
It sounds like he sighs in relief. “We’d love that. Let’s get something planned, yeah? When are you thinking you’d want to come? I’m not sure how much notice you’d need to give at work.”
I shake my head. If exhaustion wasn’t suffocating me, I’d probably even laugh. “I can leave whenever.”
Something tells me the gas station I’m working at won’t be too hard up if I leave.
“Really?” There’s something new in his voice. Excitement, I think.
“Sure.” I look around at the sad state of my bedroom. “Give me a couple of days to get everything together, and I’ll reach back out?”
As it stands, I’m not sure I even have clean clothes to pack. I try to stay on top of it, but laundry, like everything else in my life, tends to fall to the wayside in favor of my exhaustion.
“Sounds great. Bye, Theo.” I’m pulling the phone away from my ear when I catch his voice again. “You can reach out for other stuff too, by the way. I’d like for us to be friends.”
I swallow hard at his words. “I’d like that too.”
How will it feel to be in the presence of someone whogets it? Amazing, I think. Maybe the exhaustion will leave in his orbit. Maybe we can hold each other up so the weight doesn’t feel so heavy.
“Bye, Luca,” I whisper, then hang up the phone.
Iwakewithmyheart racing, panic crawling up my throat. The sun is shining through the windows, and it takes me far too long to get my bearings. Picking up my phone, I squint at the screen. It’s early afternoon, which doesn’t make sense. I must have slept through my alarms. Again.
I toss my phone to the side, blinking up at the ceiling. I don’t remember falling asleep. I don’t remember setting my alarms. I don’t even remember if I ate. The gaping pit in my stomach says I haven’t, but… that I don’t remember is terrifying.
I was supposed to leave today. Hours ago.
My suitcase is on the floor beside my bed, mocking me. It’s open, the clothes folded neatly like proof of my intentions and a reminder of my current failure.
I was ready. I washed my laundry. I even folded some of it. Packed my suitcase. And then… then I just crawled into bed instead.
I should sit up, but it feels impossible, so I don’t even try. I tell myself I will in a second. Just like I tell myself I’ll eat, that I’ll shower, that I’ll go to work.
But a second goes by and then another, and still I don’t move. I tell myself I can do it. That I can sit up, that I can move. Grab my suitcase and get in my car.
Each breath I draw in feels like work. Like my body has forgotten how to do it on its own, and now I’m in charge of it. I’m not a good person to be in charge. I can’t get up with my alarm clock. I can’t even keep my word.
I close my eyes. Just for a second. I just need a second.
When I open them again, the room is dark. My mouth is dry, and when I try to swallow, it feels like sandpaper.
That can’t be good.
My phone lights up, and even though it takes all my strength, I reach for it.
Luca
Hey, just checking in. Did something happen on the road? No rush.
The kindness of those words presses against my chest, harder and harder, until I almost can’t breathe around the weight of them. God, I keep fucking up. I keep fucking everything up.
I type a message.I’m sorry.
But delete it.
I try again withI’m still coming, but I’ll be later than I thought.
I delete that too.
