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The water steals the heat from me inch by inch, second by second. My skin goes dull, my thoughts slow. That’s the point. If I’m cold enough, I don’t have to feel anything else. And it should help. It does help some days. But today it doesn’t.

Her voice is still there, tucked behind my ribs, waiting for me to reply.

I loved you too. I hope I did.

Because I know I’ll hear her again soon and remember how fucked up she was while dying.

I stay there for a few minutes, until I feel completely awake again. And I get out, dry myself up and pull out a jumper and sweatpants.

The lighter is in my hand again, the flame is just as warm as her hands were when she was okay.

Focus on it.

Breathing in as it’s open, breathing out when it’s shut down. In, then out. Until I can’t hear her anymore.

After a few minutes, I grab my keys and head out the door.

The ocean breeze feels fresh against my skin as it blows through the courtyard, and I notice the sun peeking through the clouds, casting a light blue hue through the sky.

Everything feels so peaceful in this city. But in a strange way, like it’s hiding something terrifying.

There's a small crowd by the Coffee Bean when I arrive, a handful of students coming back from a morning run probably and a few others who are already studying.

It’s only 5AM...

I stand in line, waiting for my turn, as my mind wanders to the nightmare I had earlier.

My mother used to be superstitious when I was a child, she used to tell me that nightmares were omens sent to warn you before something tragic happened. I always thought she was crazy when she said things like that. Most of the time, I ignored her insinuations because she was on drugs and drunk half of the day.

But I still remember what it felt like. I don’t remember her face the way people talk about remembering faces.

I remember her hands. I remember the way they shook sometimes, and the way I leaned into them anyway. I remember the coldness I felt in my body when I stopped reaching out for these cold hands. The hollowness in my chest.

I hate thinking. Because thinking turns into grief most of the time, and the only thing I get from it is ghosty memories and regrets.

“Sir!” I hear someone yell in the distance. “Professor Caldwell…”

I feel someone nudge me from behind, and my eyesight comes into focus, noticing the barista peering down at me, holding an empty coffee cup.

“Shit, sorry…sorry..” I mutter under my breath as I dig through my pockets, locating my leather wallet.

“No worries, sir, what do you want this morning?” She asks me in a light-hearted tone.

She’s new here, I can tell by the way her hands are shaking like it’s her first day.

“Extra black coffee, please.”

She nods as I place the cash on the counter.

“Here you are, sir.” The barista says as she returns, handing me the cup.

“Thank you, keep the change.”

I blow into the hot coffee cup allowing the warm steam to balm my face and pop the lid back on before heading out.

My gaze hovers over the students who look like they’ve been up partying all night and heading for a quick morning pick me up. I hide my smirk behind my cup as I take another sip and walk over to the side of the cliffs.

I turn my head slightly, noticing the girl with the raven hair lying down on the ground with her hood over her head.