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I snatch a half-empty bottle of vodka and find a swinging seat in the corner, away from everyone. The first sip is disgusting, making me gag as the liquid burns my throat. I try to relax as I chug half of what’s left.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but I don’t feel any different, so I swallow down more, grimacing as the alcohol strips my throat raw. I don’t stop until the very last drop, then let the glass bottle fall from my hand onto the grass. My stomach churns, and I lean my head back to fight the nausea.

My heart hasn’t slowed down for a second, and my throat feels too tight. My mind races as I think about how alone I am. Not just here, but in life. Everything’s changing and I hate it. I’d rather be alone than watch what’s left of my broken family move on like nothing happened.

Richard tried calling me several times in my first few weeks of uni. He eventually gave up and texted to say he was quitting his job and moving to the Isle of Skye. I ignored the text just like I’d ignored all his calls.

Then, last month when I went home for the October half-term, my dad introduced me to Sarah. He had a giant grin on his face, proud of himself for finding someone to replace Mum. I looked at him with disgust and couldn’t bring myself to look at her at all. I went straight to my bedroom and didn’t come out for the whole week.

They’re both so desperate to move on with their lives like Jamie and Mum never existed, and I don’t understand why.

My stomach tenses as another wave of nausea rolls through me. Saliva fills my mouth as I start shaking. The urge to throw up hits me, and I lean over the side of my chair to empty the contents of my stomach onto the grass.

I don’t feel good. I’ve only been drunk a few times, but it’s never felt like this. Not even when I drank six beers on my eighteenth birthday and Bailey had to carry me home, wrapped around him like a koala.

This is different. My body’s numb, and the edges of my vision are dim. My tongue is too thick in my mouth, so I close my eyes for a second, trying to calm down. It takes Herculean effort to open them again.

My locket is a heavy weight against my chest, and I can’t stop focusing on it. I’ve never opened it. I can’t picture Mum and Jamie other than in my nightmares: Mum’s limp arm, Jamie’s pale, lifeless face.

I don’t want to see them any other way because I need to remember what I did.

Every breath is like razor blades in my lungs. I think I should ask for help, but when I open my mouth to call out, my head spins.

I fumble the clasp of my locket, desperation outweighing fear. I want to see them. No—I need to see them. My heart is a live wire in my chest, sparks flying with every beat as the clasp falls open.

A choked cry lodges in my throat when I see Jamie’s toothless grin and Mum’s soft smile. Alive. They’ve been here with me this whole time, and I’d refused to look.

“You need to move out of the shadows.”

I suck in a breath and whip my head to the side. My stomach drops. I’ve either gone crazy or I’m dead.

Jamie is sitting next to me, feet kicking, dangling over the edge of the seat. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“You need to move out of the shadows so they can see you.” Jamie points to the groups of people further up the garden. “You don’t look good, and Mam said if you’re not well, you have to tell someone.”

It’s just the alcohol, I tell myself. It’s just the alcohol fucking with my head. Maybe if I close my eyes⁠—

“Noah, you’re scaring me.”

God, everything feels numb. Even if I tried, I don’t think I could call for help. I blink slowly.

Jamie is still next to me, his grey eyes wide with fear. I don’t like it. He shouldn’t be able to talk to me—not when I’m awake.

“Move, Noah!”

My body falls forward, but there’s nothing I can do to stop myself crashing onto the grass. There’s some commotion, but the ringing in my ears is so loud it’s drowning everything out.

Shadows fall over me, and I think a hand is slapping my face. I try to tell them to stop, but I can’t speak. All I can do is lie here, trapped in my own body.

“Hey, kid, how much did you drink?” someone asks.

“He’s just pissed, let him sleep it off.”

“I don’t think it’s just alcohol, man. Maybe he took some drugs.”

“Search his pockets, maybe he’s got the good shit.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick again, but I can’t move. Bile rises in my throat and stays there. I try to take a breath, but I can’t—I fucking can’t. Tears stream down my cheeks as I choke.