No matter how much I tried to convince myself that I could handle being around people, it never truly worked.
I walked among them like a ghost trapped in a world that no longer made sense. Their voices were distant, like echoes underwater.
Their laughter stabbed at my ears. And their eyes... they were always watching, always full of something I no longer recognized.
I thought I could survive it—pretend to be one of them. Pretend that I hadn't fallen apart the moment Darian disappeared from my life.
But I had. I absolutely had. Every breath I took felt like a betrayal. Every step forward was a lie I told myself.
Because the truth was simple and suffocating: I couldn't let go of him. I didn't want to.
His absence wasn't silence. It was a scream. A low, constant ringing in my ears that never stopped, never faded. It was in everything.
The smell of someone's cologne, the shadow of a stranger passing by too quickly, the sound of shoes on wet pavement.
And every time something reminded me of him—of his voice, his face, his stupid little habits—my chest would tighten until I couldn't breathe.
There was something dangerous growing inside me. Something dark and furious, something that didn't care about right or wrong.
I didn't want justice. I wanted release.
I didn't want to be saved. I wanted stillness.
And I was prepared for it. The box cutter in my bag had been there for days. Quiet. Patient. Ready.
Then it happened.I saw him.
Not Darian—of course not—but someone who could've been him in another life.
The same slouched shoulders. The same way he avoided eye contact, like the world didn't deserve his gaze. He even wore a hoodie similar to the one Darian used to steal from me.
My legs moved before my mind caught up. I crossed the street without looking, stepped into the current of people as if I were sleepwalking.
The sound of my heartbeat drowned out everything else. That boy—whoever he was—had no idea what he had just stirred up.
I reached into my bag. My fingers closed around the blade. My hand didn't shake.And with a single, deliberate motion, I pulled it out and drove it into his head.
There was a wet sound—muted, almost apologetic—and then silence. His eyes went wide. He didn't even scream. I watched him fall. And I felt… nothing.
No regret. No satisfaction. Just quiet.
Then I turned the blade on myself.
It slid in easily. My body welcomed it. I sank to the ground, the weight of everything finally lifting.
I could hear people shouting, running, crying—but it was all so far away. For the first time in what felt like months, I smiled.
Not because I was happy—no. Because I believed, for a moment, that it would finally end.
That I'd either see him again... or see nothing at all.And maybe that was enough.
So I closed my eyes.And I let go.