We Will Drown Together

a place to belong

Two Years
It’s been two years since my parents died. Two years since my entire world shattered. And still, the graveyard is the only place I feel close to them. I visit their grave as often as I can, especially when I’m not feeling well or when everything feels too much. Today is one of those days.

I’m sitting on the cold grass, my knees pulled up tightly to my chest. The air is chilly, and the sun has already dipped below the horizon, leaving the cemetery cloaked in shades of gray. I run my fingers over the engraved names on the headstone, tracing each letter slowly. It’s the only connection I have left.

“I miss you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the stillness of the evening. My chest feels heavy, like it always does here, but it also feels… quieter. Like the noise of the world fades away when I’m near them.

Eventually, I pull out my phone. The screen lights up, and I see a string of unread messages. It’s Lisa. She’s been my best friend since kindergarten—practically the only person who knows everything about me. Well, almost everything.

Chat:
Lisa: Hey Sammy, are you free today? We’re planning to hang out.

Sammy: Sure, where are you guys?

Lisa: Come to Kati’s if you’re in the mood to party ;)

I stare at the messages for a moment. A party. The last thing I feel like doing right now, but I know Lisa. She’ll make sure I laugh even when I don’t want to. And honestly, I could use a distraction.

I stand up, brushing the dirt and grass from my jeans. “I’ll be back soon,” I murmur to the grave before turning away.

On the Way to Kati’s
As I walk, I send a quick text to my aunt. “I’ll probably be back tomorrow morning.”
I don’t expect her to reply. She rarely does. Ever since I moved in with her, it’s been clear I’m nothing more than an obligation to her. She already has her hands full with her own kids, and adding me to the mix was the last thing she wanted.

When I first arrived, she shoved me into the basement room. It’s barely more than a storage space—an old bed with a sagging mattress, a wobbly clothes rack, and some wooden crates I turned into shelves. There’s a tiny window near the ceiling, but it’s mostly covered by dirt and doesn’t let much light in.

I used to cry myself to sleep in that room. The loneliness, the silence, the feeling that I didn’t belong anywhere—it was suffocating. Over time, I stopped crying. It didn’t help, anyway.

My aunt provides the basics. Clothes, food, a roof over my head. But love? Care? Even a kind word? Those things don’t exist for me anymore. The only time she pretends to care is when the social workers come by. Then I’m suddenly moved to the guest room, where everything looks neat and cozy. She smiles and talks about how “happy” I am living with her. It’s all a lie, but I play along because I don’t have a choice.

Two more years. That’s all I have to endure before I can leave and start my own life. Two more years of pretending, of surviving.

At Kati’s
By the time I reach Kati’s house, I can hear the music blasting from down the street. The bass thumps in my chest, and the laughter and shouting spill out into the night. It’s such a stark contrast to where I just was—quiet, somber, peaceful.

Lisa meets me at the door, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and her face lighting up when she sees me. “Sammy! You made it!” she shouts over the music, pulling me into a hug.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, forcing a small smile.

The house is packed. People are dancing, drinking, talking loudly. Lisa grabs my hand and drags me into the living room, where a group of our friends are sitting on the couch. They greet me with cheers and laughter, offering me a drink. I take it, even though I don’t really feel like drinking.

For a while, I try to blend in. I laugh at their jokes, nod along to their conversations, and let Lisa drag me onto the makeshift dance floor. But no matter how loud the music gets, or how many people are around me, I feel… hollow. Like I’m watching it all from a distance.

I slip out onto the porch to get some air. The cool night breeze hits my face, and I breathe deeply, trying to shake off the heaviness in my chest. The stars are out, twinkling faintly against the inky sky. My mind drifts back to the graveyard, to my parents, to the life I had before everything fell apart.

Lisa finds me a few minutes later. “Hey, you okay?” she asks, leaning against the porch railing beside me.

“Yeah,” I lie.

She gives me a look, the kind only your best friend can give. The kind that says she knows you’re not okay but won’t push you to talk if you’re not ready.

“You know I’m here, right? Whenever you want to talk,” she says softly.

“I know,” I reply. And I do. Lisa is the one person who’s always been there for me. Even when I push everyone else away, she stays.

We sit in silence for a while, just watching the stars. For the first time that night, I feel a little lighter. Not happy, not okay, but a little less alone.