Revenge Turned Sweet

Epilogue 2: My Story Isn't Finished

The days pass quicker than ever now. It's almost as if I blink and the week is over. My dreams are empty now, no nightmares. But the absence of dreams has made me realize how empty my mind is. It doesn't race anymore, my chest doesn't heave, my arms don't feel as if they're on fire anymore. I remember when I said I longed to feel nothing, to feel numb. Now, I wish for those days back. I long for the days I felt human.

The warmth from the sun has faded to a crisp breeze. The leaves have begun to change color. I can't even keep track of what's going on aside from the seasons changing. The meaninglessness is creeping in, again. The feeling that's so overwhelming and consuming that I have to sit on the ground because I'm afraid the ground will swallow me whole.

My story isn't finished.

I know that. But I can't help feeling like I want it to end. Like, somehow I don't deserve another chapter. The only good things that were in my life are gone. How can I truly keep going if I have no one else?

"Nadya?"

Well, aside from Peter.

I blink a few times and look up, finding an expectant look on his face. I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering what I missed when I wasn't listening. "Sorry, what?" I ask, pushing my hair behind my ears.

He smiles, a genuine smile, something I haven't seen in a long time. It's especially rare coming from Peter. Honestly, he's one of the only people I can talk to right now. Which, I'm sure is the same case with him. We still haven't figured out why I can remember him. Dr. Strange is a no-go, I don't want him knowing I'm still alive. To which Peter, thankfully, respected.

"It's your turn," he chuckles, gesturing to the red and black checkerboard on his bed.

I purse my lips and lean forward from the back of the chair. It creaks with anticipation, waiting for my next move. Peter's apartment is... well, it's New York. It's better than my old apartment, that I will say.

Peter shifts on his bed in suspense for my next move. I flick my hand up and the red piece moves a few times, collecting his pieces as well. I stare as the blue waves die down to embers, such a thing I used to watch in wonder, now it just seems ordinary. "I'm not sure I understand this game so much," I mumble.

He sighs while picking up the pieces I crossed from the board and setting them aside. "Well, you're beating me... so I'd say you understand it enough."

Okay, yes Peter is young and naive. Yes, he's a great kid who has been through more than anyone has in such a short span of time. But am I going to let him win in spite of those things?

No.

"Did you get your application into NYU on time?" I ask, spinning in the chair.

He's quiet.

"Peter," I draw out his name as if I'm scolding a child. He smiles innocently, eyebrows lifted and a certain light in his eye. "We worked on that for two weeks!" I exclaim and he looks at me with wide eyes.

He shrugs, still not saying anything.

I scoff as I stand from the chair. "You're honestly telling me you didn't turn your application in?"

He purses his lips for a moment as he stares me down. It doesn't last long, though. His serious demeanor cracks as a laugh spills from his lips.

"You're kidding me," I breathe, relief flooding through me as he continues to laugh. I run my fingers through my hair while he catches his breath.

"You should've seen your face!"

"Funny," I quip, "very funny, Peter." I plop down onto the edge of his bed and sigh. His laughter dies, and the only sounds left in the apartment are his neighbors yelling and the many cars honking their horns on the streets outside.