Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 31

My throat felt raw. My chest heaved.
But for once, it felt real. Then, I heard footsteps behind me.

“I’m your best friend,” came a voice.
Flat. Cold. But unmistakable.

Inez. “So I’m going to be the one to say this…”

I turned slowly, my breath uneven. She didn’t look angry. She looked… resigned. Like I wasn’t the only one carrying the weight of me.

“You’re a coward, B.” The words hit like a slap. No sugarcoating. No kindness in her tone to cushion the blow.

And maybe she’s right. Maybe I am.

I tried to hold it in... but something lossened, the glue that held my peices together. My knees buckled beneath me, and I fell to the rooftop floor, hands shaking, tears flooding down like they’d been waiting all day for this permission to fall.

“Inez…” I choked out. I wanted to say more, but nothing else came. Just sobs.

She didn’t speak again. She just dropped to the floor beside me and wrapped her arms around me. Warm. Steady. Like a lighthouse in a storm I swore I could navigate alone.

“I hate this version of you,” she whispered into my hair. “It hurts to see you like this. But I’m here. Okay?”

Her hand stroked my hair gently, the way my mom used to when I was little and scared of the dark.

“Cry it out… I’m here.”

I buried my face into her shoulder. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel like I was fighting alone.

We sat there, two girls beneath a sky that didn’t care... but somehow, her presence made it bearable.

“You’ll both figure it out,” she murmured. “You and James. You just need to stop hiding... from him, from us, from yourself.”

I didn’t know if she was right. But for a moment, I let myself believe she was.

Because maybe being strong isn’t about carrying it all. Maybe being strong is breaking down, and letting someone hold you through it.

The sky turned deep orange after Inez left. That kind of orange that doesn’t even feel like a color, more like a pause button in time. Everything around me hushed, softened. Even the wind gentled, like it knew I’d had enough noise for the day.

I stayed seated on the rooftop floor, my back leaning against the concrete, knees pulled to my chest. My fingers, again, absentmindedly grazed my wrist. Still no anchor to hold me down.

I wasn’t thinking about anything. Which, logically, is impossible. But there I was... breathing but blank. Staring into nowhere. It was kind of peaceful. Kind of numbing.

Then I heard footsteps. Heavy. Hesitant. I turned. Drake.

He looked like he hadn’t slept either, like someone carrying more than he ever signed up for. Our eyes met, and maybe there was a silent understanding between us, different battles, same weight.

“Hey,” I said, voice low.

“Hey,” he echoed.

We both sighed at the same time. And then we laughed. Not loudly, not joyfully, just that dry, exhausted laugh you let out when the universe is too cruel to take seriously anymore.

“I talked to Coach,” he said after a moment. “Told him I won’t let him push Corey away from me.”

“That’s good,” I said, shifting slightly so I could see him better. “And Corey?”

He looked down, his jaw tightening. “Still won’t talk to me. But I’m not giving up. I’m not letting the world dictate how and who I should love.”

I stared at him.

His hair moved with the breeze, his shoulders were square, his eyes steady.
For the first time, Drake didn’t just look like a friend. He looked like the version of strong I wished I could be.

He continued, voice steady but aching underneath: “Corey… he went through so much. His stepdad used to hit him, calling him names. And then school… the looks, the whispers, the judgements. And still, he stayed kind. He stayed soft. He laughed, loved, gave. That kind of soul? It’s rare. And I had it. I have it. I just… I have to prove I deserve it.”

I swallowed. He wasn’t just talking about Corey. He was talking about courage. About choosing love when fear tells you to run. About standing in the fire because someone’s worth it. I looked down at my hands. At the invisible scars no one sees unless I let them close enough to notice.
At the empty wrist that once carried the weight of my mother’s love.

“I want to be like that,” I whispered.

“Then be,” he said.

As if it were simple. As if it were possible. And for the first time in days… I almost believed it was.