Tears had been cascading down my cheeks since before I even approached the door. My hands were trembling, making it difficult to unlock the door. Through my blurry vision, I cursed myself for having so many trinkets on my keychain. Everyone had teased me about it, so why didn't I just take them off? Why couldn't I be like everyone else?
As soon as I entered the apartment, I fell to the floor and released a torrent of tears. My sister wouldn't be back for hours, so I could let my emotions overwhelm me without interruption.
A tingling sensation shot through my legs as I fought to stand up and make my way to the bedroom. With trembling hands, I clung onto anything I could for support until I finally collapsed on the bed. The pain was almost unbearable this time, and tears streamed down my face without end.
I couldn't blame anyone else for the predicament I found myself in. My own anger and foolishness had led me down this path. In an alternate reality, I could have been in her shoes. But let's be real, I could never have lived up to her beauty standards: her perfectly styled blonde ponytail and impeccable makeup always made her stand out. I recognized her from my college days, where she was a few years my senior and attended some of the same classes as me.
She had become a hero.
Me?
I was nothing.
I frantically searched through my bag, desperately trying to find my phone. I needed to call him. I needed to apologize and beg for his forgiveness. Finally, I found my phone and collapsed onto the bed, scrolling through our old messages. Despite knowing I should have deleted them, I couldn't bring myself to do it just yet. I read through all the times he had told me he loved me, and looked at the countless pictures we had taken together. For someone who was no longer in a relationship with him, I seemed to have an excessive number of photographs of him.
I hastily typed a brief "hey" to him and pressed the send button. I had no idea what his response would be. He was with her now, and I couldn't imagine he would ignore his own wife just to reply to his ex-fiancée, who had been dealing with mental health issues for a while now. As I predicted, there was no response from him.
I turned away and didn't bother taking off my boots. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my body; my face was swollen from crying; and my stuffy nose made it hard to breathe. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would bring some relief, but it didn't. Every time my eyelids met, memories of his wife's smiling face flooded in. I buried my head in the pillows, trying to escape, but it wasn't enough. Her smile drained me of any remaining energy. I pictured her beneath him, moaning his name as he fucked her hard, just as he had done with me. I couldn't decide which was worse—the thought of her with him or the fact that even thinking about our nights together made my body ache for him.
The sound of my phone buzzing pulled me out of my thoughts, and I reached for it reflexively. My ex-fiancé's name flashed on the screen, and a part of me knew I shouldn't answer. But against my better judgment, I opened the message, and we started texting again, like we did at the beginning of our relationship. It felt comforting to have him respond instantly to my messages, but a nagging thought lingered: was he still with his wife? If I wasn't feeling so emotionally vulnerable, I would have called him without hesitation. Deep down, I knew what would happen if I did call him.
As I chatted with him, my sister messaged me that he would be staying over due to her heavy workload. Without responding, I eagerly revealed all the emotions I still harbored for the man I adored. My hands shook as I hit send and watched him begin to type a reply, only to stop mid-way.
I fixated on the screen for what felt like hours before setting it aside, hoping to drift back to sleep. But my efforts were in vain; I remained awake, constantly jolted by the buzzing of my phone, even though it was only notifications from emails or basic social media updates.
Tears streamed down my face once again, but this time I couldn't contain the sobs that escaped my mouth. I laughed at myself in between sobs, mocking my own naivety. What had I expected to happen if I confessed my feelings to him? He was happily married now, and there was no way he would leave his wife for a crazy person like me. Why did I even entertain the thought that he would want to get back together after how badly I had rejected him and caused him pain? The memory of our argument in the park resurfaced in my mind. We had met there to talk like adults and see if there was any hope for us. But instead, I started yelling at him and throwing the ring he gave me in a fit of anger. His face contorted with fury, and he walked away without even looking back at me. I spent hours searching for it in the grass before finally finding it, feeling as though I had lost it forever.
I couldn't keep track of how much time had passed as I lay in bed, crying until I was too exhausted to continue. Memories from my entire life flashed through my mind. Eventually, I mustered the strength to get up and undress. First, I removed my scarf and jacket and hung them on the rack. Then, I took off my boots and placed them neatly by the entrance. Returning to the bedroom, I unbuttoned my shirt and stepped out of my jeans. After carefully folding both items, I set them on the bed next to my belt.
I carefully removed my rings from my fingers and placed them on a small shell-shaped plate on my nightstand. Following suit, I took off my earrings and set them next to the rings. Before leaving the room, I scanned every inch of the space shared with my sister, then repeated the process for the rest of the apartment. Making my way to the bathroom, I discarded my underwear and socks in the hamper and faced the only mirror in the house. With trembling hands, I applied makeup as I had when I was with him, examining my entire body in the harsh light of the bulb above. My skin was unnaturally pale under it, making me look even more lifeless than I felt. I never liked how I looked before, but now I despised myself entirely. The bones in my shoulders and hips protruded sharply; even a child could easily count all my ribs. My sternum jutted out painfully, adorned with the chain necklace that was holding my engagement ring.
I glanced down at my legs, marveling that they were able to hold me up. My body was mere skin and bones, and I couldn't help but feel nauseous at the sight of my emaciated form. I dragged myself towards the bathtub and turned on the water, catching another glimpse of my reflection in the mirror as I did so.
I was disgraceful.
I was just a "corpse."
With a sharp tug, the mirror crashed to the ground in pieces. I headed over to my medicine cabinet and grabbed several bottles without bothering to read their labels. In one swift motion, I swallowed them all with a glass of water. As the tub filled with water, I picked out a larger piece of the broken mirror and carefully stepped into the tub.
A sense of numbness washed over me as I allowed the flames to flicker in my free hand. My mind was blank, which only made me more uneasy. I glanced at the shard in my grasp and then pressed it firmly against my skin. Blood trickled down my arm from the cuts, but I didn't flinch or stop.
I observed as it dripped down my entire, emaciated arm and disappeared into the water below. A wave of nausea washed over me, and my vision became blurry. I was completely unaware of what I was doing, drifting into a deep slumber. With my remaining strength, I grasped the shard with my other hand and dragged it across my left arm, mirroring the wounds on my right arm.
My phone buzzed, and my first thought was that I had forgotten to pay the rent again. It was always the landlady calling me, after all. Despite this, I felt an unusual sense of calm within myself. It was a feeling I had never experienced before. In that moment, I felt at ease with the idea of death approaching, almost welcoming it with open arms.
At last, I was taking care of myself.
I was letting go of my burdens.
I struggled to look around and noticed that the water surrounding me had turned a deep shade of red. Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smile before exhaustion overtook me, and I closed my eyes. Suddenly, strong arms lifted me out of the tub and wrapped a warm robe around me. Through my foggy state, I could hear someone frantically calling for an ambulance, saving me from what could have been my final moments. Before drifting off to sleep, I felt a sense of relief wash over me.
When I finally opened my eyes, I was met with the sight of my ex-fiancé yelling at me. In the midst of all the chaos and agony, I couldn't help but blurt out those three words: "I love you."
As if watching a movie, the memories replayed in my mind. I looked back at Blaze, and he seemed to hold his breath, anticipating my next words. It was odd to see him so quiet and focused; usually, he was cracking jokes or teasing me. But now, his demeanor was serious and uncharacteristic.
"That was the only thing I could recall before waking up in the hospital bed several days later. They said I was close to dying, but I knew that already," I explained to him.
And now, years later, I could smell that unmistakable smell. The smell was like a perfume, a perfume whose scent was unbearable but at the same time hard to repel.
It was like the smell of damp earth, full of the weight of countless memories and echoes of goodbyes. It carried the muffled notes of withered flowers.
I breathed in deeply, feeling that the air was charged with the bittersweet aroma of the end of life, a solemn mix of weathered wood, moth-eaten fabric, and the smell of extinguished candles.
It was the scent of absence, of a void that could not be filled, a scent that lingers long after the echoes of mourning have faded.
I took another sip from the drink Blaze had made for me, hoping it would numb the ache in my soul. Despite its sweet taste, it felt as bitter as gall on my tongue. But even with alcohol coursing through my veins, I couldn't escape the overwhelming emotions that consumed me.
I shifted my focus to him, hoping for understanding or at least some sympathy. Instead, I was met with a cold, hostile glare that revealed nothing of his true feelings—was he angry with me for my recklessness, or still harboring resentment towards my ex-fiancé?
I knew he took pleasure in watching others suffer, but as I shared my story with him, it was clear that he found no enjoyment in it. I recounted the visits from my ex while I was hospitalized, our attempts at therapy, and the medication that left me numb. My ex had promised to help me get back on my feet if I got better, and amazingly, those promises were fulfilled.
Tears cascaded down my cheeks as I revisited these agonizing memories, finally recognizing my own naivety and desperation. My carefully applied makeup is likely ruined by now.
Even though nothing can truly erase the scars of my past, opening up and sharing my story brought me some sense of release. It was a small but significant step towards moving on from that time and freeing myself from its hold.
He grabbed the glass out of my hand and forcefully set it down on the table in front of us. With his other hand, he gently traced the scars that still marked my arm from that fateful night. As his fingers brushed over them, I felt a warmth spread through my skin, sending tingles up my spine.
"Let me numb your pain," he growled, leaning in for a rough kiss that left me breathless. He enveloped me in a tight embrace, his hold firm enough to potentially leave bruises, as he kissed me with an insatiable hunger. I sensed a brooding and dangerous energy within him, but I didn't mind. The intoxicating scent of his presence was all-consuming, enough to muddle my thoughts.
As our lips separated, I noticed a shift in his gaze—a gleam of something that both frightened and fascinated me.
"You know, back then I didn't understand that you can't just give up when things get tough. But now I realize that true love isn't about not having problems—it's about fighting together to overcome them," I told him.
I picked up the glass and downed the remaining contents, still trying to drown out the memories that threatened to overwhelm me. But before I could put the glass down, Blaze's rough lips were on mine, then he moved hungrily down my neck. His touch lit a familiar fire inside me.
Blaze was undeniably attractive, but it was just a momentary diversion in the grand scheme of things.
"Who are you really talking about? Who's your ex-fiancé?" Blaze's voice was demanding, interrupting our heated kiss.
I hesitated, unsure if I should reveal the truth and risk losing Blaze too. He put his hand on my leg, squeezing gently, as if giving me courage.
"He's your brother," I finally confessed, avoiding his piercing gaze.
For a moment, Blaze said nothing as he processed my words, but his grip on my leg had become almost painful. Then he spoke in a low, dangerous tone.
"Caleb?"
My throat felt parched as I regretted my slip-up. However, there was no way to take back what I had just revealed. The cat was out of the bag, and there would be consequences that I couldn't escape from.