Days We Can't Reclaim

chapter 1

I watch his retreating back, growing increasingly distant, while the echoes of mocking laughter persistently grow stronger. I feel utterly pathetic, consumed by a profound sense of sorrow, standing there as if awaiting salvation, knowing deep down that it will never come. Perhaps what crushes me the most is the realization that, after all this, I am solely reliant on myself.

That I have nothing to count on.

I shake myself off, though not entirely, as I still foolishly gaze at the small, moving dot that was recently a boy for whom I was willing to bend all the rules, and who, in one gesture, shattered the peace I had barely managed to build.

And it was really good. Calm. Safe. Pleasant.

It was so wonderful that, at times, I doubted if it was truly reality.

And rightfully so.

Because, as it turned out that day, the entire idyll was merely an illusion, behind which lurked the most genuine nightmare.

***

I am simultaneously so sleepy and tired that I can't tell if the screams coming from behind the wall are real or if those voices are only screaming in my head, although they might as well be the result of pressure, and the voice — a dull squeak. Bottles of beer scattered on the floor do not make things any easier; I stumble over them every few steps and walk unsteadily, unstably. My face burns, and my throat feels like it's on fire. Thirst constantly begs for a sip of a cold drink, though my body would gladly accept water, including my sweaty and most likely smelly clothes. And I was supposed to lie down just for a moment!

On the windowsill, I spot my phone. Hidden notifications flash at me from a distance, so I pick up the device and quickly unlock the screen to see a few missed calls from my mom and a message urging me to contact her as soon as possible. I furrow my brows, wondering what it could be about, and go to the contact list. But before I can call back, the cellphone starts vibrating. I pull the call icon to the side and bring the device to my ear.

A sigh of relief is the first thing I hear.

"I was afraid I would have to call all your friends," she says. There's no anger or annoyance in her voice, but rather weariness and quite noticeable tension. "I know you were supposed to stay overnight at Clay's, and I'm sorry for probably waking you up, but... something urgent came up. Can you gather yourself? I can even pick you up."

I panic, looking around. A few soaked individuals lie on the couch. Some girl, whom I don't recognize at all, scratches her buttocks in her sleep, and right after that, she knocks over a beer can with her hand, which then falls to the floor with a crash, rolling around. I almost choke at that sight.

"That's not necessary," I respond, waving my hand as if my mom could see it. "I'm close by, so I'll be there soon."

"Alright. That's good. It's truly important, so... hurry, alright? We need to talk."

I start nodding, then move the phone away from my ear and end the call. I wouldn't be surprised if mom gets terrified by my wretched appearance, but it seems important. I haven't had a drink, so the only problem is these crumpled rags that until recently resembled clothes. Eventually, I'll blame it all on a brisk walk; after all, my condition is not the best. Mom wouldn't sit by the phone waiting for my response for God knows how long if there wasn't something significant at stake.

Suddenly, it's as if I gained sobriety, and with slightly better control over my legs, I cut through the entire corridor. I carelessly put on a thin jacket, not even bothering to tie my shoes; I simply tuck the laces into the sides, fully aware that they'll slip out soon, and I leave. Out of curiosity, I glance at the display. It's 4 a.m. The sky is still covered in a deep, dark navy blue, pure and flawless; the stars are not visible, mainly due to the multitude of neighborhood lamps. I pull the hood over my head and immediately pick up the pace.