IRREVERSIBLE (BXB)

SCENES

Sky was chilling in his apartment, the flicker of the television casting a warm glow across the room. He could still picture the look of disappointment in Liam's eyes earlier that day. As he was mulling over this, his phone buzzed. Liam's name flashed on the screen. Sky hesitated but picked up.

"Hey, Liam," Sky said, trying to sound casual.

"Sky, we need to talk," Liam's voice was tense, almost urgent. "Can you meet tomorrow?"

Sky paused, the weight of the day pressing down on him. "Yeah, I guess. Tomorrow works."

"Great. I'll see you at noon," Liam replied, relief mingled with urgency in his tone. "This is really important, Sky. Don't be late."

"Okay, tomorrow it is," Sky agreed, sensing something serious was at play.

As he hung up, Sky felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach. He turned back to the TV, where a drama movie was playing, one he had seen countless times. It was one of his mother's favorites. The familiar scenes brought back a flood of memories of his mom, Melissa, and the life they used to share before her sudden, tragic death at Lumina Vista Hospital.

Melissa had been a brilliant doctor, passionate about her work and fiercely protective of her patients. Sky had always admired her dedication, though it often meant long hours away from home. He remembered the nights she would come home late, exhausted but always with a smile for him. They would sit on the couch and watch movies together, just like he was doing now. Those were the times he felt closest to her.

The memory of her death still felt like a punch to the gut. It had been so unexpected. One day she was there, vibrant and full of life, and the next, she was gone. The hospital had called it an accident, but Sky had always felt there was something more to it, something unspoken.

Sky's eyes welled up with tears as the movie reached its emotional climax. He tried to hold back, but the floodgates opened, and he cried his heart out. The loss of his mother was a wound that never seemed to heal. Each tear was a mix of grief and frustration, his body shaking with the force of his sobs.

After what felt like an eternity, the tears subsided. He felt hollowed out, his body aching from the emotional release. The movie had ended, and the room was now silent except for the occasional sniffle from him. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt and looked around his apartment. It felt empty, despite being filled with memories.

Needing some semblance of comfort, Sky reached for his bottle of sleeping pills. The prescription had been a lifeline in the months following his mom's death, helping him cope with the sleepless nights and the relentless pain of her absence. He knew it wasn't a long-term solution, but right now, he didn't care. He just wanted to escape the gnawing ache in his chest, if only for a few hours.

Sky took a couple of pills, swallowing them dry. He climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. The weight of the blankets was comforting, like a protective shield against the world. He stared at the ceiling, his mind drifting back to his mother and the mysterious circumstances surrounding her death.

As the medication began to take effect, his thoughts grew fuzzy, the edges of his consciousness blurring. His eyelids grew heavy, and he could feel himself being pulled into the darkness of sleep. Just before he drifted off, he thought about Liam's call and the urgency in his voice. What could be so important that it couldn't wait? And why did it feel like it was connected to his mom?

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Sky finally succumbed to sleep, the promise of tomorrow hanging heavy in the air.

LIAM'S POV
Stacy crashed over at my place, knowing that the next day's meeting with Sky was crucial. As she settled in, she turned to me with a worried expression.

"Are we going to tell him everything?" she asked, her voice low and serious.

"Of course not," I replied firmly. "We wouldn't tell him anything. He just lost his mom. Let's not pressure him with too much information at once."

Stacy nodded, seeming relieved but still uneasy. She took out her phone and dialed her boss. "Hey, it's Stacy. I won't be able to make it for the night shift. Something urgent came up." She listened for a moment, then added, "Thanks, I appreciate it." She hung up, looking more relaxed.

We decided to distract ourselves with a movie, hoping it would take our minds off the weight of the journal and the impending conversation with Sky. I popped some popcorn and dimmed the lights, trying to create a cozy atmosphere despite the tension in the air. We picked a light-hearted comedy, something to lift our spirits, if only temporarily.

As the movie started, the aroma of buttery popcorn filled the room. Stacy and I settled into the couch, the familiar routine of movie night bringing a semblance of normalcy. We laughed at the jokes, letting the humor wash over us, but my mind kept drifting back to the journal and the dark secrets it contained.

Stacy glanced at me, her face illuminated by the flickering screen. "Do you think he'll be okay?" she asked softly.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know. This is a lot for anyone to handle, especially someone who just lost a parent."

She nodded, leaning her head against the back of the couch. "We'll get through this," she said, more to herself than to me.

The movie continued, and gradually, the tension began to ease. The characters on screen faced their own absurd challenges, their exaggerated antics drawing genuine laughter from both of us. It was a temporary reprieve, a brief escape from the heavy reality waiting for us.

At one point, Stacy shifted closer, resting her head on my shoulder. It was a comforting gesture, one that reminded me of the bond we shared. I wrapped an arm around her, grateful for her presence. Despite the uncertainty and fear, moments like this made me feel like we could face anything together.

As the movie neared its end, our laughter grew softer, replaced by a comfortable silence. The weight of the day's events and the anticipation of tomorrow settled over us, a shared burden that felt slightly lighter because we were carrying it together.

Stacy yawned, her eyes drooping. "I'm exhausted," she murmured.

"Me too," I admitted. "But we'll figure this out. One step at a time."

She nodded sleepily, her head resting against my chest now. The credits rolled, and the room was bathed in the soft glow of the television. Outside, the city was quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside my mind.

As the final scenes played out, I felt my own eyelids growing heavy. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and the warmth of Stacy's presence made it even more inviting. I let out a deep breath, the tension in my muscles finally relaxing.

Stacy's breathing had already evened out, her soft snores a soothing background noise. I adjusted the blanket over us, making sure she was warm. The last thing I remembered was the sound of the TV softly playing in the background, the characters' voices melding into a gentle hum.

With Stacy's head on my shoulder and the comforting weight of the blanket, I finally allowed myself to relax completely. My eyes fluttered shut, and I drifted off, the worries of tomorrow momentarily forgotten as sleep took over. We dozed off on the couch, the movie long forgotten, finding solace in each other's presence amidst the chaos surrounding us.