Fragments of Us ⏩ Max Verstappen

5. Return to Cornelia Street

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The decision was made, and with it, a heavy sigh escaped my lips. I knew what I had to do next. It was time to leave the sanctuary of my Rhode Island home and return to the chaotic embrace of New York City. The very thought of stepping foot into my Cornelia Street apartment again twisted my stomach into knots. That place was a sanctuary too, but a different kind—a shrine to memories that now felt like they belonged to someone else, someone who still believed in forever.

I lingered by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Rhode Island house, taking in the sweeping view of the ocean. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, a soothing backdrop to my turbulent thoughts. This house had been my refuge, a cocoon where I tried to hide from the reality of a world without Max. But now, it was time to face that reality head-on.

With a deep breath, I turned away from the windows and began packing my things. Meredith and Benji, my beloved cats, watched me with wide, curious eyes as I moved around the room, gathering my belongings. They had become my silent companions in this period of heartbreak, their presence a comforting reminder of the life and love I once had. I crouched down and scratched behind Meredith's ears, and she purred softly, leaning into my touch.

"Time to go back, my babies," I whispered, feeling the weight of the words settle over me. "We have work to do."

I thought about Cornelia Street and the life I had built with Max in that apartment. It was where we had fallen in love, where we danced barefoot in the kitchen, twirling each other around in a blissful, private world. I remembered rainy summer nights on the terrace, where we laughed and danced, soaked to the bone but happier than ever. It was the place where we snuggled up in front of the TV, binge-watching our favorite shows, our laughter echoing through the rooms.

The kitchen was a place of countless feasts, where we hosted dinners for our families. We'd cooked together, laughed together, and built a life that felt solid and unbreakable. It was also where I wrote the song "Cornelia Street," a love letter to the life we had shared, filled with promises and dreams. I laughed bitterly at the irony of it all. I once sang about how I'd never walk Cornelia Street again if I ever lost him. Now, I had no choice but to walk that street, to face the ghosts of what once was.

I made the decision then and there. I would sell the Cornelia Street apartment. I couldn't live with those memories hanging over me like a dark cloud. The chapter had to end for me to begin anew.

With a heavy heart, I packed my things, taking care to gather everything that mattered to me. My sister Katie came along, her presence a welcome comfort. She was more than just my moral support; she was my unofficial social media photographer, capturing moments of my life with a lens of love and understanding.

As I prepared to leave, my parents stood by, their faces lined with concern. My dad, Richard, gave me a tight hug, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. "Promise us you'll take care of yourself, Aria," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"I promise, Dad," I replied, my voice trembling slightly. "I'll be okay. I have to be."

My mom, Lily, enveloped me in a warm embrace, her eyes misty. "We're here for you, no matter what," she whispered. "Remember that."

I nodded, holding back tears. "I know. Thank you."

Holly, my publicist, had already gone ahead to New York to arrange things for me. The world was buzzing with speculation since it had been almost five weeks since I had last been seen or active on social media. There were countless theories, rumors swirling about my sudden disappearance. I knew I had to face the public again, to show them that I was still standing, still fighting.

As we boarded the private jet, I felt a mix of anxiety and determination settle over me. I curled up in the comfortable seat, Benji nestled in my lap, his warm body a comforting weight against my own. I stroked his soft fur, letting the repetitive motion soothe my racing thoughts.

"Ready to go back to the madness, Benji?" I murmured, smiling sadly as he looked up at me with his big, trusting eyes. "We've got a lot to do."

The jet engines roared to life, and as we lifted off, I stared out the window at the receding coastline. My mind swirled with thoughts of the album I was about to promote, the tour I was determined to make happen.

"Midnights" would be my way of telling the world my story, one sleepless night at a time. Each song a chapter of my journey, a reflection of the pain, the loss, and the hope that lingered even in the darkest moments.

Katie sat across from me, her phone in hand, ready to capture our return to the city. I knew she was worried about me, about my drinking and the rapid weight loss that had come with the heartbreak. My team had made it clear that if I wanted to make this tour a reality, I needed to take care of myself, to get back to a place of health and strength.

As the city skyline came into view, a mix of fear and anticipation settled in my chest. I was about to face a world that had been speculating about my absence, a world that would be watching my every move. But I was ready to face it, ready to take control of my life again.

With Benji still curled in my lap, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and finally for the first time in weeks I let myself drift away into a deep slumber not induced by alcohol.