ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ

27

It was almost night when I woke, the room bathed in the quiet, melancholic glow of twilight that blurs the lines between dreams and reality. I blinked up at the ceiling, watching as the dusky light filtered through the curtains, painting shadows that stretched like the remnants of a dream slipping from my grasp. How long had I been asleep? It felt as though exhaustion had seeped into my very bones, pulling me under again and again, as if sleep was the only refuge from the tangled mess of emotions I wasn’t ready to face. I had woken at 1 PM, but the fatigue had swallowed me whole once more, drowning me in a restless haze.

I sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken hurt as I pulled myself from the bed, the weight of his absence pressing down on me. I hadn’t forgiven him—not really—because he hadn’t asked for forgiveness. He hadn’t even acknowledged the deep wound he’d carved into my heart, the pain still raw and aching. And yet, despite everything, I found myself wondering—what had gone so wrong? What had twisted inside him to make him this way? This wasn’t the Michael I knew, or maybe it was, and I just hadn’t seen it before.

I was disappointed—more than disappointed. I was hurt. He had left without a word, without even a hint of explanation, as though what we had shared meant nothing. The silence was deafening, filling the empty spaces between us with questions I was too afraid to ask. And I couldn’t help but feel a deep, hollow ache in my chest, wondering why I still cared so much.

I dressed slowly, the motions automatic, like a puppet on strings, my mind still lost in the labyrinth of disappointment that curled around my thoughts. The apartment was so quiet it felt suffocating, the silence pressing in on me like a second skin. I made my way to the kitchen, my stomach growling from the emptiness, both physical and emotional. The pangs of hunger reminded me of our trip—whatever that had been—a blur of confusion and moments that were too fleeting to hold on to.

I had just started making something to eat when my phone buzzed on the counter, the sudden noise shattering the stillness like glass. It was George.

“Did Michael come there?” His voice was a mixture of concern and something else—something that made my chest tighten.

“Yes, he came,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “But he… he left. Without saying anything.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the silence thick and heavy with unspoken words. “Did he apologize?” George finally asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat making it difficult to speak. “No. He didn’t.”

George sighed, the sound carrying the weight of disappointment and helplessness. “I’m sorry, Em. I don’t know what’s going on with him. But… just take care of yourself, okay?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I will.”

After the call ended, I stood there for a long moment, the phone still clutched in my hand, staring at the empty apartment around me. It felt too big, too hollow, as if the walls were closing in, as if the memories were too loud. The next few days passed in a blur of numbness, my thoughts circling around Michael, around the ache that wouldn’t quite leave me alone.

But the next scene of my life—the next twist of fate—came sooner than I expected. I was at the Bellic Bean Cafe, lost in the monotony of my duties, my hands moving on autopilot as I tried to keep my mind from wandering. The door chimed as customers came and went, their faces blurring together, just another part of the background noise.

Then my phone rang—a call from an unknown number. I wiped my hands on my apron, picking it up with a quick, distracted, “Hello?”

“Is this Emily?” The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, laced with urgency and something darker—something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s your mom’s neighbor. I… I’m so sorry, but she’s… she’s gone. Overdosed on drugs and alcohol. She didn’t make it.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, the breath leaving my lungs in a rush. Gone? My mind couldn’t process the word, couldn’t wrap around the reality of it. My mom? My mind screamed in denial, but my body betrayed me, going limp as the world tilted and spun out of control.

“I’m so sorry…” the voice continued, but I didn’t hear it, didn’t register anything beyond the raw, burning pain that seared through me. The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor, and I dropped to my knees, the tears coming in a rush, hot and unstoppable.

I could barely breathe, could barely think, as the grief tore through me like a storm, wild and relentless. The cafe around me seemed to dissolve, the noise and the people fading into the background as I was swallowed whole by the sorrow that threatened to drown me.

Mrs. Evana, rushed over, her voice frantic with concern. “Emily, what happened? Are you okay?”

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, choked off by the sobs that wracked my body. And then, everything went black.

When I woke up, the world was soft and blurry, the harsh edges smoothed out by the lingering effects of unconsciousness.
I was in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils, the beeping of monitors a steady, calming rhythm in the background.I saw the worried face of Olivia,asking me if i was fine.

I blinked, struggling to stitch together the jagged fragments of my broken thoughts, but the pain lingered—a relentless, throbbing ache that echoed with every beat of my weary heart. My mother was gone.And Michael? He was a ghost, a shadow slipping further away with each passing second, leaving me to wonder if he even cared, if he even knew.

The world had grown colder, a desolate place where the warmth had seeped out, leaving me to drift aimlessly through the ruins of a life that once shimmered with hope. But now, I was tired—tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of holding onto the pieces that no longer fit together.

I needed a break, a breath, a moment to escape the weight crushing down on me. Before I returned home to lay my mother to rest, I would find that quiet place—where I could let go, if only for a while, before facing the final goodbye.