The Night We Met by Ruero

Chapter 19: Unforgivable Mistake.

The entire shift, my brain was like a malfunctioning machine stuck on one thought—was I about to make the worst decision of my life? The mundane tasks at work blurred into an endless loop as I wrestled with the morality of what I'd done—or, more accurately, what I was planning to do. The syringe and the pills haunted me, like creepy little ghosts, constantly reminding me of the line I was about to cross. But Derek deserved it, didn't he? That's what I kept telling myself, even if it sounded like a bad excuse in my own head.

When my shift finally ended, I stumbled home, fully expecting to collapse into bed and knock out. But surprise, surprise—sleep was playing hard to get. I was exhausted—physically drained from the long hours and emotionally spent from the mental wrestling match I'd been enduring—but my brain refused to shut up. Instead, I found myself staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that I wasn't a terrible person.

I glanced over at the ticket Derek had shoved at me, still lying on my desk like a discarded piece of trash. The name "Jane" was scrawled on it in what could only be described as the handwriting of a drunken chicken. Who the hell was Jane? I wondered if this ticket had originally belonged to her. Maybe she'd rejected Derek's invite, and in typical jerk fashion, he'd handed it off to me like a consolation prize. Derek probably juggled girls the way I juggled excuses for being late to work. The guy was a douche, no question, but the uneasy feeling in my chest wouldn't go away.

I grabbed the ticket and shoved it into my wallet, as if stuffing it out of sight could also shove it out of my mind. It didn't matter who Jane was or why Derek had given me the ticket. What mattered was what I was going to do next—if I had the guts to follow through with it.

I closed my eyes, determined to shut out the world and find some rest. Eventually, after what felt like hours of tossing, turning, and mentally composing angry letters to the Sandman, sleep finally claimed me. But it brought no comfort—only restless dreams of moral dilemmas, syringes, and Derek's smug face.

I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing like it was auditioning to be the lead in a horror movie. Groggily, I reached over and answered, my voice thick with sleep. "Hello?" I mumbled, not even bothering to check the caller ID.

"Good morning," came a sweet voice from the other end, instantly pulling me from my half-asleep state. Angelica. Her voice was like a shot of espresso straight to my heart.

"Hey, morning," I replied, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. My brain was still catching up, but the stupid grin on my face was already in full swing.

"Did you just wake up?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

"No," I lied, terribly. It was obvious I had just woken up, probably with drool on my pillow and everything.

"Don't lie, Ethan. I can hear that attractive sleepy male voice," she teased, her tone playful.

I blushed, even though I knew she couldn't see me. "What? Lol," I mumbled, because apparently, my brain decided that was the perfect response.

"Do you have any plans for today?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

"Uh, no..." I began, my mind still sluggish. But then, like a bolt of lightning, I remembered the boxing match. "Oh, actually, I do. I'm going to see a boxing match this evening."

"Since when did you become a boxing fan?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised. Fair question—I wasn't exactly known for my love of violent sports.

"I just want to try it out," I said, trying to sound casual, like I hadn't just pulled that excuse out of thin air.

"Can I join?" she asked, catching me completely off guard.