Valentina Anderson tried to end her life on the same day as Hannah Baker, but survived to face a world unraveling with secrets. She never imagined her life would be defined by loss. First, it was Jeff Atkins, the love of her life, tragically taken i...
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I woke up in the middle of the night. Since I started taking the sleeping pills, it never happened. I drank some water and tried to fall back asleep, but it just wasn’t working. I stared at the ceiling, feeling restless, empty. My eyes drifted to Julian, his little body curled up beside me, sound asleep. Slowly, I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and tiptoed out of the room.
Downstairs, I turned on the TV, hoping the noise would drown out the thoughts running wild in my head. But nothing helped. I still felt the same—alone. The loneliness was suffocating, and thoughts I thought I had buried came creeping back. I shouldn't be here, I thought. I should have died. I should have succeeded. If the pills didn’t work, maybe I could do it like Hannah did—sharp, clean, final.
I stared at the screen, lost in my mind when I heard soft footsteps.
“Tina?” Julian’s small voice broke through the haze.
I turned to see him coming down the stairs, rubbing his eyes.
“Hey, Julian. Why are you awake?” I quickly muted the TV and got up, guilt washing over me.
He stood in front of me, looking confused, his face still sleepy. "What are you doing here?"
"I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, trying to sound casual.
“Why?” he asked, the innocence in his voice making my heart ache.
I picked him up and set him beside me on the couch, wrapping my arms around him. “I don’t know. I woke up thirsty, and after that, I just couldn’t go back to sleep.”
“Is it because of Jeff again?” Julian asked quietly, looking up at me.
His words caught me off guard. I stared at him, shocked. “Why do you ask that, Jules?”
“Are you going to die again?”
His question cut through me like a knife. My breath caught in my throat. I had been so absorbed in my own grief, in my loss, that I hadn’t considered how much my actions had affected him.
“What are you saying, Jules?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“I remember it all,” he said softly, eyes wide and serious. “That day. You wouldn’t talk to me. Mom was hitting your face, trying to wake you up. She pushed you into the tub. I was so scared.”
I realized, in that moment, that Julian had seen everything—my mother’s desperate attempts to save me after I took the pills. He had been there, watching it all unfold.
“Julian…” I began, my voice cracking. “I didn’t know you remembered.”
“I remember,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why I started sleeping with you. Every night, I wake up. I check if you’re still here.”
