WOULD YOU RESCUE ME?

22.Broken Open

The moment Astra walked out and the door clicked shut, Vanessa felt as though a dam had burst inside her chest. The absence seemed to fill the room, pressing in around her until she crumbled onto the couch, knees drawn tightly against her, arms wrapped around herself as if she were the only thing holding her own broken pieces together. She tried to swallow back the wave of emotion, but it surged up, a quiet gasp breaking into sobs that racked her body. Each cry brought with it a jagged pain from her still-healing ribs, a reminder of her fragility, both inside and out. She pressed her hand to her side instinctively, but it felt like pouring salt on an open wound, the physical and emotional pains tangled together, amplifying each other until she couldn't tell one from the other.

It took an eternity, maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more; time stretched painfully in the depths of grief, for her breathing to even out. Slowly, the sobs quieted to a soft, hollow ache, like a dying ember. She sat up, wincing as a sharp pang ran through her side, and glanced around. The room felt heavy, as if the very walls had absorbed her sorrow, and in the reflection of the rain-speckled window, her own swollen, tear-streaked face stared back, almost unrecognizable.

She reached for her notebook, feeling its familiar weight in her hands. It was grounding, the ritual of writing something she had clung to through so many dark moments. She flipped to a fresh page, her hand trembling as she put pen to paper, letting her thoughts spill out in fragmented lines: messy, raw, and jagged like the wounds in her heart. Words like betrayal, why, and I am never enough bled onto the page in her hurried scrawl, each one underlined as though emphasis could ease the ache.

Tears continued to fall as she wrote, blotting the ink in places, but she kept going, her emotions slowly pouring out onto the page. Each word felt like a stitch in a wound that stubbornly refused to close. When her thoughts finally ran dry, she stared down at the filled page, the ink-stained confessions that she could never speak aloud. Gently, she closed the notebook, her fingers lingering on its cover, as though it might offer some kind of unspoken answer.

The urge for something stronger than comfort crept over her then, a need for something to quiet the storm inside. She moved carefully, her body heavy with exhaustion, to grab her packet of rolling papers and a pinch of tobacco. Rolling a cigarette was a familiar ritual, and the act of crafting it steadied her hands. She set the cigarette down and poured herself a small glass of whiskey, watching as the amber liquid caught the faint gray light from outside, its warmth promising a brief escape.

She stepped onto her tiny balcony, rain pattering softly around her, misting the pavement with a slick sheen. She could feel the drizzle against her skin, a light, cold bite, but it felt somehow right, like the world was echoing her own tears. She sank down onto the damp pavement, uncaring of the wet that seeped through her clothes. Lighting the cigarette, she inhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around her, a thin haze between herself and the world outside. She took a small sip of whiskey, feeling its burn cut through the dull ache in her chest, replacing it with a fleeting warmth.

Raindrops continued to fall, a gentle, rhythmic patter that softened the silence. By the time she finished her cigarette, the pain, both physical and emotional, had dulled to a manageable numbness. Her ribs still ached, a muted reminder, but her heartache was swathed in the fog of whiskey and rain. She rose slowly, testing her strength, and decided she needed to get out, to move, to be anywhere but here.

With her jacket pulled close, she set out on her bike, riding fast through the rain-soaked streets. She passed familiar corners, each turn loosening some knot inside her, the chill air sharp against her skin but strangely comforting. Raindrops misted her face, mingling with remnants of tears she didn't bother to wipe away. She pedaled toward Dublin's main square, seeking some semblance of comfort in its bustling presence.