The Gravity Of Alana

Chapter 1

"Ring, ring, ring." My eight o'clock alarm blared, jolting me awake. It felt like I'd only closed my eyes ten minutes ago.

"Elena! You're going to be late for work, and breakfast is ready!" Aunt Liz's voice floated down the hall, cheerful as ever. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow for one more blessed second. Where does she get that kind of energy so early? I forced myself out of bed, dragging my feet across the cool wooden floor towards the bathroom. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I sighed. My dark hair was a mess, tangled from sleep and framing my face in a way that made me look slightly haunted, with shadows under my eyes that hinted at too many nights spent tossing and turning. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the faint line of a crease left by the pillow, and then turned on the shower.

As the hot water poured over me, I closed my eyes, letting the steam wrap around me like a blanket. Mornings were always the hardest part of the day, the moments when the memories crept in before I had the energy to push them away. I scrubbed at my skin as if washing off the remnants of another restless night, and by the time I stepped out, I felt a little more awake, a little more ready to face whatever Alana had in store. I dressed in my favourite sky-blue dress, a soft, comfortable thing that cinched slightly at the waist and fell just above my knees. It was simple, but professional enough for the office, with short sleeves and a collar that framed the delicate silver necklace I always wore a gift from Aunt Liz years ago, a small charm in the shape of a seashell. I ran a comb through my hair, smoothing it down into a sleek, dark sheet that reached just past my shoulders. My eyes, a deep brown, still looked tired, but I dabbed on a bit of concealer and hoped it would be enough to fool Aunt Liz.

Finally, I slipped on a pair of black flats, scuffed from too much wear but reliable and comfortable. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. Not bad, I thought, tilting my head slightly. My skin had the faint olive undertone of my mother's side, a subtle hint of my family's Mediterranean roots, though I'd long since lost the summer tan I used to wear as a kid running around this very town.

By the time I made it downstairs, the aroma of coffee and toast had filled the air, and I felt a little more put together, though the tiredness lingered behind my eyes like a shadow I couldn't quite shake. Aunt Liz was at the dining table with her morning coffee, her eyes crinkling as she looked up at me. I settled in across from her, picking at my toast. I could tell something was on her mind.

"Aunt Liz, I know that silence. What's up?" I asked, bracing myself.

She put down her mug and reached across the table, her hand warm and steady as she took mine.

"Are you sure you're okay, coming back to this town?" she asked, her gaze searching. "It's okay not to be okay, you know."

I wanted to reassure her, but the words got stuck. What good would it do to worry her more?

"I'm fine, Aunt Liz," I said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "That was years ago."

She nodded, but the worry didn't leave her eyes. I finished my breakfast in silence, kissed her cheek, and grabbed my things. As I stepped outside, the warm morning air wrapped around me, carrying the faint scent of saltwater. Alana looked almost the same as it had when I left. Friendly, golden, and bathed in sunlight like it was trying to pretend nothing had ever gone wrong.

The engine hummed to life as I slid into my car and backed out of Aunt Liz's driveway. The streets of Alana were quiet this early in the morning, still stretching awake under the sun's gentle warmth. I rolled down the windows, letting the salty breeze ruffle my hair. That smell, sun-warmed ocean air, mixed with a faint tang of fish from the docks, was something I'd missed without even realizing it.

Driving through the narrow, winding streets was like navigating a living memory. I passed Henry's Diner, its red sign faded from years of salt and sun. It looked just the same as it had when I was a teenager sneaking out with friends for late-night milkshakes. I half-expected to see old Henry himself waving from behind the counter, just as he used to do, but the diner's windows were empty, curtains drawn.