faded echoes ¦ sk x ks

CHAPTER 24

As the car faded from Orm’s sight, the crushing weight of reality descended upon her like the torrential rain. She sank to her knees, her hands clutching at the cold, slick pavement beneath her. Her body trembled with the rawness of her grief, but she didn’t care. The rain poured down in thick sheets, but she welcomed it—letting the drops mix with her tears, letting the cold wash over her as if she could drown the pain in the storm.

Her cries were silent, broken sobs wracking her fragile form. Each tear was a silent plea for something that would never return. Her composed face now twisted in despair with a display of one who had lost everything and was too exhausted to pretend otherwise. She stayed there, still, as the rain poured down, letting herself soak through from head to toe. The world receded into a blur of lights and sounds that she felt could never reach the natural emptiness inside her. She looked like a lost child, abandoned by the very thing that had once been her anchor.

In the convulsions of her breathing, between each ragged intake of air, she was repeating Ling's name, whispering it out into the darkness as if the words could somehow recover her. But deep within Orm, she knew the truth: hope was an oasis of mirages, dancing before her eyes, just beyond reach. She'd convinced herself it would be possible. Thought she could make things right. But she was wrong. She only made it worse. She had been selfish. She had added to the weight of Ling's suffering, and now it was too late to undo the damage. Orm didn't care if someone saw her, though. She no longer cared about her image or what people thought. All that mattered was the torment inside her chest, the deep, gnawing pain that seemed to have no end. The world could judge her all it wanted; she was beyond caring. She was crumbling under the weight of her own mistakes, and nothing could change that now.

She looked completely lost—worse than she ever had before. The person she was, the person she had hoped to be, seemed so far removed from who she was now. She was a shell, a hollow version of the confident, strong person she once was. If anyone were to see her in this state, they wouldn't offer words of comfort. They would only pity her, for they would see what she already knew: she had failed.

Meanwhile, Ling was inside the club, following her sibling and Milk's girlfriend, her footsteps slow and deliberate.

She didn't care where she was going, only that she needed to escape. The noise of the club, the pounding music, the chatter—it all felt so distant, so muffled, like a world she no longer belonged to. She wanted to forget, if only for a moment, and so she drowned herself in alcohol. Milk, ever the understanding sister, said nothing. She simply sat beside Ling and silently supported her, a calm presence in the storm of despair. Milk felt the weight of pity for her sister.

This was something she had seen so many times: her sister sinking into that black hole. The sight still always hurt each time. She was the one who'd always held things together. Milk stood by helplessly now, while Ling sucked back glass after glass of hard liquor, drink after drink. Nothing so piercing and pungent could muffle the hollow hurt that pounded away inside. Not that anyone heard anything but Ling.

No glance her way, she sipped away in her corner of silence. She drank with each glass, with every shot, to forget, to quiet the screams in her head. The pain was crushing. She wanted to disappear into a world of nothingness, just for a little while, losing herself in drunkenness. She had let pain take root in her soul; nothing could alleviate it, not even the numbness she desperately sought. She had had enough of it. Enough of everything.

"I feel sorry for my sister," mumbling the words in a low voice filled with concern as she looked over at her sister. The night came alive with the staccato beat of the car's engine, but the quiet made even that sound seem deafening; Milk could feel her heart ache. "I hope she finds peace and happiness after everything she has been through."

The night was getting late, and both Milk and Love had made up their minds that it was time to go back home. Adjusting her sister on the back seat with the help of an affectionate touch, Milk fastened her sister's seatbelt gently. As they drove through the still, quiet streets, moonlight streamed into the windows of the car, softening the beams ahead. Ling, her sister, sat still in the back seat, her eyes half-lidded, tired but not yet asleep.

Then, one lone tear rolled down her cheek without anyone noticing except for herself. She didn't say a word. She made no noise at all. She just stared outside at the city darkened with lights as if searching for something to fill her void. She cried silently because she was unable to express what was inside of her, and her tears came in solitude—one at a time—as a quiet testament to the pain she had endured.

The car picked up speed as it cut through the silent night, and soon enough, they were at her penthouse. Milk slowly stopped the car and unbuckled her seatbelt, but Ling didn't wait for her sister's help. With slow movements, deliberate and painful, she pushed the door open and stepped out, her feet dragging before she headed to the entrance of the building.

The inside of the penthouse seemed to reflect the emptiness that lay within. It was cold, sterile walls and silence. She did not utter a word. She fell on the couch and sank into its cushions, letting her eyes shut as if in an attempt to run away from the pain that wouldn't let her go. She wept but did not care about them. Not even notice them. They were just another part of the unbearable ache in her chest. The alcohol she had drunk seemed to do nothing else but numb her body—her heart still throbbed with a painful intensity.

Immediately the image of Orm flashed across her mind; her smile—a smile that earlier used to hold so much for her—now mocked her with its cruel truth of what is lost. Then, a hard stab of sorrow went through her, and then the tears fell harder, sharper. She could not help herself; she still missed her—the touch and laughter, with which she rendered everything brighter at times when everyone else's shine seemed to falter.

A bitter laugh slipped from her lips, hollow and broken. It was followed by a choking sob, one that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. Milk, who had been watching from the doorway, quickly turned her gaze away. She couldn't bear to see her sister in such pain. It broke her—completely.

"Orm…" Ling whispered through her tears, her voice so soft it almost didn't seem real. But there was no answer. The name hung in the air, unanswered, as if the very air around her refused to give her the closure she so desperately needed.

Time went by, heavy and suffocating. Milk and Love silently witnessed as Ling, still crying quietly, finally fell into an uneasy sleep. The aching of the day, of the memory, had to claim her as it wrapped her in a blanket of exhaustion that she could not escape from. She had just fallen asleep moments after whispering that name. That was the last sound she could utter as her consciousness slipped away.

Milk sat by her sister's side, heart heavy with a sorrow that mirrored Ling's own. The penthouse seemed quiet, deafeningly so, and all Milk could do was hope, hope that somehow, someday, her sister would find the happiness she so rightfully deserved.