Until my Last Breath

52

barcelona, spain

I barely remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up.

The sharp vibration of my phone against my nightstand, the way my chest tightened when I saw her name flashing on the screen. Rita.

I answered immediately.

And the second I heard her voice, I knew.

She was drunk, slurring her words, speaking too fast, too uneven. But it wasn't the alcohol that made my stomach twist. It was the pain. The kind that leaked through every syllable, through every shaky breath.

She talked about the seat situation first, how exhausting it was, how unfair everything felt. But it didn't take long before the conversation turned to me. To us.

If I could even call it that.

Her words still echo in my head, haunting in their rawness. I hate that I need you like this. I hate that you make me feel safe but never stay long enough for it to matter.

I had no idea how to respond. How could I, when everything she said was true?

I wanted to tell her I was sorry. That I never meant for any of this to be so complicated. But none of those words would have changed anything.

Because in the end, she cried.

She never cries.

And then, before I could say anything that might have actually mattered, she hung up.

Now, standing in my room, I replay it all in my head as I watch Amélie pack her things.

Her movements are careful, methodical-folding each item neatly before placing it in her suitcase. She doesn't look at me, doesn't say a word. Maybe because she knows I'm not really here.

Physically, yes. But my mind is still on that call.

On Rita.

On the way her voice cracked.

On the way I felt completely helpless.

I exhale, running a hand down my face. I should be paying attention to Amélie, I should be feeling something about this. But all I can think about is Rita-drunk, upset, alone.

And me, not knowing how to fix it.

The second she hung up, I stared at my phone, half expecting her to call back.

She didn't.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I finally typed out a message.

-Rita, where are you?

Nothing.

I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in my stomach. She was drunk and upset, and I had no idea where she was or if she was okay.

-At least tell me if you got home safe.

Still nothing.

I didn't think. I just grabbed my jacket and left.

The walk to her place was a blur my hands clenching too tight, my mind racing through a thousand worst-case scenarios. By the time I stood outside her house, my heart was pounding, and I barely knew why.

And then I saw them.

Rita and Lando.

Standing right in front of her door.

Lando's arm was draped over her shoulder, holding her steady. Her head was lowered, her movements sluggish. She looked exhausted-barely keeping herself upright.