Until my Last Breath

86

Barcelona, Spain

I don't remember what day it is.

Maybe Sunday. Or Tuesday. Maybe it doesn't matter anymore.

The sheets are damp from sweat and tears. Or maybe I just spilled water at some point - though I'm pretty sure I haven't moved enough for that to happen.
The air in the room is stale, thick. My head pulses every time I blink. My throat feels scratched raw, but I haven't had the strength to get up and drink.

I lie there like a ghost in my own bed. Barely blinking.
Just staring at the ceiling, waiting for something to bring me back to life.

But nothing does.

Not the cold dinner still sitting on the table downstairs.
Not the shattered phone lying under the armchair.
Not the sweatshirt I'm wearing that doesn't smell like him anymore.

Not even the knock at the door.

It's soft at first. Then louder.

I don't move.

It happens again. Louder. More persistent.

I still don't move. Maybe they'll go away.

But the door creaks open, slow and cautious.
Footsteps, light but deliberate, enter the house.

Then - a voice.

"Riri?"

It's not who I expect.

I blink slowly and look toward the doorframe.

Charles.

He's standing there, looking at me like he's seen a ghost.
Or maybe he thinks he has.

I sit up suddenly, confused, heart racing. My throat is dry, voice cracked. "What the hell-Charles? What are you... what are you doing here?"

He steps in fully now, eyes darting around the room.
And then they land on me.

"Mon dieu..." he breathes under his breath.

I must look insane. My hair's knotted at the base of my neck. My skin is pale, my eyes are swollen, my lips are cracked and trembling. I've been living in this bed for three days. I haven't even opened a curtain.

He walks toward me without hesitation.

"What happened? What the hell happened to you?" His voice is softer now. There's real concern in it. Not judgment. Not distance.

I flinch. Pull the blanket tighter around me. "Why are you here?"

"I've been trying to reach you-Marina too. We've all been trying to reach you for days. You weren't answering, not even to Alex. I thought..."

"I broke my phone," I say quietly. "didn't buy a new one/"

He kneels next to the bed now, eyes searching mine. "What happened..?"

I blink. My chest tightens.

"What?" I whisper.

"Did you two... break up?"

The words don't compute at first. I look at him like he's speaking a different language.

And then the confusion deepens.

"How do you know that?" I ask slowly, jaw tensing.

Charles's face changes.

I sit up straighter. "Charles... how do you know that?"

He hesitates - and that's all I need to know something's wrong.

"Why are you asking me that?" My voice rises slightly. "Why would you ask me if we broke up if I haven't told anyone?"