Until my Last Breath

87

Monte Carlo, Monaco

It plays again.

Same opening shot. Same lines. Same silence.

The movie of us. But this time, I can't hit stop.

I blink into the darkness, eyes heavy but never really resting. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, and so is this weight inside my chest that refuses to lift. Every time I think it might, it doubles back.

We could've made it.
We could've talked.
We could've fought for it.

But he didn't.
And I didn't either.

What if I had said the right thing? What if I hadn't gone quiet when I got scared? What if I hadn't trusted so easily? Or trusted at all?

Maybe if I didn't let myself believe in us so much...
Maybe then it wouldn't have hurt like this.

Maybe then I wouldn't feel like a hollow shell in someone else's apartment. In someone else's life.

Was I too busy?
Too intense?
Too much?

Too honest?

Was it something I said, or something I should've said sooner?

God, I replay it all like I'm on trial and I keep trying to find the part where it all unravels. But every moment we shared... it felt real. Solid. Like something you could bet your life on.

So how did we get from there to this?

From not being able to by away from each other to not even a goodbye?

From stay to the sound of the door shutting behind him?

I close my eyes - and that's when it stings the most. Because behind my lids, he's still here. Still brushing my hair back. Still grinning like he can't believe he gets to love me.

But I open them... and he's gone.

Gone.

And every time I wake up, I have to remember that all over again.

That he's not just in the other room, not just at training.
That this silence isn't temporary.
That it's done.

He could've been lying right here beside me.

If only we'd talked.

If only we were brave enough to say what needed to be said.

But he wasn't.
And maybe I wasn't either.

Still... it was never my fault.

I say that to myself every morning, right as the sun rises over the cliffs outside.
It was never my fault.

Even if it feels like I'm the one left standing in the ruins.
Even if it feels like I lost something I'll never get back.
Even if every part of me aches to reach for someone who won't reach back.

It was never my fault.

I whisper it under my breath as I finally pull the blanket off and step out of bed, feet cold on the floor, bones heavy.

The kitchen is washed in pale gold light. And there she is - Marina, sitting on the balcony like nothing ever happened, legs up on the chair, bowl of cereal in hand, scrolling through her phone.

She looks up and beams at me. "Morning!"

I offer a smile back. One of those smiles that feels more like a grimace, lips lifting but eyes too tired to join.

My gaze drifts to the boxes in the living room. Still sealed. Still untouched. Still waiting for me to admit that this is home now.

From behind me, I hear Marina's voice float in, too cheerful for the hour, like she doesn't notice the weight I'm carrying.