Her Broken Wings

Chapter 6

(Edited 06/2026)

Sirens POV

Waking up felt as violent as a fist to the chest.

I had dreamed about her. It wasn't one of those blurry, fleeting dreams that dissolved the second my eyes opened, but the kind that clung to the skin.

Every detail remained sharp. The sunlit water behind us, the heavy scent of sunscreen in the air. My mom's laugh carried across the pool deck as she rolled her eyes at something I'd said. We were talking about stupid, trivial things- boys, school, my disastrous first summer job. They were the kinds of ordinary conversations you take for granted in the moment, the exact memories nobody warns you will become priceless later.

Now, the memory lodged in my throat, sharp and fragmenting.

For a little while, the grief had started to shift. It was still heavy, but the edges had softened, turning into something manageable. This dream tore those scars wide open again.

I could still hear her laugh and see her smile. The memory haunted the room, a stubborn ghost I couldn't shake. Because it had felt so real, the sudden absence left a wild, thumping ache in my ribs that made it hard to breathe. For a few minutes, I had somehow gotten her back, only to watch her slip through my fingers all over again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was a mistake. The second darkness hit, her face reappeared behind my eyelids.

Blinking fast, I rolled onto my back and stared at the cracked ceiling instead. The motel room was entirely too quiet.

Too small, too empty.

I turned my head toward the clock.

4:32 AM. Barely morning.

A miserable laugh escaped me.

Of course.

I shoved the blanket aside and sat up. There was no point pretending I was going back to sleep.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sat in the dark and pressed my palms against my eyes. The room felt smaller than it had a few hours ago, suffocating.

Grief was unpredictable that way. Most days, it sat quietly in the background, a dull hum I could ignore. Then a song, a smell, or a dream would trigger it, and the pain would expand until it filled the entire room, leaving no space left to breathe.

I grabbed my leather jacket off the chair and pulled it on.

Maybe some air would help.

Then again, maybe nothing would.

Either way, staying in this room felt impossible.

I stepped outside and was greeted by cool air. The sky was still swallowed by darkness, with stars scattered overhead, bringing a small and unexpected comfort to my chest.

The motel's narrow walkway curved sharply around the building. The concrete was cold, cracked, and uneven beneath my feet as I followed it into the dark. I'd hoped the pacing would settle the storm inside me. When I reached the back of the property, I expected to be entirely alone. Instead, a silhouette cut through the heavy quiet- someone else awake at this ungodly hour. 

He sat alone at a weathered picnic table, a coffee cup resting beside him. He wasn't on his phone, wasn't reading, or really doing much of anything. Just sitting there, staring up at the stars thoughtfully. The same stars I'd stopped to admire moments ago.

For some reason, it made me wonder if we looked at the sky for the same reasons. 

Comfort, escape, perspective. Maybe all three.