Under My Body

chapter one

I squinted at the old LED alarm clock sitting precariously on the edge of the wooden nightstand. It was Xavier's; he'd had it since primary school. He'd once told me it had survived everything—school pranks, accidental drops, his brother throwing it on the floor, even that one time his dog knocked it over. The glowing red digits now read 2:15 AM. Four more hours of sleep. The thought was mildly comforting as I tried to nestle deeper into the unfamiliar bed.

A sudden thud shattered the silence, making my heart leap into my throat. My eyes darted around the dimly lit room, a surge of panic washing over me. Someone was here. My mind raced through every worst-case scenario: a burglar, a murderer, a rapist. Great, just great—my first night here, and I was about to star in my own horror film. If only I'd thought to keep a knife under the pillow, but who does that in real life?

"Shit, freaking hell!" a familiar voice grumbled, slurring slightly. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Xavier.

My panic morphed into irritation. He must have gone out without me, and from the sound of it, he hadn't come back sober. I could still use that knife.

"Xavier?" I called out, trying to keep my voice steady as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I turned on the bedside lamp, and the sudden brightness made Xavier recoil, hissing like a cat.

"That is my luggage," I said, trying to keep my voice low so as not to wake his mother down the hall. I glared at him. "Are you drunk? You left me and went to get drunk all by yourself?"

This was supposed to be my vacation, a time to unwind and escape from the endless cycle of work. Xavier had practically begged me to visit, claiming that his mother, Penny, would be thrilled to see me. I loved Penny—she treated me like her own daughter, always fussing over me whenever I visited. It was one of the reasons I'd agreed to come down to Canada for a few weeks. But this wasn't how I envisioned my first night here.

Xavier shrugged, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. "V, you have to understand that you can't get drunk because you're a good girl." His words were slow, each syllable dripping with alcohol. He paused, squinting at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "What's your luggage doing in my room?"

I rolled my eyes. "This is the guest room, you ass!"

He looked genuinely surprised for a second before his expression melted into resignation. With a dramatic sigh, he collapsed onto the floor, the wooden boards creaking under his weight. Despite my irritation, I couldn't help but sit down beside him.

"I just got here today, and you went out without me," I said, my tone heavy with sarcasm. "Thanks for the invite, Xav."

He narrowed his eyes playfully and leaned closer, his breath a mix of whiskey and regret. "I'm kidding, V. You were fast asleep, and I didn't want to wake you up. And for your information, I went to the bar by myself..." His voice trailed off as he rested his head on my shoulder, the night's adventures catching up with him. Despite everything, I smiled and let my head rest against his.

"I'm really happy you're here, V. I really am," he whispered, his eyelids drooping. "I can't believe you came after 5 years of not seeing eachother."

Xavier and I had met online when I was 14 and he was 16. But it wasn't through some dating app or social media site; we had been pen pals, of all things. It started with letters, the old-fashioned kind, with envelopes and stamps. I remember the thrill of seeing a letter from him in my mailbox, the way my heart would race as I tore it open. We wrote to each other almost every day, sharing secrets and dreams, frustrations and hopes. Over time, those letters turned into texts, and then into phone calls and video chats. He became my first best friend, the one I could tell anything to. And now, at 24 and 26, we were still inseparable.