ㅤㅤIt was a quiet night—7 PM, still early, but the darkness had already settled. Neon lights from the lower and higher sectors bathed the city in an ethereal glow. I once thought it looked like something out of a fantasy—a beacon shining in the night. But that image had been tainted for a long time, and now, the only difference was it's stained with Alex's blood.

ㅤㅤI could feel the exhaustion creeping up on me, but I was stubborn—and afraid. Every dream was a fucking nightmare, the haunting images of Alex, the horrible injuries he sustained and had to endure. 'they… no, he made sure it lasted.'

ㅤㅤMy thoughts and feelings were eating me alive, clawing at the edges of my sanity and leaving me drowning in a sea of despair. Every memory, every regret—of him—replayed in my mind like a relentless storm, tearing apart any fragile peace I might have found. It’s all because I trusted him, placed my faith in him. And now, every time I think of Alex, his face intrudes—his fucking face—mocking me, haunting me, as if he has any right to exist in those memories.

ㅤㅤ"Logan Everette," I muttered, the name feeling like a taboo. Just the thought of saying it repulsed me, made me want to vomit. It was like venom, and I wanted to spit it out. I took a swig, hoping the alcohol would wash it away, tilting my head back as I chugged it. The thought of the life I once shared with him—sharing my bed, whispering about the future—made my skin crawl. A hollow laugh slipped past my lips, bitter and self-loathing. I wasn’t just disgusted by him—I was disgusted by myself. It was my fault.

ㅤㅤThe bottom's up, and I was back to drinking, feeling the burn on my throat as the world around me spun. That’s right—the world keeps turning, indifferent and unbothered, no matter how much I fall apart. I let a smile, one that seemed to come naturally, play on my lips—not like the hollow ones I reserve for the rads. Maybe it was the memory of Alex—his idealistic wish for the world to be saved, his belief that we should care for it. The irony struck deep, and as I sat there, hollow and pathetic, I felt the wet streaks on my cheeks—tears I hadn’t even noticed. That’s when it broke—the dam—and I finally gave in to the sobs clawing at my chest.

ㅤㅤThen, in the middle of the worst, deepest place I was in, I heard my name. 'Alex?' My mind went, as the voice cut through the haze, through the intoxication, jolting me to my feet. My legs trembled, weak and unsteady, sending me crashing into the table. Plates and glasses shattered, the sound sharp and jarring in the stillness. Another call. 'Alex.' It was him, he was calling me. My name echoed again, and despite the sting of a shard of broken plate embedded in my arm, I forced myself forward, staggering toward the door. 'Alex!'

ㅤㅤBut instead of him—with his bright smile and an oil stain smudged on his face, the image that could wake me from this living nightmare—all I saw was a pair of concerned brown eyes staring back at me. It was Rook. The worry etched on her face shifted to shock, then horror. "Damn it, Malorie! What the fuck are you doing?!"

ㅤㅤWhen she reached out, I swatted her hand away. I didn’t want her, or anyone else, to take care of me—I didn’t want to be fixed. But she persisted, her voice trembling with equal parts frustration and concern. "If you don’t care about yourself, fine! But the others care! I care!" she shouted, fighting against my stubbornness, her words cutting through the fog of my indifference.

ㅤㅤShe guided me to the couch, her grip firm despite my resistance. A trail of blood marked our path, vivid against the floor, each drop a reminder of how far this had gone. My legs wobbled beneath me, but her hold never wavered, as if she were carrying the weight of my pain along with me. When she finally settled me down, her eyes locked onto mine, sharp with worry and frustration. I wanted to tell her I was fine, that she didn’t need to do this, but the words choked in my throat, lost somewhere between pride and the raw sting of reality.

ㅤㅤ"Don't move, I'll grab a clean towel and some alcohol-" Rook said, her words halting as her eyes landed on the empty bottles scattered across the counter. She froze for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line as if holding back a comment. I could see the judgment flash across her face, brief but unmistakable, before she let out a sharp breath and shook her head. "Guess I’ll have to make do without it," she muttered under her breath, disappearing into the kitchen. Her voice echoed faintly as she rummaged through the drawers. "You really know how to take care of yourself, don’t you?"

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ㅤㅤThere was no doubt that she was mad—maybe beyond mad—her anger simmering just below the surface. When she spoke, her voice bit as much as it barked, every word sharp and laced with frustration. I didn’t need to look up to know the tension in the air was thick enough to cut through. A few moments later, she returned, her footsteps heavier than usual, the clean towel and antiseptic bottle clutched tightly in her hands. She didn’t say anything at first, but I could feel the heat of her glare, even without meeting her eyes. Her movements were quick and precise as she set the items down beside me, the silence between us charged with everything she wasn’t saying.

ㅤㅤAs she went to work, her movements were efficient, almost mechanical, as if the anger she carried had somehow fueled her focus. She didn’t speak, but every gesture spoke volumes—rougher than usual, almost like she was trying to erase the frustration. The sharp scent of alcohol filled the air as she poured it onto the towel, the coolness of it contrasting with the heat of her touch. I could feel her eyes on me, even though she didn’t look up, and the weight of her unspoken words hung in the space between us. Again, her silence was louder than any argument could have been.

ㅤㅤ"I was just drunk-" I started, trying to excuse my behavior, but she cut me off before I could finish. "I’ve seen you drunk, but this!" She gestured sharply at me, then around the room, her frustration boiling over as her voice rose with each word. The words hit me like a punch, sharper than I’d expected. She didn’t hold back, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and concern. The exhaustion I’d been carrying vanished, replaced by a sharp, searing anger. I shot to my feet, my voice breaking through the tension. "I don’t need any fucking help!" I spat, the words heavy with bitterness. "I couldn’t give a shit if I died tonight!" My chest heaved with the weight of it, the fury boiling over, mixing with a pain I wasn’t ready to face.

ㅤㅤThe look on her face was filled with disbelief, her eyes widening for a split second before softening, the worry seeping through like a crack in her armor. "You don’t mean that," she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with the weight of my words. It was as if the force of my anger had broken something inside her, and I saw the flicker of fear in her gaze, the kind that came when you weren’t sure if the person in front of you was beyond saving.

ㅤㅤI said nothing, my gaze avoiding hers as if the weight of her concern was too much to bear. I wished I could thank her for tending to my wound, for being here when I clearly didn’t deserve it, but the words wouldn’t come. The silence between us grew thick, suffocating, and all I could do was try to swallow the lump in my throat. The only thing I could manage to mutter, barely above a whisper, was, "Please... just leave me be..." It felt like a plea, but there was a bitterness in it too, a desperate wish to push her away, even though a part of me wanted her to stay.

ㅤㅤAs I battled with my internal conflict, she stood from the couch, her movements slow but deliberate. Her eyes never left me, even as I averted my gaze, unwilling to face the depth of her concern. "Alex’s death hit us all, but we know it struck you the hardest," she said, her voice soft but firm, carrying the weight of her truth. "He was dear to us, like you are." The words hung in the air between us, heavy and fragile, as if she were offering something more than just sympathy—something that felt too close, too vulnerable.

ㅤㅤ"If you ever feel like you're lost," she continued, her voice softer now, almost as if speaking to a fragile part of me, "if you can't remember those who care—just know that I do. Even when it feels too difficult to bear, I'll be here. You don’t have to face it alone." Her words wrapped around me like a lifeline, though part of me wasn’t sure if I could hold on.

ㅤㅤBefore I could fully process her words, the door clicked shut, leaving only the soft echo of her departure. And I was left alone—alone because of my own doing.