Chapter 1
Myssa
Six months.
Six months since I last hugged you, saw your smile, heard your laugh. My sister, my best friend, my confidante. Six months since they told me you were gone. Six months since the nightmares started.
Just as I always do, I push the thoughts downward and concentrate on the day ahead. The brisk morning air ushers me faster down the sidewalk. Commuters tug their coats around them a little tighter as the gusts pull from Lake Michigan. Hundreds of heads stay down, focused on getting to their destination. My earbuds blare Florence and the Machine “Dog days are over”, drowning out the taxi honks and whistles from traffic cops on the bustling streets of Chicago.
Rounding the corner, I finally reach my building and pull open the door. I’m not one for chit-chat before coffee consumption, so I cross the lobby with haste. Scanning my badge as I make my way into the elevator, I watch the numbers tick past until I reach the nineteenth floor.
As soon as I walk out of the elevator doors, I’m smacked with the lingering aroma of fresh paint.
The open area and endless cubicles have received an upgrade over the weekend. Come to think of it, I do remember reading an email about that.
Not much of an upgrade if you ask me—still the same standard colors of any IT company. Slate Blue, Grey, and white. The only thing different from when I left Friday is that the cubicle walls are higher.
“Finally,” I mumble to myself.
As a project manager, I’ve been wrestling for far too long with the challenge of focusing on vital client conversations while having to watch Bob, who sits in front of me, pick his teeth with his fingers after his lunch. The thought still makes me gag.
Entering my new space, I toss my purse on the desk and hang my jacket on the back of my chair. I notice my knick-knacks stuffed away in a box just off to the right. They must have moved everything out of the way before installing the new cubes.
I start pulling everything out and neatly display them. The miniature skulls, dragons, and turtles across my L-shaped desk are all gifts from co-workers or friends over the last ten years of working here. At the bottom of the box sits a group photo of me and my friends at a concert, and another of my best friend Vix and I doing a ridiculous selfie at the coffee shop we practically live at. The memories bring a rush of nostalgia, and I can’t help but smile at the thoughts.
The last photo in the box is face down, and I hesitate before picking it up. As I pull it out slowly, I almost can’t look at it.
“My favorite wing-woman” is etched across the bottom of the silver frame. An inside joke between sisters, but my role when it came to her love life.
Nicole had no reason to lack the confidence of making the first move when it came to talking to men. Since high school, she always leaned on me for help.
Everyone was enticed by her, and rightfully so. She was tall, with a slender frame, green eyes, short dark hair and pouty lips that made her look like she’d just came off a runway.
She was sweet, caring, talked to everyone, and no one was ever left out. The only flaw she had, if you could call it that, was an indulgence in weed and the occasion Molly hit at a club. Things we thought were no big deal.
Until it was.
We were opposites, and my short curvy features paled in comparison when we were side by side.
Her smiling eyes shine up at me from the frame, and the loss washes over me.
I mindlessly swipe my thumb across her face on the glass, wishing this reality was just a nightmare. In the picture, our faces are carefree as we half hug each other, toasting with our drinks. This was the last picture we’d taken together before she died. She was only twenty-six. “How do you like the upgrade, Myssa?”
I turn quickly, startled by the intrusion. Putting down the picture next to the others, I see the eager excitement in Pete’s eyes.
Pushing down my feelings, I look around, pretending to take it in while regaining my composure.
“It looks great,” I say, with a little more enthusiasm that I’d anticipated.
“Awesome! Conference in twenty in the room upfront.” He taps the side of the cubicle before walking away.
Twenty minutes later, I walk into the conference room, which is themed much the same way as the rest of the office. The wall of large windows looks freshly washed, giving a clear view of the city below. Lake Michigan can barely be seen through the morning fog.
After sitting down with the coffee I’d grabbed from the breakroom, I open my laptop and finish answering emails while I wait for the meeting to begin. It doesn’t take long for the chairs to be filled, and pleasantries exchanged as Pete walks in, closing the door behind him.
“Hi everyone, today we need to go over what projects we have on deck for next year, and then we need to sort through the assignments.”
As Pete continues, I hear the faint sound of a siren below echoing off the buildings, and while I stare out the window, a shiver catches me off guard.
