My palms were slick with sweat, and I didn’t want to be there anymore. It already felt like hours had passed since I’d arrived, and the tightness in my chest was growing. My vision blurred at the edges, dimming as the anxiety wrapped tighter around me, strangling me slowly. I parted my lips and tried to slow my breathing, counting silently in hopes of holding myself together.
I closed my eyes, visualizing my breathing box. One breath in—one side of the box. Hold—for the next line. Exhale—for the third. Hold again—for the final side. Repeat.
My heart rate began to slow, steadying itself. I wanted so badly to leave. There was an intrinsic urge deep in my gut telling me toget the hell out of there, and I was fighting against it with everything I had. My ears, which had been buzzing like they were plugged, started to find their equilibrium again.
When I opened my eyes, I immediately sensed it—every set of eyes in the room was on me.
I inhaled sharply. My mouth watered, and I started coughing as fluid caught at the back of my throat. Embarrassment surged through me as the entire room watched.
Asher stood up from his chair and walked toward me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, crouching in front of me, genuine concern in his voice.
I looked up at him, glaring into his eyes for making me feel fragile.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said curtly.
He ran his fingers through his short hair, clearly thrown by my reaction. His face twisted slightly—confused, maybe even a little hurt. He looked away, then back again, taken aback.
“Okay, well it’s your turn,” he said, standing up and returning to his seat, leaving me alone with the attention of the entire room still fixed on me before looking at him like he was the good guy.
He sat down, arms crossed, glancing over in my direction. The look in his eyes wasn’t anger—just annoyance. I got the sense that no one had ever told him to go fuck himself before, with that beautiful face sculpted by angels. If I believed in angels, that was.
I squinted at him in open disdain. If he hadn’t been told off before, he sure as shit shouldn’t mess with someone like me. I was unkind by nature, used to being the mean girl—because, let’s face it, what the hell did I have to lose?
Someone cleared their throat, nudging me to speak.
“Umm…My name is Lennon,” I said, forcing the words out. “I have to be here if I want to complete the assisted suicide program, and I don’t have hobbies other than completing this program now.”
Asher
Walking down the dingy, aged hallways of Western Hospital, I made my way toward the group room I now knew by heart: Room C125. The path to this room had become routine. Nearly all of the wellness groups were held there, and I was what the staff might’ve called afrequent flyer.
I spotted the door up ahead and inhaled deeply, bracing myself for what my mother had referred to as “a new chapter.” She’d mentioned there would be a new facilitator for this particular program—someone with additional training required to lead this type of group. She’d assured me the woman was nice.They always are.
Running a hand through my short hair, I turned into the room and saw that a few people had already arrived. At the far end, a woman—Dana, I think her name was—was pouring coffee for the clients. My mother was right; I didn’t recognize her. I hadn’t crossed paths with her before at the hospital, which was pretty impressive considering I’d spent nearly the past two years in and out of that place, until I finally figured out how to survive with the least amount of pain possible.
“Hello! Welcome! Help yourself to snacks. Can I pour you a cup of coffee?” she asked brightly as soon as she noticed me.
I shook my head. “I’m okay, thank you. Nice to meet you,” I replied before weaving through a few of the other clients and taking a seat in the circle.
I made a mental note of who was already seated. In groups like this, once people claimed a chair, it often becametheirchair for the rest of the program. Most didn’t switch. I liked to make a quiet game out of it—see who stayed in their spot, who shifted as the weeks went on. You could learn a lot from just from where people sat.
To my left was an older man who looked like he might’ve been battling alcoholism. His scruffy beard hadn’t seen a razor in at least a couple of weeks, and his messy hair gave off strong bedhead energy. He looked like he’d just woken up—even though it was already 1:00 p.m. Poor guy probably didn’t know what he had going for him in this life.
A few seats over sat a young girl with stunning, curly hair. She appeared slightly younger than me. She was dressed stylishly—cargo pants and attitude included. A sour grape expression clung to her face like armour.
And beside her sat a mystery.
My God.
She might have been the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.
Her full, pouty lips were a natural blush pink, slightly parted as if always on the verge of saying something. Her eyes were huge—wild green—and they looked like they could cut right through a person. She was petite, but sat tall with an unexpectedly poised posture.
Something about her struck me as enigmatic—complicated. A puzzle. And if I was being honest, I was already eager to solve her.
What was her story?
