I try to fight it. Try to claw my way out.
“Okay,” I rasp. “Five things I can see… The bed. A bag. Tree outside.” I turn, slow and shaky. “Chair. Lamp.”
My breathing stutters. I keep going.
Four things I can touch. Three I can hear. Two I can smell.
“One thing I can taste,” I murmur, broken. “The salt of my tears.” And just like that, the dam breaks again. I fall apart, loud and ugly.
It didn’t work. The damn exercise didn’t work. Fuck.Fuck!
I’m spiraling. I know it. But I can’t stop.
What if it’s back for good? What if this is it — me, broken again. Forever. What if I can’t beat it this time?
My thoughts drown me, claws dragging me down. My pulse is a war drum in my ears.
But it doesn’t last long. Suddenly, there’s silence. Peace. Stillness. Calm. I can think again.
That’s when I hear it. Through that violent battle that was raging inside my mind just a second ago, a sound… no, a violin, playing a song I know too well.
I look down at my hands. I’ve been quietly counting all this time. Finger to thumb. One… two… three… four… Just likehetaught me. Calling for the sun.
I stumble forward and collapse onto the bed, bones aching, heart shredded.
Why can’t I let him go? Why, even now, is ithimthat brings me peace?
It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.
I’m cursed. No, I’m haunted. By a fucking ghost. I need an exorcist.
I lie still, eyes locked on the window, watching the wind shake the trees outside.
The song stops eventually, but my mind keeps drifting. A knock snaps me back.
“Come in,” I croak, not moving.
Ria slips inside, cautious.
“Mr. Dead Inside said I should check on you,” she says, voice soft. “Didn’t think you’d be done kicking his ass so fast.”
She sits at the edge of the bed. Her hand finds my hair, fingers running through it like she can glue the pieces of me back together.
“I take it the tequila didn’t help?” she asks gently. “What happened, Adora?”
“It helped,” I whisper, fresh tears building. “He signed. And somehow, I’m fucking heartbroken.” I glance at her, eyes wide, chin trembling. “Why am I heartbroken, Ria?”
She sighs. Soft. Devastating.
“Because you love him,” she whispers. “You loved him for a very long time. You gave him your heart, and instead of holding it safe, he crushed it.”
I look away, eyes closing, letting her fingers anchor me.
“Well,” I mutter dryly, “let’s hope for better luck next time. I’m a divorced bookstore owner now. According to book law, my love life can only go uphill from here.”
She snorts. “Damn right.”
“I need to go for a run,” I whisper. “Clear my head.”
