I don’t follow it.
I can’t.
Instead, I pull my phone out and take a quick photo of the number plate before the car disappears completely.
Just in case.
Something to give them.
Something that might actually matter.
I get into my car and sit there for a second, the pills still in my hand, my grip tightening as her face pushes forward again.
I don’t hesitate. I take more. Too many. I know it. I just don’t stop. The drive back barely registers.
Everything blurs.
The road.
The turns.
The city.
None of it sticks.
The pain dulls, but nothing touches what’s sitting in my head.
Her.
That look in her eyes.
By the time I get back to the apartment, everything feels wrong.
Like I’m holding myself together badly.
I push the door open and step inside.
Elijah barely looks at me.
Jackson is still at the table, still freezing frames, still staring at that same moment over and over like he’s trying to force it to change.
I catch it as I pass.
Her face.
Paused.
That fear.
It hits all over again.
Harder this time.
I don’t stop.
I go straight down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me harder than I mean to.
I grip the sink, leaning over it, breathing uneven as the room tilts slightly, the pills hitting harder now, deeper, heavier.
