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Just like this place.

I seem to have forgotten what it feels like to leave the house at night. To let the cold night air touch my skin.

So I escaped.

I promised—no one in particular—that I’ll get back home in time. The time being whenever my heart grows tired of the view.

I just wanted some peace. Or maybe I was starting to grow rebellious again.

Me and that motherfucker don’t get along very well. In fact, whenever we clash, I’m always the one who ends up getting hurt. The one who gets raped. Beaten.

But before I can breathe fresh air at the top of the bridge, I hear voices. Of men. Fighting.

I cannot see them yet, but I can hear them just fine. And they’re arguing. No.

They’re throwing punches.

“You’re out here calling me wired all wrong, forcing me into sessions that feel like someone’s shoving needles into my brain for their own fucking amusement. All so you can pat yourself on the back.”

The voice is etched with pain but I think I hear him laugh. “You’re just fucking jealous I found hope in this godforsaken world while you’re still as pathetic and lonely as the day you were born.”

None of my business, but I think the poor guy needs a hug. “You’re just as fucked as we are.” Another voice booms, travelling through the air.

If I were a voice critic, I’d give this guy a two. Three at best.

The guy with the sad voice, though? Yeah.

He’s leaving with medals and shit.

“You are just as lonely, probably lonelier. Because you think there’s a girl out there who’s going to save the broken you. News flash, she isn’t real.”

If life has taught me anything, it is to stay away from humans—preferably men.

Men who fight? That’s a big no.

So, like the responsible citizen I aspire to be—and an active member of the I’d rather not get hurt again club—I quietly turn around and leave.

“Elara?” My head snaps up to find my sister’s friend, Arthur, striding towards me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, flashing me an easy smile.

I shrug, doing my best to look unfazed, even as the fear creeps in that he might tell my sister I was here.

At night.

“It’s too late. Does Amara know?” He lifts a questioning brow at me, and I contemplate lying.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I find myself shaking my head. Already feeling the freedom I could barely touch ripping from my arms.

He looks behind me as I begin to move away from the voices.

“Do you know them?” He asks following me and I shake my head once again.

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” His voice is sweet, almost careful. But I’m shaking my head again.

I had lost all faith in humanity, and even though Arthur Doyle sees me as nothing more than his friend’s little sister, I couldn’t muster the courage to go with him.

Loneliness has always been my closest companion. So has darkness. Humans, however, have only ever disappointed me, hurt me.