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Cold. Like ice.
I grab a small coffee table and throw it against the wall. I plow into the bookshelf, sending books and statuettes crashing to the ground. I kick a chair, then the polished mahogany table, smash my fist into its surface. Again. And again.
The pain in my ribs and back leaves me breathless and blinking black spots from my eyes. I bend over the table, brace my hands on the edge, feeling sick.
“Fuck you!” I push off, dizzy and aching somewhere so deep inside I don’t know if I can’t ever be all right again. “My fault. Why didn’t you kill me instead?”
I stumble to my drum set, grab the switchblade from my back pocket, flick it open and slash the drums. I stab and tear and shred, again and again.
Then I sink to my knees, clutching the blade. The doorbell rings, but I ignore it. I’m not here. I don’t exist.
A ray of sunlight slips through the window, hitting the blade. It glints in my hands. I lift it, run it over my skin, feel its sweet sting. See the blood well.
Shit. Too tempting.
I let the switchblade clatter to the floor and clamber to my feet. I need…something. An escape. A break from my own thoughts, and at the same time an anchor.
Who am I kidding? I need Megan, but I made sure she hates my guts, and now I’m about to dissipate into nothing. Shatter to fucking pieces.
So I grab my jacket and stride out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me. Jittery and scattered like particles on the wind, I zip up, jam my hands into my pockets and start walking.
Snowflakes twirl on the air. The cold stings my face as I hurry down the road. Not sure where I’m heading. No destination in mind. Like my life, a train gone off the rails, hurtling along into nothingness.
The urge to start running hits me. It feels like I’ve been running forever, running from all the bad things, trying to outrun my fate—but I honestly don’t have the energy. I feel...stretched too thin. Insubstantial. Fading.
And if I don’t pay attention where I step, that might as well be the way I end up, I realize, lurching back from the street as a truck rushes by, showering me in frozen slush.
Christ. I slip in the snow, arms flailing, and manage to catch my balance in the last possible moment. My head spins as I bend over, hands braced on my thighs. My breathing rattles in my ears.
A dark thought is stuck in my mind, swirling like the snowflakes. What if…
I straighten, step onto the street once more. My black boots leave deep grooves in the fresh layer covering the ground. There’s nothing to look forward to. I had Megan in my arms and I pushed her away to chase after the ghost of a murderer I’ll never catch.
More cars rush by, tires squelching, splashing me with icy water. A bus. A van, headlights catching the falling snow.
What if next time I don’t…
Another car races by, showering me in dirty snow, honking at me. I wipe my face and blink up at the building across the street. It’s familiar somehow. A lit window on the third floor winks at me.
Megan’s window. This is Megan’s building. What the hell? I somehow ended up here without noticing. Which makes sense. It’s the only place where I want to be, she’s the only person I want to see. The thought of holding her in my arms again speeds up my pulse and twists painfully in my chest. All my broken pieces reach toward her.
Before I can analyze what the hell this is, this pull, this sudden brightening of the world when I think of her, I start walking toward her building. Have to see her, touch her, kiss her.
Next thing I know, someone is yelling, a honk goes off like a war siren, and I’m yanked backward, crashing on my back.
A strangled shout leaves my mouth as I land on what have to be spectacular bruises, and the impact jars my ribs. Hurts like a motherfucker. Can’t breathe, and black’s bleeding into my vision.
Meanwhile, a cacophony of honks fills the air as I lie there, looking up at the morning sky, sounding strangely distant.
The unfamiliar face of a bearded man leans over me. “Are you all right?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”
He gives me a hand up and I take it, let him pull me to a sitting position on the sidewalk. My back screams at me and I curl an arm protectively around my ribs.
Fucking ow.
“I saw that car coming right at you, man. It’s a miracle you’re alive.” The guy lets go and tugs at his short beard. “You were looking up, instead of where you were going. Damn car almost ran you over.”
“Let’s get you up,” another guy says, and I glance around me.
