a Hard

lway mirror was a stark reminder of my misery – a pale, shivering ghost. I went straight to my room, stripping off my wet clothes

crawled into bed, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kin

, their whispered endearments forming the soundtrack to my silent departure. I barely saw them. I ate in my room, worked on my laptop, and meticulously organ

oticed occupant, was

ermometer had flatlined. They were simply background noise, no longer c

er from my uncle Geoffrey. Fligh

ord tasted swee

date highlighted on my phone's calenda

ct gift, the perfect card, trying to capture in a small token the immense love I felt for him. Now? Now, my gift was my absence. My departure. Perh

fell around my shoulders. I carefully placed my portfolio of new designs-designs th

with me. Old textbooks, some small, sentimental trinkets from my childhood that weren't about Ho

walked in, jingling his keys. He looked tir

prised to see me. "What's all

ping my voice flat. "Cle

on his face. "You're always doing that. You know, you shou

on my nerves. He always had to have an opinion

urning away to place th

yesterday. Kamryn can be a bit... much. But

low laugh escaping me. "Do

my tone. "Of course, I do, Chels.

d. His way of putting me in my pl

n. Early dinner with Kamryn's parents. Fina

course. The engagemen

something, anything, from him. "Holden," I said, my voice softer

it is. I'd almost forgotten, with everything going on." He rubb

red. I'd baked him a cake, bought him a thoughtful gift, w

ed." A part of me, the pathetic, clinging part, wanted to say, This is the last time

s the point? He wouldn't c

s hand. "Well, I really have to go. Don't

alled out, a

rknob, his back to me. "What i

the word dying on my lip

d was gone. The click of the l

ce. My chest felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. He

th the back of my hand. No mo

desk, my drawers, even under my bed. My eyes scanned every corner. A small leather-bound sketchbook. The

as g

ase I'd asked him to throw away. The one he'd so ca

An older sketchbook. One from when I was a child. Before Holden. Fill

rude, but recognizable. A young boy, with a mop of dark hair, a confident grin. Holden. From when he first moved in,

always drawn him. For him. For my

were blank. A fresh

calm settled over me. I would draw. But

er eyes, clear and focused on a distant horizon. Beside her, a man. Not

g my room in hues of orange and purple. The drawing was

y broke my trance. Then, the front door opening. V

ur of his voic

slurred from the ha

e. I didn't want to see

eaning heavily against the frame. His eyes, u

lopsided grin on his face.

nstincts screamed. Run. But I was frozen, trapped b

ying to push him away. The smell o

e into a suffocating embrace. His lips, rough and demanding, crashed down

n. This wasn't my protective step-bro