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When the sound recurred, resembling a moderate but insistent knocking from within, I approached Juri's door with cautious curiosity. Tentatively, I knocked and grasped the handle, but there was no response.

Should I just go in?

As I heard another muffled noise, I hastily swung the door open, but it was blocked by something, leaving only a narrow gap of about seven inches.

“Juri? Everything okay?”

I peered through the narrow opening and spotted him lying on the floor, his eyes rolling back, body convulsing as if seized by some unseen force.

With a surge of adrenaline, I forced the door open wider, jostling Juri aside as I hurried to his side.

He looked just as pallid as he had earlier at the hospital, emitting a wheezing sound from his mouth.

Damn! Is he just dying?

What’s happening?

His sight catapulted me back to the rooftop.

Juri’s face distorted before my eyes, and I saw Jér?me in front of me.

Although he was three floors below me, I saw the blood that had trickled from his mouth, the lifeless eyes, the terror on his face.

My body froze, something tightened my throat, and my breath became erratic. A chill of ice shot through my veins.

No! This isn’t Jér?me.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to wipe the seventeen-year-old boy from my confused thoughts.

Get a grip!

That’s long over.

But I couldn’t. It wasn’t until a gasping sound from Juri brought me back to the present.

With trembling hands, I grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

My eyes fell on the scarf knotted around his neck.

It didn’t appear to be a suicide attempt; he lay there with his eyes closed, a smile spreading across his face.

God! He looked utterly content! And gradually, the pieces started to fall into place in my mind.

What the hell …? Did he actually intend this?

He lay there, his head tilted to the side, and his breathing became regular again. The reassurance that he was alright did little to ease the tension, and I sank back against the bed.

“What have you done?” I heard my teacher scream.

Her voice was distant because all I could see was Jér?me down there, in the schoolyard. A dark red pool had formed around his head. The teachers were pushing back the other students; a few girls were crying, and others were pointing up at me.

Jér?me’s face burned into my retina, and I knew: Everything was going to be different now. But inside, I was torn.

On one hand, I felt relief and a liberating feeling. No one would ever again yank out my hair and flaunt the brown tufts like trophies. No one would ever again kick me in the stomach until I lost consciousness or knocked out another tooth.

But on the other hand, I was gripped by sheer panic. My body was in shock. My breath caught, and not even my heart seemed to be beating anymore. I knew I had just done something terribly wrong, yet I was completely unable to reconcile this fact with my conscience.

You’re not helpless anymore, an inner voice said to me.

This is the end of everything, another said. You’re a murderer!

Someone roughly grabbed my wrist and dragged me along. It was my class teacher, who had claimed for years that she was on my side.

“You just have to try harder if you want to make friends,” she would say.

What was wrong with wanting to be left alone?

The action had drained too much of my strength for me to resist her now anyway. But at that moment, I didn’t care about anything.

We were already nearing the staircase when I felt sick at once. But Mrs. Schreiber was more occupied with berating me than noticing my condition.

I was as tall as her now, but the way she pulled me along clearly showed that she wasn’t aware of that. I roughly pushed her away, turned around, and vomited. Tears filled my eyes, and I didn’t even know where they were coming from. Yes, I had killed someone, but he had made my life hell for years.

Behind me, I heard a phone ringing. Mrs. Schreiber answered it.

“Yes, he’s here with me … Alright, we’ll wait,” she said. Then she approached me. “Someone will be here soon.”

With my legs pulled up, I leaned against Juri’s bed feeling utterly miserable.

Juri was gradually coming to, coughing lightly, and rolling onto his shoulder.

When he noticed me, he paused in surprise.

He removed the scarf loop from his neck and placed it on the bed.

Once more, he coughed, casting me an apologetic glance.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. His words threw me off. “Are you serious?” I snapped, my anger flaring as I glared at him. “What was that? Do you want to die or something?”

Juri raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t understand my words. “That has nothing to do with it.”

My jaw dropped. “Do you think choking games are harmless? Are you out of your mind? What if something goes wrong? You could end up with brain damage! Do you even realize that?” I paused, noticing a calmness in his eyes.

My words didn’t seem to be getting through to him at all. “Did you take something?”

A gentle smile crossed his face as he shoved his hair back. “Unfortunately, it was my last stash that Clé brought me on New Year’s Eve.”

My mouth fell open even wider; I was speechless. “You’ve completely lost it!”

“Why are you so upset? There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Those words triggered something in me that I couldn’t control anymore.

I felt so helpless. Like back then when Jér?me kept getting to me.

On that day, I had sworn to myself never to feel that way again.

But overwhelmed by the situation, I lacked any strength.

I slumped my shoulders, lowered my head, and breathed heavily.

“Are you okay?” Juri asked, confused.

“No. I’m not okay.”

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know … I just want to stop thinking about everything.”

“That can be arranged,” he said, moving closer.

As I looked up, he stroked my cheek with his thumb, leaned in, and kissed me. I could sense the intoxication behind his glassy gaze as he brushed back a strand of hair, but his soft lips pushed away my tormenting thoughts. Sliding my hand around his neck, I kissed him back.