Page 162 of Eternal

DAMIR

“Hold On” by Chord Overstreet

Present

T he house is empty and sad. It’s been like that since last year.

I have her journal with me, I never opened it. Not once, not when we buried her, not in the silence after.

But today is her birthday.

I sit on the swing in the garden. The irises sway around me, like they’re still watching and waiting to be loved like you could’ve had.

I open the journal gently, the one you made me promise not to read, the one you tucked your words into, between the ruins of your mother’s, the one they ruined, and I'm scared to look.

A laugh slips out of my mouth.

I’m talking to a ghost.

“Dear Journal,

Is that how people start journaling?

My mom never did that. She used to just… tell things. Easily. Like it was natural for her.

I don’t have her eloquence. If I’m being honest, I only have her pain and trauma.

Yours, Mom. If you’re watching me write this down.

I don’t even know why I’m writing. Damir is behind me, sleeping. He looks soft. Delicate. Like a ball of love he doesn’t even see in himself. But I see it, I see it because I’ve never seen anything like it before. Not this full. Not this safe. Not this soft. Not this beautiful.

He probably would hate reading this. Big bad Viper who’s cuddling me every night and kisses me every day.

My heart feels… sad. And happy. Both.

I feel like there’s no way out, and he still makes me feel happy.

Not movie happy. Not stupid happy. Home happy.

The kind of home I never had. The one that wasn’t loud and sharp and scary. With him, home is just… laughter. Peace. Even when I drink too much. Even when I spiral. He believes in me.

Who would’ve thought that was even possible? Me? Broken like I am. Stupid like I am.

Loved. Unconditionally. Not just a little bit. Not with conditions. Not on good days. Loved.

Sometimes I think he’s scared for me, that my sadness is too much, too heavy, that it’ll drown him like it drowns me. And he might be right, I think he is right.

I hate the look on his face when he sees me like that. I made him live through it, the way Mom made me. The drunk nights. The passing out. The way I shut down just because feeling anything scared me.

Some might say it’s a trauma response. Maybe it is. But it doesn’t stop it from hurting. And it doesn’t stop me from wishing I could be better for him.

He braids my hair every day, kisses my scars. He’s never said I love you. Neither have I.

I never thought I’d have this. Strong, solid, safe arms. Love.

I wish I could tell him I love him, but I feel like I’d die if I did. That’s what they taught me, loving too hard was dangerous, saying it was worse.

But I do, I love him. I love his smile, his eyes, his laugh. The way he kisses me, the way he believes in me. He makes me feel okay when all I feel is hopelessness.

I hope I can live with him one day, have that big house I always dreamed of, wake up beside him every morning and smile.

I missed smiling, I missed the sun, I missed daydreaming.

And he made it all possible again.

He made music sound better, stars shine brighter, irises grow back. He fills my life with the need to live.

He said my surprise would be completely done two months after my birthday, he even marked the calendar in this apartment. September fourth. We’re going to see the Northern Lights.

I can’t wait to see it, I hope I’ll be able to tell him how grateful I am that he helped me survive my own head.

I can’t wait to break free from this.

Maybe Mom was wrong. Maybe Christian and Brittany too. Maybe I was meant for happiness.

I hope I am.

I want to share it with him.

I hope he wants that too, because I love my partner, and I can’t wait to finally be able to tell him that. Maybe soon, and I’ll kiss him then. It can wait. We’re eternal after all.”

I did. God, I did.

I wanted it more than anything. I wanted her.

Her love.

Her dreams.

Her laugh.

And all I got was blood and cold, and the dead body of the love of my life.

September 4th.

The day was marked, I came back here and finished the house after she died.

And it was finally done. She wanted to see it complete, she was so excited. From here, we were supposed to take a flight, see the Northern Lights like she always dreamed. But now it stupidly stands here, finished, empty. Too late.

I wanted to give her that love, the house she dreamed of, with deep blue walls, stars on the ceiling, a bench in the garden filled with irises and a swing, a large TV to watch Casablanca on rainy nights. We could’ve brought Mischka and Notch here.

I was building it for her, because I wanted to make it real.

“Happy birthday, my love.” I whisper, kissing her writing.

I lay there, in the garden of irises she always wanted, eyes closed, then open them to watch the sun go down.

I never got to tell her I loved her when she was still alive.

Never got to hear it from her.

She died sad. She died smiling. Because she thought a year was enough? Because she thought she didn’t deserve more?

It wasn’t… We didn’t have enough time.

The sun dips low, painting the sky in bruises, so much brighter since you died.

I pull out the bottle from my jacket, clear liquid. I don’t say a word, I drink it all.

“I miss you, Azra,” I whisper.

Fireworks explode in the sky, bright and loud, for her. It’s for her. I stumble inside the house. I grab the bottle of alcohol and pour it slowly on the couch, on the table, and the floor. I let the liquid soak into every corner of the space I created for both of us to finally be happy together.

The smell burns my nose, sharp and bitter, but I don’t care.

I light a cigarette and take a long drag. Then, I let the ember fall onto the soaked floor.

The alcohol catches instantly, flames licking the walls, devouring everything.

I try to walk up the stairs, but my limbs betray me, heavy and slow, my vision swims, but I keep moving.

She was the one place I could call home, the one person who made life bearable, the only one who made me laugh when everything else was falling apart.

Maybe I never really wanted to stay alive. Maybe I was waiting for something, or someone, to finally let me go.

But she... she was the reason I held on longer than I thought possible.

I crawl to the bed we never shared, lie down, and stare at the ceiling.

A+D = ETERNAL

Stars with our initials.

My breath slows, shallow and steady, my heart… my heart doesn’t hurt anymore.

It’s light. It’s… calm , it was never this calm.

Happy birthday, partner. We’re eternal, I promised.

My eyelids grow heavy, I close my eyes, and let the fire take everything.