Page 68 of HEARTSTORM

Three days. Seventy-two hours.

Two hours of sleep.

Three ibuprofen, six melatonin.

All of this since she left.

The sun was up. Pale. Weak. Creeping over my balcony.

I pushed myself up.

This stupid melatonin. Doesn't work. Just makes the nightmares blink open when my eyes are wide.

I laced my running shoes and stepped out into the early morning air. Cold. Sharp against my skin. It tasted like clarity and punishment all at once.

The rhythm of my feet on the pavement. The air slicing past my face. The burn in my lungs.

It all pulled me forward.

I ran miles.

I didn't stop.

Two hours of sweating, gasping, pushing, until my limbs felt like jelly and my vision blurred.

I stopped only because my body finally refused to obey me.

The streets melted into one another as I traced my steps back.

By the time I was home again, I swallowed my ibuprofen with a coffee. A routine that was supposed to keep me going.

I peeled off my clothes under the shower.

I pressed my hands to the tile wall.

Water was freezing against my skin, my hair, my face, every inch of me.

Nothing changed.

I pulled my clothes back on. Black jeans. An old hoodie. Sneakers.

Her ring was on my dresser.

Always there. Waiting. Keeping me company on the nights I couldn't sleep.

I picked it up, feeling its warmth—like holding the sun itself, like holding her.

I slipped it into my pocket, close to me. Hidden. Safe. Mine.

I looked down the stairs. Empty. No one in sight.

I moved quickly, steps quiet, bag swinging at my side, hand finally on the handle.

"Maya," Nelly's voice called, soft, careful.

I didn't move. I could feel her presence approaching, the faint sound of her footsteps.

Something pressed into my bag. I didn't turn. Just felt the weight.

"For breakfast... and lunch," Nelly said. I could hear the effort in her tone, the soft attempt at a smile.

I nodded weakly.

I didn't look at her. Couldn't. She understood.

I got to the university by 8 a.m. Two hours of lectures. One hour of lab. Three more in the library.

Chemistry. Then anatomy.

Names. Functions. Structures. Anything solid to hold on to.

Every line. Every curve. The human body made me think of her.

I left university. Community center next. I'd purposely booked the longest shift. Hours to disappear.

Clocked in. Hands washed. Stethoscope around my neck.

There was a little girl with a knee injury. She was crying, little sobs shaking her shoulders. I knelt beside her, letting her grip my hand.

Her cut needed two stitches. She flinched. I handed her my stethoscope to play with, guiding her tiny fingers to it.

"Look, stars," I said, pointing to the stitches.

She sniffled, tried a small smile. I held the stethoscope for her. By the time I finished, she was calmer, happy even.

Her mother thanked me four times in a row.

My chest tightened for a second before I focused on the next patient.

Don't think. Don't think. Don't think.

By the time I was done, I had to return all the supplies back to the lab.

As I moved along the shelves, my eyes caught on the medication boxes.

Pills stared back at me. Hundreds of them.

Sleep aids. Anti-anxiety.

I paused. My gaze lingered. A thought flickered, sharp and sudden.

I glanced around. No one in sight.

I picked up a bottle, tipping it slightly. Two pills spilled into my palm.

I slid them into my pocket. Not the one with the ring.

My face stayed still.

I left the room the same way I came in—quiet. Empty-handed. Guilty.

I took off my lab coat. Clocked out.

By the time I stepped outside, the sun was setting. Shadows over the streets. Finally.

"Russell."

Hm.

"Is that you, right?"

I stopped walking and turned around.

It was a nurse—lab coat, nametag.

I gave a nod.

She must've caught me. There was no point denying it.

This is what I deserve.

She studied me for a heartbeat, but my expression didn't change.

Her hand rifled through her pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and slipped it between her lips.

Maybe she didn't catch me.

"Want a drag?" she asked.

How ironic. We're supposed to save lives, not destroy our own.

I gave a nod.

She was ready to hand me one, but I grabbed it myself.

She leaned in with the lighter, but I flicked the cigarette into the flame first.

I withdrew and turned. An old, half-broken counter sat forgotten in the parking lot. I leaned against it.

I brought the cigarette to my lips, drawing a long inhale.

I exhaled slowly, letting the smoke linger on my tongue before fading away.

"Are you a senior?" she spoke again, taking a few steps forward.

I tried to ignore her.

"Do you have a voice?" she asked. My face was turned away, but I still caught the teasing, ironic tone. "I don't think I've heard it all day."

"I don't speak if I have nothing to say," I replied.

"So, silent and observant. Classic."

I breathed deeply, watching the thin trails drift into the dim light, disappearing.

Disgusting.

I hate this.

I left the old counter and walked toward my car.

The girl's voice asking if we'd see each other tomorrow, or if I'd disappear, only reminded me that I'd have preferred the latter.

Three days. Only three days. It feels like three hundred.

I was always aware of how much space she took up in my life.

She always filled my world. Her absence didn't change that.

On the way home, I passed Lily's house.

I haven't spoken to her since the nightclub accident.

I kept going—actually, I pressed harder on the gas. Two miles later, I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and made a U-turn.

I parked outside Lily's house, knowing it was pointless to hope she'd come out.

Fifteen minutes passed before I sent her a text:

Come down. I'm outside your house.

My phone stayed dark. No reply. No call. Nothing.

I thought about driving away. I didn't.

I rested my head against the seat, eyes shut for a few minutes. Then the click of the handle broke through. The door swung open, and Lily slipped in without a word.

Silence. Just silence. But it didn't feel uncomfortable.

Lily sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling in disapproval. "You smell like nicotine... and disinfectant."

"Good. Only a flame is missing."

"Idiot," she replied.

She had smudged makeup, messy hair, and clothes that looked like they'd been thrown on in a hurry.

I knew better.

"Where's James?" I asked.

Lily crossed her arms. "Why would I know?"

"I don't know, maybe because he's at your house as we speak."

Lily didn't reply, just flashed me an unmistakably annoyed look.

"Why don't you tell him to come down as well," I said, my tone flat.

Lily's lips curved into a small grimace. "You know, being this insensitive makes you even more irritating."

She picked up her phone, typed quickly, then locked it, leaving it resting on her lap as she stared ahead.

Silence returned, but this time I wanted to fill it.

"I'm sorry for taking it out on you that night at the club," I said. "It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't hers either," I paused. "I overreacted. I was selfish."

Lily nodded quietly. "You were just worried, Maya. No need to always blame yourself, you know."

"Old habits die hard," I said. "Thank you for understanding."

She opened her lips, but James appeared at the doorway, all disheveled and embarrassed.

He opened the car door and slid awkwardly into the back seat. I adjusted the rearview mirror and saw smudged lipstick on his neck.

"Let's get to the café, shall we, Romeo and Juliet," I said, starting the car.

Their awkward silence said it all as I drove. Not that it bothered me.

I parked, and we all walked inside, sliding into our usual spot by the window.

Lily and James sat together, fidgeting as they ordered smoothies. I went for a coffee.

I grabbed the cup, took a long sip and looked up. "How long has this been going on."

They exchanged flushed glances, like kids in kindergarten.

Lily cleared her throat. "Since that night at Crawford's..." she whispered awkwardly.

I hummed. Ironic. "I'm glad my defeat that night led to something positive."

"We didn't—we wanted to tell you, Maya," Lily stumbled over her words. "But the circumstances..."

"I get that," I said, tracing my fingers over the edge of my cup. "I'm happy for you."

Their eyes stayed on mine. My face remained still, but I knew they understood.

Lily bit her lip, then let out a sigh. "There's... something else you need to know."

I gave a nod. Just enough to show I was listening.

Her fingers found James's hand. She smiled, then turned serious. "Nick Crawford..." Her voice dropped, careful but firm.

That name. I felt nothing.

"He's got multiple charges against him, including what happened that night at the house." Her hand squeezed James's. "My case got reopened, Maya. Nick Crawford's responsible for everything."

My face didn't change. My body didn't flinch. My mind lined up the information like a series of chemistry equations.

"And it's official now," Lily continued. "He's in custody... he could face ten years or more in jail."

I swallowed. Processed. No relief, no smile. Just... acknowledgment.

"Right," I said finally. My voice calm, even. "I see."

Lily's eyes flickered, trying to find a crack, a sign of satisfaction. There wasn't one.

It didn't make me feel anything. I wish it did, but it didn't.

"I had to tell you, Maya..." she whispered. "You deserved to know."

"I hear you, Lily... really," I said, letting her feel it. "You deserve this."

She tilted her head but gave me a small smile. She got it. My words weren't about him—they were about her.

I wasn't celebrating. Couldn't. But I saw her victory.

They finished their smoothies, and I drained the last of my coffee.

When we stepped out of the café, Lily grabbed the sleeve of my hoodie and leaned close to my ear.

"Now I know what it means," she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"What?" I asked.

"You still love her, don't you?"

My breath caught.

"Just like I've always loved James," she said. "You know what's in your heart, Maya."

Her words hit me like a gut punch.

Lily didn't say anything else. She must have felt it—my thoughts, my silence, the name I couldn't speak.

She let go of my sleeve and ran to James, taking his hand.

I wasn't strong enough to ask her about... New York.

I dropped them off at her house again. They insisted I go in. When they realized I wouldn't, Lily took my hand, and I flinched at the touch.

"Take care of yourself, Maya. You deserve to be happy. You didn't do anything wrong," she said.

"We love you," James added.

They didn't leave until they saw that I had processed their words.

That was it.

I made my way home.

Thirteen hours out. I could have done better.

As soon as I opened the door, I caught it.

Nelly's smile was too tight, and my father exhaled deeply the moment I walked in.

"I can take the scolding before going up to my room," I said, looking past them.

"Maya," my father said, his voice careful. "We don't want to scold you."

"Great," I said, making my way to the stairs.

"We want to help you," he clarified.

"You don't have to do this alone," Nelly added, taking a step closer.

I stopped on the first step, my hand gripping the railing.

"Being alone is exactly what I need right now."

Nelly exhaled softly, trying again. "It's okay to let someone in, even for a second."

"Let someone in..." I murmured, shaking my head. "There's nothing to let in. I've ruined everything that could've mattered."

"You can't save everyone, Maya," my father said.

Wow. The raw truth, spilling out casually.

"But you can still save yourself," he added.

For a second, the world narrowed to that one line.

Save yourself.

Save myself.

"If Mom was here, that's exactly what she'd tell you to do," he went on, calm but firm.

I remained silent, his words hitting me a little deeper. A little too hard.

Nelly's voice matched my father's calm tone.

"Everything you're doing to yourself... it's too much, Maya. It's not supposed to cost you that much."

Her words added fire to my bones, making everything crumble away inside of me.

I turned to them, met their eyes, and gave a small smile—enough for them to think the truth didn't hurt that much.

For a heartbeat, they paused, sensing something in me none of us could name.

I didn't make it clear that their words reached my mind but they... didn't break me, didn't heal me.

I moved toward the stairs. They let me go, step by step.

Upstairs, I entered my room and closed the door behind me.

My hand pressed against it, curling into a fist without even realizing.

Today was useless.

I still ended up like this.

Buried—by it all, by everyone.

It was all for nothing.

I ran until I almost fainted.

I smoked.

I stole two pills from a fucking community center.

God, who am I?

I slipped my hand into my pocket.

The safe one. The one with the pills.

Just two tiny things, but they felt like a choice.

A choice to make the pain shut up for a little while. To make it all blur, just enough to breathe.

Please.

I clenched my fist. Hard. Harder. Until finally...

I threw them across the room.

They hit the floor with a sharp little clatter.

Anger rose inside me—blood boiling, chest pounding.

I'm a fucking coward.

Before I knew it, my feet were already moving.

I rushed to my closet and swung the doors open.

I grabbed everything I could reach.

All the dresses. All the shoes. The bags.

Everything I'd collected, everything I was supposed to care about—it didn't mean a thing anymore.

I ripped them down, threw them on the floor.

The shoes went flying. Bags crashed. Clothes piled up, crumpled, worthless.

I didn't yell. Didn't cry. I just kept tearing, kept throwing.

Filled the emptiness with motion, with destruction.

The room became a storm of things that no longer mattered.

And then I said it. Out loud.

"Grace."

Her name cut through the silence.

Not "she" anymore. Grace.

It slipped from my lips like a plea.

The last dress fell from my hand and hit the floor with a soft thud.

I sank to the floor, legs pulled to my chest, wrapping myself tight.

For a long moment, all I could hear was my own suffocating breath, the heartbeat in my ears.

Everything collapsed together.

When Grace left, the thought of never seeing her again felt worse than death.

I wanted to run to her.

Tell her everything—everything I wanted her to hear:

Stay. Please, stay. Don't leave me.

Don't go. Please. Stay where I can see you.

I need to see you. I want to hold you.

I'm still here. I'm here for you.

Even if I'm about to break.

I can't lose you.

It hurts.

It hurts so much to let you go, but I have to.

I curled tighter, trying to make myself smaller, trying to trap the sighs I didn't want to make.

I closed my eyes and waited for an answer.

I opened my eyes when I realized silence was all I was going to get.

The world felt still, caught in the words I whispered to myself for Grace.

If I had even a fraction of courage...

If I didn't destroy everything...

I could say it. To her. But I can't.

I looked around at the clothes scattered on the floor.

It felt like a war zone.

My eyes caught something small and bright.

Must be a hallucination.

I bent down, pushing clothes aside to get a better look.

A yellow note.

I couldn't recognize it at first, but the memories hit me all at once.

It was Mom's note—one of the old notes she used to leave me.

I had read so many of them as a child, tucked into lunchboxes, books, my pillow... but this one...

I didn't even know it was hidden in my closet all this time.

Had it always been there, waiting... for me to notice?

It didn't matter.

I read what was written on the back:

Mom. For Maya.

This can't be real.

She must've written it, planning to give it to me but... she died before she could.

I let out a shaky sigh. My head shook. My throat burned.

My hand froze above it. I—I shouldn't. I shouldn't touch it.

What if it shatters me completely?

God, I'm pathetic. I've been running from this for years.

But it's Mom. It's hers. I... I need to know. I need to feel her again, even for a second—even if it destroys me.

My fingers trembled as I reached for it.

The paper was real—solid. Tangible. Fragile in my hands.

A tiny hope to cling to.

Something that had always waited for me.

Like a sign.

It turned it over.

The note read:

Remember, when you are lost in the darkness, look for the sun.

I froze. I read the words over and over again.

The sun...

The sun.