“We need to get the fuck out of Mayhem, that's for damn sure,” she says, her gaze steady and unwavering.
The choice of her request hangs heavily between us, and I know it holds so much weight for all of us. It means we’ll share our grief but also our healing, and yet my deepest fear remains—what if they’re better off when I’m gone? A hush falls over our group as we approach the apartment door. I can feel the tensiontightening around us, and a sudden urge to bolt fills me. I want to escape from this impending confrontation, from the reality waiting behind that door. But I can’t. Not now.
“Wait up, guys,” I say suddenly, stopping just before we enter. I glance at each of them—at Raze, whose loyalty runs deeper than blood; at Red, who seems to be fighting his demons silently but fiercely; and at Whitney, her eyes an ocean of untold stories and burdens. “I just wanted to… we should talk about everything.”
Whitney’s expression shifts, concern etching its way across her features. I swallow hard, my stomach twisting in knots. “Reallytalk.”
Raze nods, and Red shifts uncomfortably as he fishes for the words. "Yeah, let's just get everything out in the open. It's been too long since we honestly communicated. We're just… lashing out against everything instead of addressing the problem."
Eastern winds might howl around us, but this feels like a chance to break the cycle, to combat the shadows possessing my mind. This is my moment to pull the veil off our collective pain, to share my darkest thoughts so they can help me carry them. It could be the fresh air or the weight of the moment, but I suddenly know that if I’m going to do this, I need to be honest, not just surface-level vulnerable.
“I’m tired of carrying this alone,” I confess, a lump forming in my throat. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay. I’m not okay.” Silence falls, and I can feel the tension in the air shift as my heart begins racing. “No one is. We can’t keep lying to ourselves. Carter is gone, and I miss him—hell, we all do,” I continue, my voice stronger now as anger flickers to life. “But pretending that we can just shove it aside like it doesn’t exist is only making this harder. I’ve felt more alone since the night it happened, and I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Red finally asks, his voice strained but filled with curiosity.
“I mean… I don’t have it in me anymore,” I admit, letting the truth tumble out. “I’ve been thinking about… about making it all stop.”
The air crackles with tension, and I can feel their confused glances pierce through me. The acknowledgment is heavy, the weight of those words wrapping around us like a fog.
Whitney’s grip tightens around my fingers, panic flashing in her eyes. “No, you can’t mean that! There’s hope; there’s a way through. We’re fighting together!”
“Are we? Are we really?” I challenge, struggling to maintain eye contact. “What if distance is my only escape from the pain we share? The cycles of this chaos are crushing, and I don’t want to drag you down with me, not when you all deserve better than the darkness I bring.”
Raze steps closer, the flame of anger igniting a spark in him that demands attention. “How fucking dare you think you’re the only one hurting? We are all fucked up, remember? We don’t let it consume us—we lean on each other instead.”
“Y’all talk about leaning on each other, but it’s hard knowing I’m at the center of it. You think this new year is going to change everything? That somehow we can just keep pretending things are okay because of camaraderie? It won’t work like that,” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ll just lose me too, and I’m not ready to break you all further.”
“But we’re here!” Whitney insists desperately, her voice thick with emotion. “We’re all struggling, but we have to fight through this. I don’t want to lose you to this pain! You can’t just fucking check out!”
A look passes between Raze and Red. There’s an unspoken understanding, a bond formed through the fires of grief that I hadn't considered before. Despite my fears, they want me tostay, to lean on them. But guilt chips away at me; I’ve already dragged them through this hell, and I fear I don’t belong here anymore. Tears threaten to break free as I wrestle with the turmoil of emotions boiling within. I don’t want to shatter their light, but I know it’s unavoidable—I’m already breaking in ways they can’t fucking see.
“Let me try,” I hear Red say softly. “I know we’re all in different places, and the fight feels like a mess right now, but that doesn’t mean we’re not stronger when we’re together. We’re all here, right?”
I feel that undeniable tug, a collective force drawing me toward hope, but can it cancel out my inner darkness? All I can do is nod, unsure if my voice could hold up against the weight of my despair.
“In the end, we either break apart or hold together, but we owe it to ourselves to choose wisely,” Red continues, sincerity spilling from his words, and in my heart, I know he’s right.
Whitney wipes a stray tear from her cheek, gazing at me with determination reflected brightly in her eyes. “I believe in you… us. We can take it one step at a time.”
I take a moment to breathe, to let their determination cradle me as I glance from one friend to another. Their unwavering resolve gives me a small sliver of strength, a flicker of light amidst the consuming darkness.
“It's too late…” I still feel the parts of me wrapping tighter within, unsure of how to carry forward with this new truth now shared. At the very least, I’m not burdening them alone.
We enter the apartment, fingertips entwined, and I sense our hearts beat in unison—scars of grief visible but throbbing with something newfound. In the dim light of my bedroom, the air is thick with unsaid words and the weight of our history. The walls, adorned with mementos of childhood—a baseball bat, faded photographs, and the lingering laughter of happier times—whisper the stories of our past. It's a sanctuary, a space where I can shed the layers of the world outside and confront the truths that have always lingered just beneath the surface.
I sit on the edge of my bed, my heart pounding in rhythm with the unspoken tension that fills the room. Whitney stands by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. The familiarity of her presence is a balm to the wounds we each carry, but it also makes the weight of our unvoiced feelings unbearably heavy.
“Do you ever think about how we used to dream?” I finally break the silence, my voice low but steady. “About who we’d become?”
Whitney turns to me, her eyes reflecting a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. “All the time,” she admits, crossing the space between them. “But those dreams… they feel so distant now, like shadows of what we were.”
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers grazing her cheek. “They don’t have to be. We can still turn back to them,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
She leans into my touch, closing her eyes for a moment as memories flood her mind—laughter echoing on summer days, whispered secrets beneath the stars, and the warmth of my hand in hers. But alongside those sweet memories were the darker ones, the traumas that had shaped us both.
“It’s not that simple, Hawk,” she replies, her voice trembling. “We can’t just forget the pain.”
My heart aches at the vulnerability in her words. “I know,” I say, taking a deep breath. “But maybe you don’t have to carry it alone.”
