I hold Whitney even tighter, almost as if I'm afraid to let her go. Because I am. I sniff her hair, tears sliding down my cheeks. I think about the letters I wrote to each one of them and the special words scribbled on the pages, hoping my final words will be enough to help them get through the storm that's about to follow them into the new year. I think about the gun under my pillow, hoping the silencer will mask the sound enough so it doesn't wake them up. My decision may be selfish as fuck, butasking me to stay when I know I can't is selfish in its own way too.
It's time.
Surrendering to a tidal wave of grief and guilt, I realize that I can’t hold my breath forever. Somehow, amidst the chaos of our lives, I feel the churning of inevitable change. I look down at Whitney, the girl I care about deeply, the girl who somehow managed to slip through the cracks of my heart to nestle there despite the rubble. I should be fighting for her, fighting for us, but all I feel is a sense of impending inevitability—this cycle must end.
“Hey,” she murmurs softly, raising her head to meet my gaze. “Talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I open my mouth, ready to confess everything, but the weight of my decision pools in my stomach, rendering me speechless. What do I say? Sorry, I can’t do this anymore? I think of the letters nestled in my sock drawer, each one an epitaph to our memories, a summary of what each of them meant to me. It feels both cowardly and oddly comforting, a way to control something in a life that has spiraled so far out of my hands.
“Just lost in thought,” I finally manage to say, my voice shaky. Whitney’s brow furrows, and I can see the lines of concern etching deeper into her features.
“I know when something’s up, Hawk,” she insists, her hand gently squeezing my knee as if she could reverse the spiral with a single touch. “You can tell me. You always can. Whatever it is, I promise we’ll figure it out together.”
Her words almost fucking break me, turning my chest into a knot of anguish while some small part of me fights the urge to divulge my darkest, deepest fears. The truth would cut her like glass, a jagged punishment I can’t bear to dish out. My mind runs in circles, a frenzied attempt to escape the realityof my intent, while desperately wanting to protect her from the inevitable fallout.
“Whit,” I finally whisper, the weight of her concern drawing me deeper into the moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” Her blue eyes are pools of understanding, urging me to take the plunge into vulnerability.
“Do you ever wonder if it would have been better if certain things had never happened? If life had been kinder?” My voice barely breaks the silence, but I know she hears me. A shiver runs through her as if I’m exposing a wound neither of us had fully acknowledged until now.
“Every day,” she admits. “But life isn’t about playing the ‘what if’ game; it’s about working through what we have and trying to change the narrative.”
I’m afraid her answer wasn’t meant for me—or for the heartache I carry. I can feel the walls of despair closing in, the darkness creeping even closer. The comfortable feeling of being in her arms suddenly feels like a heavy shackle, binding me to a reality that I feel I can’t fucking bear.
I draw in a sharp breath, forcing the words that need to escape. “I’m… I’m scared of falling deeper and not being able to get back out. I’ve tried coping—finding ways to make sense of it all—but every time I grasp onto something beautiful, there’s always a nagging sense that it will be taken away from me again. It makes me feel fucking powerless.”
Her expression shifts, growing somber as if she understands all too well that dark space I’m trying to articulate. “Hawk, falling apart is just a part of life; it doesn’t mean you’re alone. It doesn’t mean it’s the end.”
“But what if I don’t want to keep fighting?” I spit out, a flame of anger flickering. “What if I can’t keep fighting? I’m so fucking tired, Whitney.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I can hold on to the facade of strength for only so long, yet guilt crashes through me. I made my choice before I even sat down, approaching this moment as if it were the last part of my story.
Whitney gently cups my face, her thumbs running across my cheekbones amid the storm brewing in her eyes. “You don’t have to be the strong one right now. Let me in. Please. We’ll figure out what’s next. Together.”
The determination in her voice makes me want to believe, even as a part of me screams that it would only send her spiraling into the same abyss I’m fighting against. “And what if together is too much? What if all I do is pull you down with me?”
“Then we sink or swim together, damn it!” she exclaims passionately. “But I won’t let you drown alone. I refuse to lose you to this. You’re worth fighting for, even if you can’t see it right now.”
The conviction in her words cuts through my haze, forcing tears to brim once more. Maybe I didn’t deserve her fight—maybe I didn’t deserve this moment. But there was something inexplicable within her promise that whispers to the deepest parts of me, igniting a spark I thought had gone cold. As I look into her eyes, I scan them for any signs of doubt, any indication that she might want to retract her words. Maybe if I open up—if I unravel the depth of my grief and heartache—she would finally see the truth: I'm a lost fucking cause.
“What if I can’t promise you the same?” I ask hoarsely, unsure of where those words are leading us. “What if I can’t be strong for you?”
“Then let me be strong enough for both of us,” she gently pushes, cupping my face to tug me closer, as if willing me to trust her. “You just have to take that first step and allow yourself to be vulnerable with me. Let me into that space—no matter how dark it gets. It’s okay to ask for help. You’re not alone.”
In her voice, I recognize echoes of a commitment we forged together long before all this madness had begun—a promise to always fight for one another. But behind my wall lies an unyielding fear, a reluctance to admit how heavy the burden of grief has become.
“What if I don’t know how? How do I carry this chaos?” I ask, enforcing the burden with fatality.
“By leaning on each other,” Whitney replies, fervor igniting in her voice. “No judgment, just love.”
I smile at her words, my eyes filling with tears again. As soon as I think things will be okay, the voices come back taunting me, and shadows come alive across the walls at the mere thought of backing out to stay alive on this earth with the ones I love. It's not meant to be. I just can't fucking fathom going on. I'm giving up. Truth is, I gave up a while ago and tried to make everyone believe I was fine. But I wasn't. I haven't been. And I know one thing's for certain: I won’t ever be fine again. I kiss her on the cheek and get up from the seat, laying her down in the warmth. I walk to Raze and press a kiss to his forehead and hug him gently, not wanting to wake him. And then I start crying, looking between Whitney and Raze, knowing that this is it. This is where our story ends. This is where my story ends. But this is where their story is just beginning.
"You alright?" Whitney asks in a sleepy voice, her eyes already closed.
"Yeah, just gonna go lay down," I tell her, hoping for the first time ever that she doesn't follow me.
"I love you, Hawk. Always and forever."
