The hill rose gently above the sleeping city, its crest crowned with whispering trees that swayed in the night breeze.The branches groaned softly, as if sharing the weight of the world with him. From this height, London glittered in the distance. A tapestry of lights, indifferent and eternal, while his own life flickered like a dying ember.
The lake mirrored the sky, rippling as the wind kissed its surface.For a moment, the water looked like shattered glass—just like the pieces of himself he couldn't put back together.
Ethan's headphones slipped from his fingers and landed softly in the dewy grass, the music cutting off mid-song.
Silence rushed in, thick and suffocating. He wanted to scream, but his voice had abandoned him long ago.
He tilted his head back, exposing his throat to the star-flecked sky.*The cold air stung his skin, a fleeting reminder that he was still alive, still breathing, still trapped in this body that carried so much pain.
The wind played with his hair as he stood perfectly still, his breath coming in slow, measured pulls. Each inhale was a battle. Each exhale, surrender.
Then he spoke to God:
"Why is my dad dead?" The words tore out of him, ragged and bleeding.
"Why is my mom dying?" His voice cracked, a dam straining against the flood.
"Why was I the best when it didn't fix mom? Why be a 4.0 student in my first year when she got sick, thinking it'd make her feel better?"
The futility of it all clawed at his ribs. "She doesn't move or talk, just laughs. Why is my life fucked?"
A hollow laugh escaped him. "And my so-called love... she doesn't get it. Just... making me remember all my trauma."
His fists clenched. "My dad didn't hurt me because he died when I was literally five, but she made me remember my trauma." The wound was fresh, salt rubbed in by careless hands.
"Is Mom going to be alright?" His whisper was a child's plea.
"The doctors say she's getting better, but she's not—just living without actually living. I want to hold her."
The confession hung in the air, raw and unvarnished.
Then, the shift—the slow, sickening realization. "I know Becky isn't the one."
The words tasted like ash. "I'm going to leave her. I can't keep doing this."
His chest ached. "I wanted to marry her. I thought You said she was the one."**
A bitter scoff. "No, I was being deranged. I didn't wait for Your 'yes'—I just fell in love and felt that was it."
The truth was a knife twisting deeper. "She's fucking up my mind, but why is it so hard to leave her?"
His voice dropped to a broken murmur. "Like this part of me that says, 'You can't leave her—she kissed you first. You kissed her first, and you're each other's first kiss. She's your first love, crush, and touch.'"
The fantasy was sweet poison. "Wouldn't it be nice to say, 'Kids, your mom was my only girlfriend, and yeah, we did shit but got married'?"
A shuddering breath. "—We've only kissed and hugged, except that one time she held me down but I pushed her away, and she put my hand on her boobs, but again I pushed her away."
Disgust coiled in his gut—at her, at himself, at the way his heart still stuttered when she texted.
"God, I'll text her once. If she doesn't listen, I'll end it."
Resolve hardened like ice. "I'm tired. I'm done."
Ethan brings out his phone, the glow of the screen was a funeral pyre for his hope.
Ethan: "Becky"
Becky: "Hi"
Already, the hollowness. No warmth, no joy—just obligation.
Ethan: "How are you?"
Becky: "fine"
His thumb hovered. Ask me. Care. Just once.
Ethan: "You're not going to ask me how my day was?"
Becky: "sorry, yeah, how was your day?"
Mechanical. Like reading from a script she resented.
Ethan: "It was fine. What about yours?"
Becky: "'Twas chill."
The silence between the lines was deafening.
Ethan: "Cool. Um... why don't you pick my calls or at least call me back? So I'll call you. I'm your man, right? Or... you don't like picking my calls?"
Please. Fight for me.
Becky: "Well, I'm in school, and I'm usually busy."
Excuses. Always excuses.
Ethan: "So, like, I'm in school too. You can talk to me at night. I'm not begging for the entire day—just 10 minutes to talk to you, make you laugh, and let my wife know how special and beautiful she is..."
The pet name tasted like a lie now.
Becky: "Well, I talk to you. We talk. Don't act like I don't care. Like, oh, you know what you do—accusing me of cheating, hurting me."
Deflection. Guilt turned to weapon.
Ethan: "I don't want to fight or argue. I just need a bit of your time. Just be there to pick your calls, please. You know I want us together."
Begging. Again.
Becky: "Yes, I want us to be together. Is that what you want? If that's what you want, I'll do it."
Empty compliance. No fire, no love—just surrender.
Ethan: "Don't you want that?"
Becky: "See? Just answer."
A trap. Always a trap.
Ethan: "I'm just asking if it's what you want too."
Becky: "See, I'll just change to what you want."
The words were a coffin nail.
Ethan: "Don't change. Just be yourself."
Becky: "I'll just do what you want. You never asked what I want. You just want what you want."
The accusation stung. Had he? Had he ever?
Ethan: "What do you want?"
Becky: "Just forget it. I'll be how you want me to be."**
Defeat.
Ethan: "I'm asking—what do you want? Please tell me."
Becky: "Just forget it... I'll change."
I'm losing her. No—I never had her.
Ethan: "I'm not trying to fight here. You could have at least said you want to talk to me or hear my voice or spend time with me."
Becky: "Ok... ok... I'll be who you want... sorry." (But it didn't sound remorseful in her voice.)
The finality of it crushed him.
Ethan went offline.
The screen went black. Somewhere inside him, something broke—quietly, irrevocably.
Am I wrong?" Ethan whispered to the uncaring stars, his voice cracking.
"I just want time with her. Why am I obsessed? I need to stop... I've got to stop."
He collapsed onto the damp grass, the blades cool against his skin. Closing his eyes, the night's darkness pressed against his eyelids as his thoughts spiraled:
I'm not controlling. I told her to be controlling with me. I love her... God, why do I still love her?
The memories came unbidden - Becky always talking about that male best friend, how he was leaving her for another girl.
How many times had he accused her of cheating? How many hollow apologies had he offered afterward? The irony burned - she'd never once apologized for making him feel this way.
Their last argument echoed in his skull:
"Becky, your friend... can you stop mentioning him in our conversations please?"
"I've had him for years!" she'd snapped back.
"He was so important to me and I left him just so you'd be happy. You should understand!"
Each syllable had hit like a physical blow. She never seemed to grasp how throwing their history in his face only emphasized how little she valued their own relationship. He had no equivalent friends to compare, no past relationships to reference. Just this gaping, aching void where trust and security should have been.
She says so much hurtful shit, he thought, but somehow I'm always the villain in her story. When I simply ask "Did you cheat - yes or no?" she acts like I've insulted her entire existence.
The bitter truth settled in his stomach like a stone - their relationship had been unbalanced from that very first week. When he'd tried to end things cleanly, painlessly... only for her to come crawling back. Why hadn't he stayed strong then? It was like God had handed him an escape route and he'd stubbornly refused to take it.
Ethan's chest tightened as the painful truth settled over him like a suffocating blanket. She's told everyone about our problems—twisted everything to make me look like the villain while she plays the perfect victim.The injustice burned like acid in his throat.
Whenever he tried to talk things through with her, she'd weaponize her friends' words against him:
"They all say I should leave you," she'd throw at him, her voice dripping with false sympathy.
"i keep reminding them this is your first relationship and i should give you time." she can't say "i love him, i want to be with him"
The thought hit Ethan like a punch to the gut - I want... fuck... His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. I believe she's cheated on me but I can't even say it out loud. He'd tried to bury that suspicion, to forget that gnawing doubt, but it kept resurfacing like a rotten thing that wouldn't stay submerged.
For eight long months, her treatment of him had changed - colder, distant, like he was some obligation rather than someone she loved.
One year and four days, he thought bitterly. That's how long I've stayed in this. The realization made his chest ache.
She's not the one. So why is it so fucking hard to leave? They hadn't even seen each other in person recently - just empty online exchanges that left him feeling more alone each time.
Ethan closed his eyes, the darkness behind his eyelids swirling like ink in water.
His breath hitched as the familiar image formed - my dream girl. The thought of her sent warmth spreading through his chest.
Obsessed with him in the purest way, clingy in that perfect manner that made his pulse quicken. In his mind's eye, he saw their future unfolding like petals at dawn - him taking care of her every need, holding her so close and so often she'd playfully squirm for freedom, loving her with an intensity that would never dim.
Maybe she's my mirror, he marveled, someone who reflects my soul - my twin but my love.
The vision crystallized with startling clarity - a beautiful light chocolate-skinned girl, her smile brighter than the morning sun. In this fantasy, they moved together with effortless harmony, both free to be their truest, most unguarded selves. The way their laughter intertwined, the way their bodies fit perfectly when they embraced - it all felt so real he could almost smell her coconut-scented hair, almost feel the warmth of her hands in his.
"I don't know why I feel you're in Nigeria," he whispered to the night, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
The night breeze carried his words away as he added, "I want to hold you, to feel you, to never ever let you go."
The certainty settled in his bones like sunlight: "If I leave Becky... I'll find you. Wherever you are."
The sudden glow of his phone screen shocked him back to reality - 1:00 AM glared back at him.
"Fuck! Jennie's gonna kill me."
With newfound energy, he tilted his face to the star-flecked sky, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.
"I know, God - I mean Dad. You're my dad, God. I'll find her. I'll make everything right. Thanks for today... fist bump." He raised his hand and mimed the playful gesture.
"Oh my God, I actually felt it!" The phantom pressure of another fist meeting his sent electric tingles dancing up his arm.
A giddy laugh burst from him as he danced in place, swaying left to right, singing under his breath, "He fist-bumped me!"
"I love you, Dad. I'll be better - promise."
Jennie sat hunched on the porch steps, her knees pulled tight against her chest.
The police station's harsh fluorescent lights still burned behind her eyelids, their cold rejection echoing in her mind
"Come back after 24 hours."
As if time mattered when her brother could be lying hurt somewhere in the dark. The night air felt thick in her lungs as tears carved hot paths down her cheeks.
"God," she whispered into the stillness, her voice cracking like thin ice, "bring Ethan home."
A sob wracked her body as she pressed trembling hands together.
"I'm so scared right now. Please protect him... he's all I have left."
The words tasted like salt and desperation on her tongue.
Ethan's sneakers pounded against pavement as he rounded the final corner, his house coming into view. Through the darkness, he could just make out Jennie's silhouette on the porch - the slump of her shoulders, the way her head bowed under invisible weight. He was mere yards away when it happened.
Not pain. A sudden, visceral pull deep in his chest, like an invisible hook yanking at his heartstrings. His breath caught. His knees buckled. The world tilted violently as he collapsed onto the rough pavement.
Jennie's head snapped up at the sound. For one suspended moment, time froze - she saw Ethan crumpled in the street, his body oddly still. Then her heart kicked into her throat as she launched forward.
"ETH—"
The night exploded with sound. Screeching tires. A scream torn from her lungs. The sickening crunch of impact.
"JESUS PLEASE, PLEASE—"
Her cry hung in the air, unfinished, as the world shattered around her.