Page 98 of Cold Mercy

Dream of a family, pray for a name, but you're just a ghost in a rigged little game. Love is for losers, joy is a lie, born like a victim and meant for a cry.

The alcohol is hitting me right now with a heavy heat spreading through my chest, and for a minute it feels exactly like the warmth of his arms. The memory makes my stomach turn with a mix of longing and pure rage. I stand up, my legs unsteady, and I hurl the bottle across the room with everything I have left. It shattered against the far wall, glass spraying across the floor, and I collapse onto the couch, burying my face in my hands.

I pull myself up from the couch, my limbs feeling like lead as I drag my body toward the stairs. Every step is an effort, a battle against the gravity of my despair, but I need to be surrounded by something that makes sense, even if it’s a lie. I reach the master bedroom and stop at the double doors of the walk-in closet.

I push them open, and the scent of him hits me instantly. The smell of a man who was supposed to be my forever. Everything is perfectly in place, waiting for a wearer who will never return. I walk into the center of it and let out a sound that is half-sob, half-scream, my legs finally giving out as I collapse onto the floor. I'm clutching at the carpet with both hands, gasping for air that feels like it’s filled with ash. I can't wrap my head around the idea that it all meant absolutely nothing to the universe.

I roll onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest in a tight fetal position, and as the tears finally begin to dry into salt-streaks on my face, the world blurs. I feel myself slipping away, retreating into that familiar, hollow space where the pain can’t reach me, my gaze locking onto a single, silver screw in the floorboards until the room around me ceases to exist.

Hours pass in that grey vacuum. Don't know how many, but eventually, the sound of the front door opening vibrates through the floor. I hear my name being called, the voice distant and distorted as if it’s coming from the bottom of a well, but I don't move. I don't even blink. The footsteps are fast, frantic, echoing up the stairs and into the bedroom, and a second later, a pair of hands is on my shoulders, shaking me with a desperation that barely registers.

Elizabeth pulls me over onto my back, her face a mask of pure terror as she looks down at me. “Sophia, oh my God, Soph, talk to me! What happened? What are you doing on the floor?”

I stare at her, my mind working with the slow, heavy precision of a rusted machine. I push myself up, my movements robotic and stiff, and reach for my hoodie from the shelf. I don't look at her. I just focus on the task of existing, pulling the fabric over my head as if it were a shield I could hide behind.

“Sophia, for fuck's sake, say something!” Elizabeth cries, her voice high with panic.

“You shouldn't have come here, Elizabeth,” I say, my voice sounding flat and dead even to my own ears.

“Thomas quit yesterday,” she rushes out, ignoring my dismissal. “He just walked in and resigned from James's company, and I knew something was wrong. I had to make sure you were okay.”

I walk past her, my shoulder brushing hers as I head for the door, the mention of his name a dull ache that I refuse to acknowledge. “Nothing happened. I'm fine.”

I head down the stairs, but Elizabeth is right behind me, her footsteps a frantic rhythm against the wood. “Don't do this again, Sophia! Don't shut me out! Please, just talk to me, tell me what's going on in that head of yours!”

I stop at the bottom of the stairs and whirl around, the fire finally breaking through the ice. “You want me to talk? You want to know what's going on?” I scream, the force of my voice making her flinch. “You think your worry is the most important thing right now? My fucking fiancé was murdered right in front of me, Elizabeth! Every person in this city thinks I'm a goddamn killer, and now the only man I actually let myself trust just told me I was nothing but a distraction! Maybe you want to tell me you know how I feel? You, who’s getting married in a few months to a man who actually loves you?”

There's the girl we know so well, dragging others to your hell. One last bond for you to sever, now you're on your own forever.

Elizabeth stands there, her eyes wide and glassy with tears, looking as if I’ve just struck her. The silence that follows is suffocating, and as I watch the hurt settle into her features, a wave of sickening regret washes over me.

“Fuck,” I whisper, the anger vanishing as quickly as it came, leaving me hollow. “Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean that. This is exactly why I told you it was a mistake to come here. I'm not myself.”

I grab my car keys from the bowl by the door, my hands trembling so violently I can barely hold onto them. I need to get out, to run before I destroy the only good thing I have left.

“I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry,” I repeat, my voice cracking as I stumble toward the door.

I don't wait for her to answer. I run to the driveway, throw myself into the driver's seat, and slam the door shut.

I drive without a destination until the iron gates of the cemetery appear through the mist. I walk until I’m standing before the grey granite, the name mocking me in the silence. Noah Mercer.

“You must be so fucking proud of yourself right now, aren't you?” I say aloud.

“It’s like you’re reaching up from the dirt, keeping your hand around my throat just to make sure that if I can’t be happy with you, I’ll never be allowed to be happy with anyone else. You’re still winning, Noah. Even from the grave, you’re still winning.”

I don't even know why I came here. Maybe it’s because I have nowhere else to go, no more bridges to burn, and no more friends to hurt. Every door I’ve tried to open has slammed in my face, and every hand I’ve tried to hold has eventually turned into a weapon. I look at the smooth stone and find myself wishing that the name carved there was Reed. It would be so much easier to mourn a hero than to deal with a living traitor.

“Why did you do this to me?” I whisper, the tears finally starting to fall, hot and stinging. “Why do all of you do this to me? Do I have a target on my back that I can't see? Do I look like someone who was made to be broken over and over again?” I cry out.

The sky finally breaks, a cold, relentless rain beginning to pour down, soaking through my thin hoodie in seconds. I stay rooted to the spot, letting the water wash over the grey granite of the headstone and watching the dirt at my feet turn into a slurry of mud. I'm suspended in the silence of the dead.

Only after the cold has seeped into my very bones, numbing the sharpest edges of the rage, do I finally step back. I walk slowly toward the car and sit in the driver’s seat while the windows begin to fog. I have absolutely nowhere else in this world to go.

I stay there for hours, watching the rain wash over the windshield and tracking the movement of people across the cemetery. As the sky begins to darken into a deep, unforgiving charcoal, I finally turn the key in the ignition. The drive is a blur of rhythmic windshield wipers and the blinding glare of oncoming headlights, but eventually, I find myself pulling up to the curb in front of James and Elizabeth’s apartment. I sit there for a long time, my hands gripping the wheel until my knuckles ache, wondering how I can possibly look them in the eyes after the things I said.

I’m terrified that I’m just going to be a burden again, a broken thing they have to keep fixing, but the thought of being alone for one more second is more than I can bear.

I step out of the car and into the relentless downpour, the cold water soaking through my clothes and chilling my skin until I’m shaking uncontrollably. I stand before their door for several minutes, my hand hovering over the wood, fighting the urge to turn around and run back. Finally, I find the strength to knock.