When the heart races, the mind stumbles.
I went to see Ábel.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me without a sound, though the caution was unnecessary. The room was still, and the faint hum of the machines filled the silence. Ábel wouldn't have been disturbed.
He lay there peacefully, his face smooth and serene, untouched by any sign of emotion or pain. At first glance, it almost looked as though he were asleep. But the blanket was pulled high up to his shoulders, concealing the tubes running from his chest and the pale veins in his hands. They snaked toward the beeping instruments, which, though silent now, were the only things keeping him alive. Ábel was in a coma.
I sat by his bedside, gently taking his hand in mine, holding it tightly as if to remind him I was here, hoping for the slightest sign that he could feel me. A squeeze, the twitch of a finger—anything. But nothing came. I could only listen to the steady beeping of the machines and keep him company in the silence, even as the weight of the doctor's words lingered in the back of my mind. He had told me more than once to let go, to turn off the machines. But I couldn't. I refused to. I trusted—no, I knew—that someday he would wake up.
After a long while, I pulled the book I had brought with me from my bag. I turned to a familiar page. I began to read aloud, my voice soft but steady, as though Ábel could hear me.
After a while, I closed the book. I looked down at his peaceful face, and my throat tightened.
"You are responsible for your rose."
About an hour later, I headed to school. Coffee was becoming a more frequent presence. Most days, she sat quietly in class, diligently taking notes, or stood silently by us during breaks. She was never the best company. Alex, of course, tried to cheer her up, promising that the Halloween party would be the perfect opportunity for her to finally enjoy herself. Coffee, however, wasn't having it. She turned him down multiple times, but Alex remained relentless, like he always was.
It had been a week since I dealt with the football team. Ever since, whenever Brushhead and his gang saw me in the halls, they would quickly turn around and scurry away, faces pale. The sight was oddly satisfying.
There had been consequences, though. I saved Mose from a lifetime of fear, and while I didn't send him to a more "appropriate" location, I did tell him to shut up—which, to be honest, had a small but noticeable effect. He seemed a little more confident, though not necessarily in a good way.
I was the one who ended up suffering. Mose tried talking to me whenever he could, and no matter how much I ignored him, he wouldn't budge. Then he hit me where it hurt—he brought me a pizza from the buffet, a pizza I really didn't want to waste. So, I ate it.
Mose watched me chew, his eyes locked onto the pizza slice like I was performing a life-changing act. His gratitude was suffocating. He kept going on about how thankful he was and how he wanted to be my friend. I told him it was fine—he could "pay me back" by doing that ridiculous drawing task for me. He refused at first, but eventually, he helped me enough that I could claim he'd done it after all.
As for the friendship talk? I growled, "Don't even dream about it." But, predictably, Mose was unphased.
"Give me a chance, please?" he asked, staring at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
The kid was annoyingly persistent. Optimistic, too—he thought that my shrug meant I was considering it. It was a sort of "don't-care-do-what-you-want" gesture on my part.
"No," I said bluntly, and his face crumpled.
At this point, I should just start calling him Miserable Mose instead of Misfortune Mose.
Some speak their mind well, Alex, he wore his opinion on his face. His disapproving look said it all. He didn't have to speak for me to feel like an asshole. For a moment, I even thought, maybe I was. Not the typical kind of asshole, though—the cool, prankster kind. No, I was the kind who had nothing better to do than torment the unfortunate and hate the world.
And honestly, I didn't entirely disagree with that second part. The world hated me, I hated it—we were in perfect harmony. But I didn't have the time or inclination to break Mose's heart. So, with a grunt of indifference, I stood up and made my way toward the cafeteria, determined to get my Coke—on someone else's tab, of course.
(...)
With Wednesday's Halloween party rapidly approaching, Alex decided he needed an antihero costume that, quite frankly, couldn't have been more out of sync with his personality. Naturally, he dragged me along to Luna's to get it.
"Why do I have to go?" I grumbled.
"To get a discount for me, obviously," he grinned, "She's your girlfriend, right?"
"No," I deadpanned, and though Alex frowned, he wisely dropped the topic of my nonexistent love life. "And no."
"But Shay," he whined, sounding like a petulant eight-year-old. "If you don't come with me, I might have to spend half our month's income on this costume!"
"What?" I shot him a glare, narrowing my eyes.
"These things are expensive," he replied, "and I'm pretty sure she won't give me a discount! Gypsies are real thieves!"
I stood up from my chair, grabbed my leather jacket from the rack, and without a word, started toward the door. There was only one way to shut Alex up and save my wallet in the process.
"Yay!" Alex muttered, under his breath, but I caught it. I shot him a look that could freeze a river. He simply smiled, that soft, cocky grin of his. "You're the best, mate."
"Hurry up," I ordered, "I don't want to waste too much time."
"Yes, sir," Alex replied with exaggerated mockery, tugging on his shoes.
I sighed, but kept quiet.
When we got to Luna's place, a few of the gypsies were working on building their future house, nodding at me in recognition as I passed. Mu, the beat tamer, was hammering something on the roof, and a raven soared overhead, carrying a few nails in its beak.
"What brings you here, your M—"
"You wanna die, Lustist?" I interrupted before he could have said the m-word, stopping him cold.
He flashed me a cheeky grin and simply gestured toward the flower-patterned trailer.
The dancer girls were out and about, wearing regular clothes today, but they still waved at us. Alex, thinking he was the one being greeted with all that enthusiasm, waved back furiously. I tried not to laugh as I noticed the girls stifling giggles at Alex's half-hearted flirtation. Alex, oblivious to the true reason for their amusement, probably thought he was embarrassing them. Of course, I knew there were few things in the world that could embarrass them.
Inside, I found Luna in her trailer, mixing a pungent-smelling concoction on the stove.
"Hello," she greeted us with a friendly smile as we entered the room, which was significantly more spacious than I expected, thanks to some clever spatial expansion magic.
"Hi," I said almost in sync with Alex.
"How can I help you?" she asked as she turned off the stove.
"How can I help you?" Luna asked, turning off the stove with a flick of her wrist.
"I'm here because of the idiot," I muttered, pointing at Alex, who was already distracted by the size of the room, clearly caught off guard by how big the trailer was.
Once he snapped out of his daze, he started explaining why he'd dragged me along.
"Halloween party?" Luna's eyes lit up at the mention.
"Yep," Alex grinned madly, "That's why I need a costume."
Alex went into detail about what he wanted—specifically, a Deadpool costume. As usual, Luna made a few notes and asked when he would be picking it up.
Suddenly, her gaze shifted to me.
"And your costume?" she asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.
I pursed my lips. "I'm not going to that lame party."
That summed up my feelings on the whole costume fiasco.
After that, I went to work. It was a long, uneventful evening. One of those days where time passed quickly but felt like it didn't really exist.
I trudged home, my mind buzzing from the hours of mind-numbing tasks. By the time I walked through the door, I expected to find the apartment quiet, with Alex already tucked in bed.
I was wrong.
As soon as I stepped inside, I noticed a faint light flickering from the our room. Hesitating for a moment, I headed over, only to find Alex standing by the window, staring out into the night with a look so tragically romantic, he could have been the lead in some angsty teen drama. I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
"Alex," I said, my voice heavy with the exhaustion of the day. "It's midnight. Why are you staring into the abyss?"
He didn't move, didn't even blink, as if the weight of his thoughts held him there. With a long, drawn-out sigh, he responded, "I'm not staring into the abyss, Shay. I'm staring into my longing."
"Same thing," I muttered, kicking off my shoes and making my way to the couch. "Go to bed."
Alex leaned dramatically against the windowsill, his face practically glowing with an exaggerated sadness. "What if she's looking at the same stars right now?"
I let out a slow exhale, trying to contain my amusement. "If she's awake, it's probably because she's wondering why the stars haven't smothered your whining yet."
Alex didn't even crack a smile. He simply shifted his gaze to the stars outside the window, as though contemplating the great mysteries of the universe. "Do you think she thinks of me?" he asked, as if that was the most profound question in the history of humanity.
I rubbed my temples. "Alex, I don't know what she thinks, but I'm pretty sure she's not losing sleep over you. Or the stars. Or your melodrama. Maybe just go to bed and let the universe handle its own affairs for once."
His phone was clenched tightly in his hand, his thumb scrolling aimlessly through the screen like he was searching for something, or maybe just trying to distract himself from the mounting anxiety.
"Shay," Alex said, his voice unusually tense, "she's not answering. I've texted her a lot since she left... nothing. I can't even get her on the phone. What do you think is going on?"
I let out a small sigh, stretching my legs out across the couch and leaning back, trying not to smile at how dramatic Alex was being. "What do I think?" I said, my tone casual. "Well, I think it's pretty clear. Finally, someone with sense. She broke up with you."
Alex's head snapped toward me, his eyes wide, a mix of disbelief and irritation. "What?" he demanded. "You can't be serious."
I just shrugged, trying to keep my smugness in check. "I mean, look at it from her perspective. You were practically stalking her with texts and calls. Can't say I blame her for pulling the plug."
Alex's face twisted in confusion and frustration. "I don't know, Shay. I just don't get it. She... she just disappeared. Like that."
"It's called ghosting," I said, crossing my arms. "It's a common phenomenon."
He opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself, letting out a frustrated growl. "You're no help."
I smirked, loving every second of this. "Well, I was trying. Now, go to bed before you end up staring at your phone all night like some desperate sap."
He shot me a glare, but I saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward just slightly.
"Fine," he grumbled. "But you might have to help me get her back."
I laughed, stretching out across the bed. "Sure, I'll get right on that. Maybe start by learning to give people space, yeah?"
Alex groaned, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath as he headed to his bed. I couldn't help but smirk, feeling a sense of satisfaction from finally witnessing him get a dose of reality. "Goodnight, Romeo"
The silence that followed was blissful, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like the night might actually be peaceful.