I sit in the back of the taxi, leaning my head against the cold glass. The sun blazes in the clear sky, unrelenting, as if it has no intention of setting. Its rays pierce through the tops of trees and buildings, striking directly into my eyes and forcing me to squint. The bustling city streets race past, crowded with people preoccupied with their own lives.
We drive onto a bridge. Cars speed by on either side, their engines roaring. I shift my gaze to the wide, blue river below. It flows calmly, indifferent to the frantic pace around it. The sunlight dances on its surface, making the water shimmer with an almost surreal beauty. I want to linger in the sight, but the taxi crosses the bridge quickly, pulling me back into the gray monotony of asphalt streets.
The driver remains silent, and soft jazz plays in the background, making the ride more pleasant. This suits both of us—no rush, no questions. The car's interior is stuffy and reeks of stale cigarettes, but I barely notice. I'm not really here, anyway. I'm running—from what, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that the weight of my problems travels with me, heavy and inescapable.
Eventually, I ask the driver to pull over. I pay the fare and step out with a quiet goodbye. A warm gust of wind brushes against my face, bringing a strange sense of relief. I take a deep breath, inhaling fresh air. I glance around, realizing I've ended up far from home. In the distance, I spot the river bending through the landscape, its tranquil presence calling to me. Without hesitation, I walk toward it.
I find a quiet spot away from the park's noise and settle on the grass, staring at the gracefully flowing river. I wish it could carry away my pain as easily as it carries some fallen leaves. But no matter how much water passes, the heaviness in my chest remains.
I lose track of time, measuring its passage only by the sun's position. The sun begins to sink, its descent painting the sky with hues of amber and fiery orange. Clouds appear, soft and fluffy, their edges glowing like fresh brushstrokes on a masterpiece. The colors shift and deepen, a promise that, after the long night, the sun will rise again.
I rise to leave, brushing dust and grass from my pants. As I lift my eyes to take in my surroundings, I freeze. Framed against the vibrant backdrop stands a figure I know all too well. Cody.
"Are you planning to stand there frozen forever?" he asks, breaking the silence.
I don't know if I'm glad to see him or just surprised. Something stirs in my chest.
"Yes, I was here," he says, as if answering my unspoken question.
"The whole time?"
"All those hours you spent staring into nothingness," he replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
He steps closer, and his gaze shifts to where mine had been minutes ago. The wind tousles his hair, and as the river's current briefly captures his attention, he doesn't seem to notice as I watch him.
"Why does everything always have to be so messed up?" I mutter, more to myself than to him.
The breeze carries my words away, yet admitting them feels like a small release. Cody stays quiet for a moment, his hazel eyes thoughtful.
"Sometimes, nothing goes the way you expect," he says, his voice soft.
"I just want to take that scumbag down," I say, my voice trembling. "I want to make sure that someone like him can't hurt anyone else… and that I won't have to wake up every morning afraid. Is it too much to ask?"
My words spill out, raw and unfiltered. Even though Cody has seen me at my lowest more than once, shame follows close behind. I crouch down, burying my face in my knees, hoping to hide the tears welling up. I can't look at him. I can't bear to know what he's thinking.
Through my quiet sobs, I hear the gravel crunch. Suddenly, his arms wrap around me. The hug is warm, and grounding. He smells faintly of something comforting—soap, cinnamon rolls, maybe, and the faintest hint of cologne.
"Nate," he whispers, his voice gentle as his hand moves soothingly across my back. "You always try to carry it all on your own, but you don't have to."
I want to tell him this is my burden to bear, something I need to resolve to hold onto what's left of myself. To shield those I care about. But instead, I let myself lean into him. Just for this moment, I cling to the hope that his arms won't let go. Because without them, the weight of loneliness would crush me completely.