The therapist's office wasn't anything like Elias had imagined. It was small, with pale green walls that seemed like they were trying too hard to be calming. A single window overlooked the city, the view partially obscured by frost creeping up the glass. The furniture was mismatched—an overstuffed chair across from a sleek black couch. A few framed prints of abstract art hung crookedly on the walls.
Elias sat in the chair, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. He felt out of place, like an intruder in a space that wasn't meant for him. Across from him, Dr. Anne Forrester, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a gentle smile, watched him in silence.
"You're not saying anything," Elias muttered after a few minutes.
Dr. Forrester tilted her head slightly. "I was waiting for you to start."
"I don't know where to start," he admitted, his voice tight.
"That's okay," she said, her tone unhurried. "Why don't you start with why you're here?"
Elias hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I'm here because…" His voice faltered, the words catching in his throat.
"Take your time," she said gently.
He inhaled sharply, forcing the words out. "Because I don't want to feel like this anymore. Like… I'm stuck in the past. Like every day is just… carrying the same weight all over again."
Dr. Forrester nodded, her pen gliding over the notebook in her lap. "And when you say 'the past,' what do you mean?"
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Julien. My best friend. He… he died. And I froze. I didn't help him. I just stood there and… and let it happen."
The room seemed to shrink, the air growing heavier. Dr. Forrester didn't interrupt, letting the silence stretch.
Elias finally looked up, his eyes burning. "I see it every night. Over and over. And I don't know how to make it stop."
---
Later that day, Elias met Clara at a diner they used to frequent when they were younger. The place hadn't changed much—cracked vinyl booths, sticky tabletops, and a jukebox in the corner that hadn't worked in years.
Clara was already there, nursing a cup of coffee and staring out the window. She looked up when he slid into the booth across from her.
"Well?" she asked, her voice cautious.
Elias shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "It was… hard. But not as bad as I thought it would be."
"Did you talk about Julien?"
"Yeah."
Clara nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. "How'd that feel?"
"Like ripping open an old wound," Elias admitted. "But I think… I think it needed to be ripped open."
Clara's gaze dropped to the table. "I've been thinking about what you said. About therapy."
"And?"
"And… maybe I'll try it. Eventually."
Elias smiled faintly. "That's all I wanted to hear."
---
The conversation shifted, becoming lighter as the weight of their shared pain momentarily lifted. They talked about trivial things—movies they'd seen, books they wanted to read, the ridiculous fashion trends they'd noticed on the street.
But the reprieve was brief. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the diner, Clara leaned forward, her voice dropping.
"Do you ever wonder if we're just… broken?"
Elias frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Like, maybe there's no fixing this. Maybe we're just stuck like this—haunted, fractured. Maybe Julien's death didn't just break us. Maybe it broke everything."
Elias's jaw tightened. "We're not broken, Clara. We're just… figuring it out. And yeah, it's messy and awful, but that doesn't mean it's permanent."
Clara laughed bitterly. "You're more optimistic than I remember."
He leaned back, his expression serious. "I'm not optimistic. I'm just tired of letting this define me. Define us. Julien wouldn't want that."
Clara's eyes flashed. "Don't tell me what Julien would or wouldn't want. You don't know. You didn't know him any better than I did."
Elias's voice hardened. "You're right, I didn't. But I know he wouldn't want us to keep tearing ourselves apart over something we can't change."
Clara looked away, her jaw tight. "It's not that simple."
"I know it's not," Elias said, his voice softening. "But we have to start somewhere. Otherwise, what's the point?"
---
They left the diner as night fell, the cold air biting at their skin. The city was alive with the hum of traffic and the distant murmur of voices.
As they walked, Clara broke the silence. "Do you think Julien ever forgave us? For… for not saving him?"
Elias didn't answer immediately. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his breath visible in the cold. "I don't know if forgiveness is even the right word. Maybe it's not about him forgiving us. Maybe it's about us forgiving ourselves."
Clara's laugh was harsh, almost a bark. "And how do we do that, exactly?"
"I don't know," Elias admitted. "But I think it starts with letting go of the idea that we could've done anything different. We did what we could, Clara. We loved him. And that has to count for something."
Clara stopped walking, her expression unreadable. "What if I can't let go?"
Elias turned to face her, his gaze steady. "Then I'll carry it with you. For as long as it takes."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Clara nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Okay."
It was a small word, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions.
---
As they parted ways, Elias felt a strange sense of calm. It wasn't peace—not yet—but it was the closest he'd come in years.
Clara watched him disappear into the crowd, her thoughts churning. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time, the future didn't feel like an unbroken chain of the past.
It felt like a question. And maybe, just maybe, she was ready to start looking for answers.
The city stretched out before Clara like a labyrinth she couldn't escape, the streets alive with the hum of people moving purposefully toward their destinations. But for her, every path felt circular, looping back to the same inescapable questions.
She wandered aimlessly after Elias left, her feet carrying her through familiar neighborhoods she hadn't visited in years. The air was cold, biting at her cheeks, but she didn't pull her scarf tighter. The discomfort grounded her, kept her from retreating too far into the whirlpool of her thoughts.
She stopped at a small park tucked between two apartment buildings. The playground equipment was rusted, the swings creaking softly in the wind. She sat on one, the chains groaning under her weight.
Why do I keep coming back to this? she wondered. The past was an anchor, and she wasn't sure she wanted to cut the chain.
"Do you think Julien forgives us?"
Elias's question lingered in her mind, gnawing at her. It wasn't just about Julien's forgiveness—it was about hers. Could she forgive herself for the things she didn't do, for the choices she didn't make, for freezing when she should have acted?
She let out a bitter laugh, the sound swallowed by the empty park. "Forgiveness," she muttered. "What a stupid word."
---
Clara didn't go home. The thought of her empty apartment made her chest tighten, so she walked until her legs ached. The streets blurred into one another, her surroundings fading into a haze.
When she finally stopped, she found herself outside a dimly lit bar she hadn't been to in years. It was where the three of them—her, Elias, and Julien—used to go after long nights of wandering the city. She hesitated, her hand on the door.
Inside, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit her like a wave. The bar was nearly empty, the faint hum of a jukebox playing a melancholic tune in the corner.
"Clara."
The voice startled her, and she turned to see Nora, an old acquaintance, sitting at the bar. Nora was one of Julien's friends, though they had never been particularly close. She looked the same—sharp features, piercing eyes, and a cigarette perpetually balanced between her fingers.
"Nora," Clara said, her voice cautious.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Nora said, motioning for Clara to join her. "It's been years."
Clara hesitated but slid onto the stool beside her. "Yeah, it has."
They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken memories.
---
"You still think about him, don't you?" Nora finally asked, her voice low.
Clara tensed. "Every day."
Nora exhaled a plume of smoke, her eyes narrowing. "Same. He had that effect on people. Got under your skin and stayed there."
Clara frowned, her fingers curling around her glass. "It's not just that. It's… everything. What happened. What didn't happen."
Nora tilted her head, studying her. "You blame yourself."
"Don't you?" Clara shot back, her voice sharper than she intended.
Nora didn't flinch. "Of course I do. But blaming yourself doesn't bring him back. It doesn't change a damn thing."
Clara laughed bitterly. "That's easy to say. But you weren't there. You didn't see him—"
"Don't," Nora interrupted, her tone cutting. "Don't pretend you're the only one who lost him. We all lost him. You think your guilt is special? It's not. It's just louder because you keep feeding it."
Clara's jaw tightened. "You don't understand."
"Then help me," Nora said, leaning forward. "Make me understand. Because from where I'm sitting, you're drowning in something you could've let go of years ago."
---
Clara didn't respond immediately. She stared at the bar, the wood worn smooth from years of use. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.
"I froze," she said, the words barely audible. "When he needed me most, I froze. And I keep thinking, if I'd just moved, if I'd just done something, maybe he'd still be here."
Nora nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "And what if you couldn't have saved him? What if nothing you did would've changed the outcome?"
"I don't know," Clara admitted. "But I'll never know because I didn't try."
Nora sighed, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "You think Julien didn't freeze? That he wasn't scared? We all freeze, Clara. That's what makes us human. You're not a hero. You're not supposed to be."
---
The conversation shifted into darker territory, the weight of Julien's absence pressing down on them both.
"Do you think he knew how much we loved him?" Clara asked, her voice trembling.
Nora's gaze softened. "I think he knew. But I also think he couldn't see past his own pain long enough to believe it."
Clara closed her eyes, her chest tightening. "I hate this. I hate that he's gone. I hate that I can't stop thinking about it. About him."
Nora reached out, her hand resting on Clara's arm. "Then stop punishing yourself. Julien's gone, but you're still here. You've got to find a way to live with that."
---
Clara left the bar hours later, her mind buzzing with Nora's words. The city was quiet now, the streets empty. She wandered again, her thoughts a tangled mess.
By the time she reached her apartment, the sun was starting to rise. She stood outside the building, staring up at her window.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered to no one.
But even as the words left her lips, she felt a tiny flicker of something unfamiliar. Not hope—something smaller, quieter. A sense that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to do it alone.
Inside her apartment, the silence was deafening. Clara stood motionless, staring at the clutter she hadn't cleaned in weeks. The whiskey bottle on the coffee table mocked her resolve, half-empty and gleaming in the soft light filtering through the curtains. She sat on the couch, her fingers trembling as she lit a cigarette she didn't remember pulling out.
As the smoke filled her lungs, she let her head fall back against the cushions, her mind racing.
What am I even doing?
She closed her eyes and saw Julien's face again. His laugh, the way he used to light up a room with his presence. And then the image changed—his face contorted in fear, his hand reaching out, desperate for something she hadn't given him.
"I froze," she muttered to the empty room, her voice hollow. "I just stood there."
The words felt like a confession and a curse, echoing off the walls until they lost all meaning. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, willing the tears not to come.
---
The knock at the door was unexpected. Clara jumped, her heart hammering in her chest. She hesitated before crossing the room and peering through the peephole.
"Elias?"
"Open up, Clara," his voice came through, muffled but urgent.
She unlocked the door and stepped aside as he pushed his way in. His face was pale, his jaw tight.
"What's going on?" she asked, taken aback by his intensity.
Elias turned to her, his eyes searching hers. "I can't stop thinking about what you said earlier. About us being broken."
Clara frowned, crossing her arms. "It was just a thought. You didn't have to come all the way here to—"
"Stop," he interrupted, his voice sharp. "Don't brush it off like it doesn't matter. It does. And I need to know if you really believe that."
She faltered, his gaze pinning her in place. "I don't know what I believe, Elias. Everything feels… wrong. Like we're walking through a life that doesn't belong to us anymore."
Elias sat down heavily on the armrest of the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think that's exactly what Julien felt? Like he didn't belong?"
Clara's chest tightened. "Maybe. But that doesn't excuse us for failing him."
Elias looked up sharply. "Failing him? You think that's what we did?"
"Yes!" she snapped, her voice rising. "We failed him, Elias. He was drowning, and we didn't even see it. Or worse, we saw it and looked the other way."
"That's not fair," he said, his tone low but edged with frustration. "We didn't look the other way. We were just… caught in our own lives. Julien didn't exactly make it easy to see what he was going through."
"And that's supposed to make it okay?" Clara demanded, her voice trembling. "That we were too distracted to notice he was falling apart?"
"No, it doesn't make it okay," Elias said, standing now, his voice matching hers. "But it's the truth. And if we're going to keep tearing ourselves apart over what happened, then we need to face that truth."
---
The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of their words hanging between them. Clara turned away, wrapping her arms around herself.
"I keep thinking about the last time I saw him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He hugged me goodbye, and I remember thinking how tired he looked. But I didn't ask. I didn't… I didn't want to know."
Elias stepped closer, his expression softening. "You were scared. We both were. Julien was always larger than life, and the idea of him struggling… it didn't fit the picture we had of him. That's not your fault, Clara. It's not mine either."
Clara shook her head, tears streaming down her face now. "But it feels like it is. Every single day, it feels like it is."
Elias hesitated before placing a hand on her shoulder. "I know. Believe me, I know. But carrying this guilt forever… it won't bring him back. And it won't heal us."
---
Clara pulled away, pacing the small space. "You make it sound so simple. Like we can just decide to move on."
"It's not simple," Elias admitted. "But we have to try. Because if we don't, Julien's death isn't the only thing we'll lose ourselves to."
She stopped, turning to face him. "What if I don't know how to let go?"
"Then we figure it out together," he said firmly. "One step at a time."
---
They talked for hours, their words raw and unfiltered. Elias opened up about his own nightmares, the ones where he was the one falling instead of Julien. Clara confessed to the nights she spent staring at old photos, searching for answers in Julien's smile.
As dawn broke, they sat side by side on the couch, the tension between them eased but not gone.
"I'm scared," Clara admitted quietly.
"Me too," Elias said. "But maybe that's okay. Maybe being scared means we still care. And caring… that has to count for something."
Clara looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Do you really believe that?"
"I want to," he said. "And for now, maybe that's enough."
For the first time in years, Clara felt a glimmer of something she couldn't name. It wasn't hope, but it was close enough.
The silence between them grew, but this time it wasn't stifling. It was the kind of silence that allowed thoughts to form, fragile and unspoken. Clara glanced at Elias, the lines on his face deeper than she remembered. He looked older, as though carrying Julien's absence had aged him more than time itself could.
"What do you think Julien would say if he were here right now?" Clara asked suddenly, her voice soft but filled with an edge of bitterness.
Elias chuckled darkly. "He'd probably laugh at us. Tell us to stop being so dramatic. Maybe make some cutting remark about how we're wasting time wallowing in our guilt."
Clara's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "He always did have a way of making everything sound so… insignificant."
"Yeah," Elias said, his voice dipping. "Except for when it came to himself."
Clara flinched, the weight of his words sinking in. "Do you think he hated himself that much?"
Elias hesitated before answering. "I think Julien was afraid of himself. Of the things he felt, the things he couldn't control. He always had this way of hiding it, though—like if he pretended hard enough, it would go away."
Clara shook her head. "But we should have known. How could we have been so blind?"
"Because he didn't want us to know," Elias said firmly. "You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved, Clara. It's a painful truth, but it's still the truth."
---
She stood, her movements restless. The cigarette in her hand had burned to the filter, and she dropped it into the ashtray, watching the ember fizzle out.
"Do you remember the night we went to the lake?" she asked suddenly.
Elias frowned. "The lake?"
"Yeah. It was a few months before… before everything. Julien convinced us to drive out there in the middle of the night. He said he wanted to show us something."
Elias nodded slowly, the memory surfacing. "He said it was supposed to be some kind of cosmic phenomenon. A meteor shower or something."
Clara laughed bitterly. "And, of course, there was nothing. Just a pitch-black sky and freezing cold water."
"But he made us stay anyway," Elias added, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He said it didn't matter if the meteors didn't show up. The stars were enough."
Clara's gaze turned distant. "That night, he seemed so… alive. Like nothing in the world could touch him. I keep going back to that moment, trying to reconcile it with what came after. How can someone seem so full of life one moment and so empty the next?"
Elias didn't answer right away. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with sorrow. "Maybe that's the cruel irony. The brightest stars burn out the fastest. Julien was always burning—so bright, so intense. But he couldn't sustain it."
---
Clara leaned against the window, staring out at the city. The world outside was waking up, but it felt like she was watching it from behind glass, disconnected and removed.
"Do you think we're like him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Elias looked up, startled. "What do you mean?"
She turned to face him, her eyes searching his. "Do you think we're burning out too? Slowly, without even realizing it?"
He held her gaze, the question cutting deeper than he expected. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe we are. But maybe that's why we need to hold onto each other. To remind ourselves that we're still here, still… alive."
Clara let out a hollow laugh. "Alive. That's a funny word, isn't it? What does it even mean to be alive when everything feels so—" She paused, searching for the right word.
"Empty?" Elias offered.
She nodded. "Yeah. Empty."
---
The conversation shifted again, diving into places neither of them had dared explore before.
"Do you ever think about what Julien wanted?" Elias asked.
Clara frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what he really wanted. Not the things he pretended to want, but the things he never said out loud. Do you think he even knew?"
Clara considered this, her thoughts churning. "I think Julien wanted to matter. Not just to us, but to the world. He wanted to leave a mark, to prove that he existed."
Elias nodded slowly. "But he didn't believe he could, did he? No matter what he did, it was never enough for him."
"No," Clara agreed, her voice tinged with sadness. "It was never enough."
---
The weight of Julien's absence pressed down on them again, but this time it felt different. Less suffocating, more contemplative. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside.
"I had a dream about him last night," Elias said suddenly.
Clara looked at him, her brow furrowing. "What kind of dream?"
Elias hesitated, his expression unreadable. "He was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking out at the ocean. He turned to me and said, 'It's not about the fall; it's about what you see on the way down.'"
Clara's breath caught. "What do you think it means?"
"I don't know," Elias admitted. "But it felt… important. Like he was trying to tell me something."
Clara's chest tightened. "Do you think he was happy, at least for a little while? Before everything?"
Elias's gaze softened. "I think Julien found moments of happiness. But they were fleeting, like trying to hold water in your hands."
---
The sun was fully up now, casting a pale light over the room. Clara stood and stretched, her movements slow and deliberate.
"I don't know what comes next," she said quietly.
Elias looked at her, his expression thoughtful. "Neither do I. But maybe that's okay. Maybe it's not about knowing. Maybe it's about… trying."
She gave him a small, tired smile. "Trying. I guess that's all we can do."
He nodded. "For Julien. And for ourselves."
As Clara walked him to the door, she felt a flicker of something she couldn't name—a fragile sense of possibility. It wasn't hope, not yet. But it was enough to take another step forward.
After Elias left, Clara lingered by the door, her hand resting on the cold metal handle. She listened to the sound of his footsteps fading into the hallway, each one pulling her further into the isolation she'd grown used to.
But something about their conversation lingered—an ache that wasn't just pain but something more complicated, something she couldn't yet name. She stepped back into the living room, staring at the chaos of empty bottles, ash-filled trays, and discarded memories.
Trying. The word clung to her like a fragile promise.
She sank onto the couch, her fingers tracing the edges of a framed photo on the coffee table. It was from years ago, back when Julien was still alive, his arm slung casually over her shoulder, Elias laughing mid-motion in the background. Clara's own smile in the photo felt like a distant echo of a person she barely remembered.
"You left us here," she whispered to the image, her voice trembling. "You left us to figure out the mess you couldn't face."
The silence of the apartment pressed in again, heavier this time. She threw the photo frame aside, watching as it hit the floor with a dull thud, the glass shattering into jagged pieces.
---
The phone rang, jolting her out of her spiral. Clara hesitated, her body frozen mid-reach. She didn't recognize the number. Against her better judgment, she picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Is this Clara Beaumont?"
The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, clipped, and professional.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Dr. Meredith Cole. I… I was Julien's therapist."
Clara's heart stopped. She gripped the phone tighter, her mind racing. "Why are you calling me?"
"I debated for weeks whether or not I should," Dr. Cole admitted. Her voice was calm but carried an undercurrent of hesitation. "But there are things you need to know. Things Julien never shared with you or Elias."
"What things?" Clara demanded, her voice sharp.
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a sigh. "I can't discuss the specifics over the phone. Could we meet? Tomorrow, perhaps? My office."
Clara hesitated. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to hang up, to avoid digging deeper into the past. But something about the doctor's tone stopped her.
"Fine," she said finally. "Tomorrow."
---
The call ended, and Clara set the phone down with trembling hands. The room felt smaller somehow, the walls pressing in.
She stared at the broken photo frame on the floor, the jagged pieces of glass catching the light. Without thinking, she crouched down and began picking them up, her fingers clumsy and careless.
The sharp edge of a shard bit into her palm, and she hissed in pain, watching as blood welled up.
Fitting, she thought bitterly.
She pressed her hand against her jeans, staining the fabric red, and sat back on her heels. The photo itself lay undamaged, Julien's smiling face staring back at her.
"Why now?" she muttered to the empty room. "Why does it all have to come back now?"
---
The next morning, Clara found herself standing outside Dr. Cole's office, her stomach in knots. She had barely slept, her mind consumed by questions she didn't want answers to.
The waiting room was sterile and impersonal, the faint hum of an air conditioner the only sound. A young receptionist gave her a polite smile before ushering her into the office.
Dr. Cole was a middle-aged woman with kind but tired eyes. She gestured for Clara to sit, her movements deliberate and calm.
"Thank you for coming," Dr. Cole began, folding her hands in her lap.
"Just get to the point," Clara said, her tone sharper than she intended.
Dr. Cole nodded, unruffled. "Julien spoke about you often. About Elias too. He cared about you both deeply, even if he couldn't always express it."
Clara crossed her arms, leaning back in the chair. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Dr. Cole hesitated, her gaze steady. "Julien's struggles were deeper than you knew. He was carrying a weight that didn't just belong to him."
"What are you talking about?" Clara asked, her chest tightening.
Dr. Cole leaned forward slightly. "Julien believed he was protecting you. From truths he thought would destroy you. From secrets he couldn't bear to share."
Clara's pulse quickened. "What secrets?"
"I can't tell you everything," Dr. Cole said carefully. "But Julien was haunted by something from your shared past. Something he blamed himself for. He thought if he kept it buried, he could protect you from the fallout."
Clara stared at her, her mind racing. "That doesn't make any sense. Julien wasn't… he didn't…" She trailed off, unable to form a coherent thought.
Dr. Cole's expression softened. "Clara, sometimes the people we love the most are the ones who carry the heaviest burdens. Julien didn't want you or Elias to see that part of him. He wanted to shield you from it, even if it meant destroying himself in the process."
---
The words lingered in Clara's mind long after she left the office. She walked aimlessly through the city, the noise of the streets fading into a distant hum.
Protect me? From what?
Her thoughts turned over and over, fragments of memories rising unbidden. Julien's laugh, his sharp wit, the moments he seemed to retreat into himself. Pieces of a puzzle she didn't even know existed.
By the time she reached her apartment, her head was pounding. She dropped onto the couch, her body heavy with exhaustion.
For the first time in years, she allowed herself to think about Julien—not just the good parts, but the cracks he had tried so hard to hide.
And for the first time, she realized she might not have known him at all.