Forgiving yourself is something most people need. When people do harm, they can only forgive themselves if the person harmed forgives you. And even then, some people don't even forgive themselves.
And then they are the people who don't need other people's forgiveness as their selfishness assumes they did the right thing.
And others who can never forgive themselves because the person they harmed is, well... dead...
For Andrew Graves, it was a little bit of all. After all he has committed a great sin.
He killed his sister.
The streetlights flickered, plunging the narrow road into darkness before blinking back to life. The dingy alleyway stretched out before him, a wasteland of crumpled posters, overflowing trash bags, and graffiti-streaked walls. Overhead, the night sky loomed, an ink-black canopy pressing down on the lifeless city-a mirror of the hollow souls wandering within it.
Andrew's footsteps echoed against the damp pavement; his gaze fixed downward. He had been walking for hours, hoping that movement would silence the memories clawing at his mind. But no matter how far he went, Ashley was always there-her laughter, her smile, forever burned into his thoughts. And alongside them, the fire. The way the flames licked at the walls, swallowing everything whole. The way he had left her behind in the inferno.
They had called it a 'quarantine,' a safety measure due to 'infected water.' But Andrew knew better. The ones trapped inside that building hadn't been saved. They had been locked away, left to rot in their own madness.
Being outside again, breathing in the cold, polluted air, should have made him feel free. Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He exhaled, pushing his shaggy black hair out of his eyes as he looked up at the sky. The wind picked up, a sharp whisper in the silence, and Andrew narrowed his gaze. Shit. It was about to rain. He needed to find shelter - fast.
His pace quickened, his senses on high alert. If someone approached, if anything felt off, he had the cleaver in his bag. He always did.
Fat droplets of rain began to fall, spattering against his clothes and the pavement beneath him. With a low curse, Andrew ducked under an air conditioning unit jutting out from the wall, leaning against the cold brick. He fished a cigarette from his pocket, cupping his hands against the wind as he lit it. The first inhale filled his lungs, grounding him for a moment.
Then he noticed her.
A short young woman stood a few feet away, sheltered beneath another AC unit. She, too, was smoking. Her curly hair was a tangled mess, half-veiling her face. Her sweater dress was as dark as the night around them, clinging to her frame. Her skin was a warm, brownish-caramel tone, a stark contrast to the cold cityscape. And then there were her eyes-at least, the one he could see. A deep shade of amethyst, gleaming under the dim light
She met his gaze, exhaling a curl of smoke between her lips.
Andrew took another drag, watching her through the haze.
The rain fell harder.
The young woman's eye flicked toward Andrew the moment she noticed him, but she said nothing-just took another slow drag of her cigarette.
Andrew's eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about her... but it didn't matter. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the nicotine before exhaling a thin stream of smoke. Yet, the discomfort lingered-a gnawing sensation, as if unseen eyes were locked onto him.
He turned back to the woman, his gaze sharpening into slits.
"You know, staring isn't polite," he muttered, voice low and gruff.
The young woman tilted her head slightly, as if intrigued that he had spoken. "Sorry. You just look... familiar..." she murmured, her gaze narrowing as if memorizing every line of his face.
Andrew's eyebrows lifted slightly. She thought he looked familiar, too.
"Either way, stop staring. It's creepy."
But she didn't. Instead, she leaned in, scrutinizing him even more closely. "Your voice is glib... You remind me of an old friend. He was glib and sarcastic, too."
Andrew stiffened at her analysis, then studied her features more intently. There was something about her... something just beyond his reach. He sifted through the faces in his memory, scanning the past twenty-two years of his life. And then, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, it hit him.
Amethyst eyes.
Isabel Torres.
His childhood friend. His ex-neighbor. His classmate from kindergarten all the way through high school.
He remembered the way she used to follow him around, infatuated with him, always clinging to his arm and dreaming up wild fantasies-her as a cat ballerina, him as her dashing prince. Even in high school, when she traded her frilly dresses for gothic makeup and tight black clothing, he could tell-she had never really let go of those feelings. But nothing had ever come of them.
"Wait..." Andrew muttered, stepping closer as the soft rain kissed his raven-colored hair. Reaching out, he gently brushed aside the thick bangs covering her right eye.
And there they were-the scars.
His breath hitched. It really was Isa.
"It's you... It's really you..." he murmured, his green eyes wide, shimmering on the verge of tears. After a month of solitude, of drowning in his own loneliness, he had finally found someone-someone who could help him.
Isa looked up at him, a faint blush dusting her cheeks before she quickly hid her scarred eye beneath her bangs again. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her lips.
"I knew it was you, Andy..."
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The bar's lights were dim, casting a warm, hazy glow over the space as soft disco music pulsed in the background. Beneath the music, the murmur of conversations and the occasional clash of drunk men breaking into fights filled the air. Andrew sat at the bar, nursing a beer, while Isa sipped on a glass of Sangria across from him.
"Are you even old enough to drink?" Andrew teased, a smirk curling at his lips.
Isa rolled her eyes, chuckling. "Oh, come on. I'm only a year younger than you. Besides, I'm twenty-one. Perfectly legal."
She took another sip, the crimson liquid deepening the colour of her already red lips. A knowing look crossed her face as she added, "Not like either of us waited for the legal age anyway, and you know it."
Andrew closed his emerald eyes with a chuckle, taking another swig of his beer. "Fair point." He set his bottle down, gaze shifting away as if weighed down by something heavier than the conversation. "I'm sure you've got a lot of questions."
Isa placed her glass down as well, leaning forward slightly. "Yeah... like, why the fuck do you look like shit?"
"I don't fucking look like shit," Andrew scoffed, irritation flashing in his eyes. "It's just been... rough."
Isa bit her lip at his words, hesitating before pressing on. "What the hell happened after I moved away? It's been years..."
A long sigh escaped him as he ran a hand through his unkempt raven hair. His already pale skin seemed even paler under the bar's dim light.
"There was a quarantine in our apartment complex. Ashley and I were locked in for three months... away from the world."
Isa's brows furrowed. "Why? What kind of quarantine?"
"They said the water was 'contaminated' or some shit. But I never bought it. It felt more like the government was playing games with us..."
Isa's amethyst eyes softened, her fingers reaching across the table to rest against his hand. "Damn... That's some hard shit. I'm sorry, Andy."
Andrew tensed, jaw tightening as he instinctively pulled his hand away. He hated when people called him Andy. But with Isa... it was different. It stirred something in him-nostalgia, maybe. He could almost hear her voice from all those years ago, chasing him around, calling out his name with that same playful lilt.
"Andy, Andy, Andy!"
A small, unbidden smile ghosted his lips. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he had missed those days. His emerald eyes flickered back to her as he reached forward, fingertips brushing against her hand.
"It's fine, Isa. Just... it would've been nice if you were there. Maybe you could've kept me sane."
Isa chuckled, her smirk returning. "Pfft. Please. I'd have just made you more insane and annoyed the shit out of you." She shrugged, but then leaned in closer, her amethyst eyes darkening with curiosity.
"Speaking of annoying... how's crazy Ashley?"
Andrew's expression immediately shifted, his eyes darkening-but for an entirely different reason. Isa noticed the change and her teasing demeanor faltered.
"Andy... I-I'm sorry. What happened?"
Andrew exhaled heavily, fingers tightening around his beer bottle. "It's a long story..."
Isa hummed softly, taking a sip of her Sangria before setting it down again. "I see..." She offered a small, knowing smile. "Just know I'm here for your hot ass, okay?"
A surprised heat crept up Andrew's face at her words. The way she leaned in closer, her lips curling into a smirk-it was enough to make his pulse quicken. But he wouldn't let her win that easily.
"Be careful with your words," he murmured, voice low and teasing. "Or else your hot ass might just get what it wants."
Isa laughed, her amusement lighting up her expression. "Oh, Andy... I haven't even started teasing you."
She playfully poked his nose before leaning in further, nipping at his cheek. The sudden contact made Andrew's face flush even more. He remembered Ashley doing things like this-but with Isa, it was different. It stirred something unfamiliar, something electric.
Isa suddenly tilted her head, her lips just inches from his face as her eyes scanned him up and down. "You look like you haven't eaten in months..." she murmured. "That quarantine must've been hell."
Andrew's gaze dropped to his own frame-too skinny, too worn down. A shadow passed over his face. "It's... kind of my fault," he admitted, his voice quieter. "I got into a fight with the warden. He refused to give us food after that. We were practically left to starve... and then..."
He ran a hand through his hair, the memories pressing down on him like weights. "We had to do anything to survive... even if it meant becoming inhuman."
Isa's breath hitched, her smirk vanishing as she slowly leaned back, her expression unreadable.
"..."