Depression was a curse, in more ways than one.

For many, it was the go-to reason when one couldn’t get it together, a face-saving excuse for those who had failed simply because they hadn’t tried hard enough. Most people no longer cared to remember depression was a medical condition. Instead, depression had been reduced into something colloquial and mainstream, a status rather than an illness. It had become a socially acceptable blanket term for everything that was not right but normal. And most people were fine with this. Most people were too tired to argue and think differently, and antidepressants had become their placebo.

And that was fine, if only depression was what Christien di Luca truly felt.

But then – that was the problem in the first place.

Christien di Luca did not feel.

Or rather, he could not.

For as long as he could remember, he had found himself going through the motions, his emptiness buried deep, unnamed and unacknowledged. Out of sight, out of mind. He had done his best to live by this simple code, and when he had been younger, he had genuinely believed that in time, he would get better.

In time.

But he did not.

He had lost count of the therapists he had seen, quietly and discreetly. All of them had said the same thing; all of them had looked at him with the same eyes. He was depressed, and it could be cured.

He wanted to believe them.

But he did not.

Even with his mind working, his heart beating, his body moving, Christien knew that he was dead inside. Even though he had people in his life whose friendship he treasured – he knew it was not enough, knew that he didn’t care for them as much as he made them believe.

Eventually, he had come to accept that something would always be wrong, and he was drowning in that sea of wrongness.

He saw nothing in his life able to save him and wished he could make himself care that it was so.

But he did not.

* * *

Every so often, the thought of giving it all up brushed against the moral barriers of his mind, a temptation that grew more tantalizing with every unremarkable second of his existence that passed. To die was to free himself, but the young billionaire also knew that it couldn’t be so black and white. He was tired, but he was not selfish or callous enough to hurt those who persisted in believing he was worth saving. And the harm would both be irreparable and unforgivable, if he were to welcome Death with open arms.

So what then, the dark shadow in his mind asked. Do you stay in this world for them, but not for yourself? Is that how morality is defined?

These imaginary conversations with Death were the one thing that he never spoke of to anyone, not even his therapist or his confessor. Christien knew that the moment he did, a suicide watch would immediately follow, no questions asked. And he didn’t want that. Even he knew he wasn’t there yet. He might be on the brink of falling, but something was still holding him back, rooting him to this world.

Something…or maybe someone…

Try as he might, Christien hadn’t been able to shake off Derek Christopoulos’ words. That perhaps the absence of meaning in his life was all tied up with another person’s existence was, to the billionaire, equal parts irresistible and implausible.

He had everything in this world already, and yet it meant nothing. No matter the time, no matter the place, the days that had gone past and lay ahead of him were all the same. It had been so from the very start, but could all of this truly change if that woman Derek Christopoulos so fiercely spoke of walked into his life?

Death knocked on the door of his mind as the billionaire closed his eyes and made a half-hearted attempt to sleep. Are you certain you’re not coming with me today?

The words drifted to him, soundless but heavy, intangible but able to permeate the darkness of his bedroom and color it with morbid tension.

He opened his eyes, but his gaze was lost in the empty darkness of his soul.

It was so easy, the billionaire couldn’t help thinking. So damn easy to just take what Death was offering and be done with it.

But sheer force of will held him back, and he said finally, Not just yet, old friend.

Death snorted, the sound rather incongruously funny coming from so gravely dark a silhouette.

I know what you’re thinking – or at least what you’re trying to delude yourself into believing. But it’s a lie. You’re lying to yourself. You’re not like them. You can’t ever be like them. Your friends have women they love because they know how to love. Someone was there to teach them how to love.

But you’re different.

You pretend you know and understand love, but you don’t, not really, and not ever.

Your parents died before you could find out what it is, and now it’s too late.

You’re different.

You’re better off with me.

Dead.

Christien closed his eyes.

Maybe.

But if there were a chance – the smallest fucking chance – that everything would change…

You’re tired, Christien. Too tired. Why not join me and end your suffering?

Why not indeed, the billionaire thought. The hollowness inside of him flared and begged to be extinguished by Death’s touch, but his honor – the one and only thing in his life that he knew wasn't wrong – was so repulsed by the idea of giving up, Christien knew he simply couldn’t do it.

Yet.

And so he repeated more firmly, Not this time.

Death sighed. You’re waiting for nothing---

Christien didn’t bother answering. His mind believed the same thing, but even so---

He would wait.

Even with the barrenness of his life threatening to devour his soul completely –

He would wait.

For as long as he could afford to wait without breaking –

He would wait.

* * *

And it was like chasing rainbows.

Christien started traveling more frequently, attending more parties and saying yes to all the invitations that came his way. Throughout it, he met countless women, gave them all a chance, and fucked most of them, but nothing happened. More and more, he was beginning to think she was merely an illusion or worse, something Derek Christopoulos only made up to keep him from doing the unthinkable.

On the day he boarded his private jet and flew to Angel Falls, Connecticut, his good old friend Death was particularly mocking. That desperate now, are we, boy?

I’m heading there for business, Christien answered his imaginary companion calmly enough, but you’re free to think what you want of it.

I choose to think of the truth, Death retorted. You think because all the big cities in the world couldn’t yield who you wanted, you think you’ll find your rainbow here?

Christien didn’t bother to answer. Death would think what it wanted to think anyway.

Angel Falls has, what, a population of 500?

Two-fifty actually, Christien thought but refrained from mentioning the figure, knowing it would only make Death happier.

And you think out of that 500 – Death’s irritating cackle followed the billionaire as he entered his private room on board. You think one of those country bumpkins is what you’re looking for?

Christien began taking off his cuff links. Who’d have thought Death would be quite a bigot?

I’m not, Death answered hotly right away. I’m only speaking plainly here. I’ve been with you from the very start. I know where your taste in women runs---

The billionaire started unbuttoning his shirt. You don’t know everything about me.

Oh, but I do, boy. Deny it all you want, but I’ve seen it all and I know that rainbow you’re looking for---

Stop it with the fucking rainbows.

That rainbow won’t come in the form of a simple lass from Nowhere, Connecticut.

Christien switched the lights off in his cabin. This conversation is over.

Like your life can be, Christien---

Christien’s body became very still.

And very, very softly, Death whispered, Like you want it to be---

Don’t breathe, don’t think, the billionaire told himself, and maybe the temptation will go away.

But it did not.