I walk her backward into my bedroom, trying not to think too hard about what I’m doing. I mean, fuck, I had her exactly where I wanted her, where I’ve been trying to get her from the start. My way. How I’ve always done it in the dimly lit backrooms of bars, in toilet stalls, with chicks whose names I never knew.

And I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t finish it.

Dakota bumps into the doorframe, and I steady her, wrenching my thoughts to the here and now. She’s staring at me, those large blue eyes round and brimming with questions, one strap of her white dress untied, almost baring the sexy mound of her breast.

My dick hardens more, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to groan out loud. I steer her toward my bed and push her down. I press my knee between her legs, and lean over her, touching her perfect lips, taking in every detail of her pretty face.

I missed her. God, how I missed her during this weekend from hell. I want to map her body, draw it, cover it with my designs. Cover it with my body, my essence. Mark her as mine. I want to touch, and taste, and smell, and I want to push into her, spill into her.

Make her mine.

Christ, I can’t keep my head above the water anymore. I feel like I’m on a train that’s gone off the rails. Too fast. I’ve never done this before, this… relationship stuff. If this is what it is. Shit, I’m so out of my damn depth here.

Then she reaches between us, wraps her small hand around my dick, and holy crap, I don’t care if I die tonight. My hips jerk, my stomach muscles tighten, all air leaves my lungs, and all I can think of is hammering into her.

She shifts beneath me, parting her legs more, so she can press up. She’s naked under her dress, her panties gone, and I lift the soft fabric to see her, really look at her for the first time. I was right, she’s shaved, smooth and beautiful, open for me, her clit like a pearl inside an oyster, waiting for me to touch it, roll it between my fingers.

Fuck, this girl is breathtaking. I trail my hand down her neck, over her breasts, watching her nipples pebble. I lift the dress higher and caress her flat stomach. I dip my thumb into her cute bellybutton, then continue the journey down.

She moans when I touch her clit. She’s so wet from coming twice, and her slickness sends a jolt of painful need down my balls.

Fuck.

My fingers dip inside her, and she tightens around me immediately. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply her scent of arousal—salty caramel and smoke.

Now. Yeah. Observing her face, seeing how her lovely features shift with every move of my fingers inside her, I know I can’t wait any longer. I pull out my fingers and grab my dick, positioning it at her opening and sinking into her heat in one slow thrust.

Pressure is building fast behind my balls, so fast I can hardly breathe as I rock in and out of her, my thrusts going faster and faster. Her lips part, her brows lift as if in surprise. Don’t know why, but then she tightens around my cock like a fist, and her back bows right off the bed.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and as her orgasm rips through her, I reach for her face, stroke her cheek.

And cry out as pleasure crashes through me, taking over me. My body seizes with it, my lungs compress until I can’t breathe. Holy shit, I come so hard I see stars and comets, and the whole fucking galaxy.

She’s at the center of it all, filling my vision until I can’t see anything else. Goddammit, I’m in love. I’ve fallen for her, and I’m in too deep.

I should know better. Should keep to Zane’s Law. Never let anyone close because they’ll leave or die.

Yeah. Too fucking late for that now.

* * *

I’m lost in a dream memory of pain and terror, hands pawing me, voices screaming my name, when something breaks through. The dream shatters, and I groan, caught on the cusp between insanity and reality.

Where am I? What happened? Why can’t I move?

My teeth are grinding together, and I’m wrapped around something warm and soft. I blink crummy eyes and wait for my blurry vision to sharpen. I hope I haven’t done anything stupid while dreaming, because last night…

Last night I was with Dakota. And she’s right here, curled in my arms. She has her back to me, the deathmoth tattoo barely visible in the gray light of dawn seeping through the window. I study the sweet curve of her shoulder, the pale expanse of her neck.

Then she tenses, curls up tighter. A whimper escapes her.

So this is what woke me up. Bad dream? I frown in the half-light, not sure what to do on this end of it, not being the one having the nightmare.

Sometimes, back when I lived with Emma and had bad dreams, she’d wake me up and stroke my arm until I could breathe again.

Uncharted territory.

I reach up and cup Dakota’s shoulder, then stroke her arm. “Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay. I promise.”

She whimpers again, then jerks and twists around. Before I realize what’s going on, she’s turning in my arms, clutching me around the neck, nestling close.

Shocked into stillness, I don’t move as she rests her head on my chest, her soft hair tickling. After a small eternity, she settles, and I wrap my arms around her again.

Cuddling. On my bed. With a chick.

Must be the end of the world. I wait for darkness to set in. For an earthquake to hit or a bomb to go off, calamity to strike, and take us both down.

Nothing happens.

I relax a little, and thread my fingers through her hair. “Are you okay?”

She nods. “Nightmare.”

“What about?”

She swallows hard. I can feel her throat move. “Falling.”

I tense. “Why are you so afraid of falling?”

She says nothing.

“Go back to sleep,” I whisper.

“Don’t want to.” She sounds like a petulant child, and I smile in spite of myself. “Tell me about you.”

“My life’s not a fairytale.”

“Never said it was. I’m also building my folder on you, you know.”

“You are?” There’s a pleasant catch in my chest, like a kiss at my very center. Oh, fuck. And the worst part is that I want to tell her. The whole sad story of my past. All that fucks up with my head. All I’ve lost and may still lose. “What do you wanna know?”

“Why your cock is pierced,” she says.

I choke on laughter. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She nods gravely and looks down at my crotch. I’m naked, and, oh shit, I’m getting hard under her gaze. Her hand moves to the stud in my nipple, toying with it, and sensation tears through me, shooting straight into my dick, so that it tightens and rises against my stomach. “Tell me,” she says.

No clue what she’s talking about. Fuck.

“About the Jacob’s Ladder,” she goes on, still toying with the damn piercing. “Why did you put it in? Does it feel good when you have sex?”

“I, uh…” Her hand trails down my chest to my cock, and how the hell am I supposed to think like this? “Yeah.”

“So is that why you did it?”

“No. Dakota… Oh shit.” Her hand now toys with the Jacob’s Ladder, tiny tugs and taps that make my body arch.

“It must have hurt.”

“Yeah. But I’m used to it.”

Her hand pauses. “You like the pain.”

My hips move restlessly. “Depends.”

“On what?”

Christ. “Sometimes I need it. Not much. Just a little.”

“Is that why you cut your arms?”

Oh hell. I clench my jaw and throw an arm over my face. Of course she noticed. “Yeah. I used to. Have you ever done it?”

She doesn’t answer my question. Instead she asks another. “What about drinking?”

“What about it?”

“Do you often get drunk off your ass?”

I shrug. My cock throbs in her hand. “Sometimes. Don’t need it when you’re here.” And ain’t that crazy?

“Good.”

Her hand clenches around my dick, and a long moan leaves my throat. “Christ, you’re killing me.”

“How do the piercings feel when you get a blow job?” She moves down my body and licks the tip of my cock as if it’s her favorite cherry popsicle.

“Ugh.” My mouth won’t work. My brain is exploding. Am I supposed to answer?

“I guess we’ll find out,” she says and swallows my cock, taking it deep.

Shit, so fucking good. She sucks on me, swirls her hot tongue on the underside, then pulls up licking the head and the small slit there. She takes me deeper again, her tongue playing with my piercings, and my hips come off the mattress.

Oh yeah, baby. Damn. I won’t last five seconds. My balls lift and tighten, my dick swells and throbs in time to my racing heartbeat.

I’m not in control, I realize. I’ve given it up to her. And she’s taking care of me. I reach down, stroke her hair off her face, and she winks at me. Her mouth curves into a smile, wrapped as it is around my cock, and my vision grays.

I distantly hear myself groan, see my hips lift and jerk. Feel the cum shoot from my balls out my dick, burning me with pleasure. Feel like I’m falling, or flying, or hovering in space.

When it’s over, after what feels like ages have passed and the world has resumed spinning, I lie there, panting like a lizard on a hot rock, my body boneless and heavy.

Dakota is kneeling on the bed, eyeing me. I have to say something. Anything.

“That was…” I lick my dry lips. “That was fucking awesome.”

And I mean it. Never felt anything like it.

“Because of the piercings?” She sits there, totally naked, sexy as fuck, and she’s asking me this?

“Hell no. That was all you, babe.”

She cocks her head to the side, smiling again. “Babe?”

Oh shit. Slipping again. Me, giving cute pet names to my girl?

And there it is. My girl. Girlfriend. Lover. Friend.

“Come here.” I reach for her, and she crawls up to curl in the crook of my arm. She tilts up her face, and I kiss her, powerless to resist.

“Come here, babe,” she mutters on my lips, and I laugh.

Can’t count how many times she has made me laugh in these last days. More than I have in months.

“My babe,” I whisper, and she captures my lips in another kiss.

I’m still flying high. It’s warm and bright up here, and I don’t wanna look down. Those alarm bells? Let them ring inside my head. I don’t care.

I’ll take my chances.

* * *

It’s Wednesday, and work at Damage Control is slow. One of my customers calls to cancel, and I go out for a smoke. I send Dakota a text, asking how she’s doing, but get no reply. She was busy with a graphics project when I left home this morning.

Home. Yeah, it’s starting to feel like home now, more than ever. The thought of finding another roommate is impossible. I want to ask her to move in with me. Maybe tonight, after dinner.

If I manage to keep my hands off her long enough to keep my brain functioning.

Smirking, I shove the cell in my back pocket. So okay, a tiny twinge of fear still jabs into my insides. I’m still out of my depth, still floundering, but Dakota doesn’t seem to mind. She laughs, pokes me in the ribs, tickles me, then kisses me and fixes everything in my world.

She’s like magic glue. Pretty, sexy, crazy super glue that keeps me together when I think I’ll break down or lose it.

I’ll buy her a fridge just for her popsicles. I’ll buy her lollipops so that her lips always taste like strawberry candy. I’ll…

Fuck. I snort to myself and shake my head. I throw my cigarette stub to the sidewalk and step on it, then turn to go back inside, when my cell beeps with a message. Grinning, I pull it out.

But it’s not from Dakota. It’s from Matt. An icy feeling grips my stomach. Good news? No way. I open and read it. It’s short and just asks if I can talk.

I’m still staring at it, trying to gather the courage to call him, when the door of the shop swings open, and Rafe steps out.

“Hey.” He ambles over to me, hands in his pockets. “Got a minute?”

Can’t find my voice. Mind still caught on the message. Maybe it is good news. Why the hell not? Why does my mind have to go directly to the bad? Maybe Emma is better. Maybe there’s been a miracle. Medical miracles happen all the time.

“Z-man?” Rafe is watching me, eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Relax, man. The guys and I just want to ask if you could talk to Dylan.”

“Talk?” I can’t form a coherent sentence. My mind feels torn into ribbons. My thoughts are threadbare.

“Yeah, talk to him. Ask him what is wrong. He won’t talk to us, but he’ll talk to you. You know that.”

I look down at my cell. I have to call Matt. No choice. “Okay.”

“Good.” Rafe nods, still giving me a suspicious look. “You all right?”

I press my lips together and shake my head.

“Zane—”

“Not now, fucker.”

“But you—”

“Not now, dammit.”

Rafe scowls. “I’ve been asking for months, dammit. We look after each other. You said—”

“Fuck what I said. Fuck everyone.” My blood burns. My chest is tight. “I can’t look after anyone. So why don’t you fuck the hell off.”

Rafe’s mouth falls open. He pales. Then without another word, he turns around and gets back inside.

He didn’t punch me, as I thought he might. As I hoped he might, so that I don’t have to make that phone call and find out what I don’t wanna know.

My fingers tremble as I scroll through my contacts, find Matt’s number and hit ‘call.’ I reach into my pocket for my packet of cigarettes. Before I locate it, Matt answers.

“Zane.” His voice is rough as if he’s been smoking day and night. Maybe he has. “Hey.”

“Hey, man.” I try to swallow, but my throat is bone-dry. “How is everything?”

Silence stretches like elastic, longer and thinner, ever thinner, until I think my composure will snap along with it.

“Zane…” Matt’s voice cracks, and oh shit, no. No fucking way.

“Don’t,” I whisper. No, I don’t wanna know. I don’t want—

“It’s over. She’s dead. She went peacefully, in her sleep. You need…”

His voice is fading. The blood rushing in my ears is too loud. I need to sit down. I need to start running. I don’t know what the hell I need.

“… funeral,” Matt is saying. “Tomorrow morning, in Bolinbrook. The viewing is tonight.”

Tomorrow. The funeral. Emma’s funeral.

I try to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Zane, are you there?” Matt’s voice cracks again, and I close my eyes. I feel as if my head’s gonna explode.

“Yeah.”

“Will you come tonight?”

I nod stupidly, standing on the sidewalk, talking into my cell. “Yeah.” My voice barely comes out, scratchy and hoarse. “Yeah, I will.”

“See you later, then.”

The call disconnects, and I find myself standing, yet not really feeling my feet. Not feeling anything. Except my chest hurts. I look down, expecting to see a bullet lodged smack in the middle of it. A gaping wound. A hole.

But there’s nothing. Nothing on me to show what just happened. How much it hurts.

Emma.

I didn’t get to say goodbye. She was barely conscious the whole weekend I was there, and when she was, she didn’t say a word. She did smile at me once. I recall her smile, and my fists tighten.

Not fair. Not fair that she’s gone. She can’t be gone. She can’t be.

The cell casing creaks. I force myself to unclench my fingers before I break it, because... I stare at it blankly. Something I need to do.

Tell Ash. Or Rafe.

No, that’s not it.

Call Dakota.

My lungs feel too small as I search for her number. Breathing is difficult. No idea why. I’m just standing here. Standing still while the world is spinning madly.

I call, but I get no reply. The pressure on my chest is crushing my lungs. I put the cell away mechanically. My brain is mostly blank. Can’t even recall what I wanted to tell Dakota.

All I know is that I need to get into my pickup truck and drive to Bolinbrook. Need to see Emma one last time. Need to tell her goodbye.

I turn away from the shop and start walking, occasionally stumbling. Still can’t feel my feet much. It’s as if I’m floating, and they’re rocks, anchoring me to earth. I drag them behind me like dead weights.

Say goodbye. Somehow I hope Emma can still hear me, from wherever her spirit is. I’m going to her funeral. I owe her that much. It’s the last thing I can do for her, and I’ll be damned if I lose my shit before I get it done.

* * *

The viewing is held at a funeral home. I can’t see the kids, and fleetingly, I wonder where they are, but I can’t focus enough to hold on to that thought.

Emma is laid out in a dark wooden casket. Her small face is powdered and rouged, her pale hands folded over her chest. There are flowers around her. I sit there and look at her. I feel dizzy when I stand, so I just sit and look. She seems asleep.

Please, wake up.

People have drifted in and out of the room. Now they’re gone, and it’s just me and Emma.

“Sis.” I have no tears. My eyes are dry, so dry they ache. “This ain’t fair. You should’ve stayed. You said you’d stick by me.” I stop, because it sounds so selfish. But she’s my family. All the family I have. Except… “The kids will miss you. Matt will miss you. I…” My voice breaks, and I rub my chest. Fucking hurts. “Don’t know if I can do this without you, dammit.”

“Zane.” Matt appears at the door. “It’s past nine. They’re closing up here, and you should go to bed. You look awful.”

He does, too. Not that it matters. I shake my head. “Talking to Emma.”

“Emma’s dead,” he bites out, and I bend over, his words a punch to my stomach. “Look, you have to come to terms with that, man.”

The chair creaks when he sits down next to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I flinch hard, almost falling down. He withdraws it.

“Zane… I’m sorry. I love Emma. I know you love her. I know this is hard. But you have to rest, or you won’t make it to the funeral tomorrow. You don’t look well, man.”

I concentrate on breathing, getting air into my crushed lungs. My heart is banging in my chest. “’M okay.”

“Come on.” He pats my arm and stands up. “Let’s go home.”

Home. Home ain’t here, not anymore. I let Matt haul me to my feet and drag me toward his car. I’m thankful I don’t have to drive. Not sure I can.

I let him drive me to their house, and once there, I drop on the sofa and spend the night staring a hole into the ceiling.

She’s gone. Emma’s gone.

Dammit all to hell, but when reality comes crashing down, it really doesn’t hold back.

* * *

Matt drives us to the cemetery. The kids are riding in his mother’s car, he tells me. His mother. Keep forgetting Matt has parents, unlike me and Emma. His parents are here, and as it turns out, also some cousins. Maybe that’s good. More people to say goodbye.

Goodbye to Emma. A knot is stuck in my throat, and I can’t swallow. Can’t speak.

The casket is there. There’s a hole in the ground. They’re gonna put Emma into a fucking hole in the ground. I can’t…

Matt’s hand on my arm brings me back from the brink. “Ready?”

The fuck I am. How can I ever be ready to put my sister into the ground?

But I follow him out of the car. There are chairs. There’s a priest. He waits for all of us to sit and starts talking. He talks and talks, words, and words, and more fucking words, washing over me like soap bubbles, pretty, light and just as empty, bursting into nothing.

I’m not alone, I tell myself as they lower the casket into the earth. I’m not. I have my friends. I have the kids. I have Matt. He said we’ll always be a family, ever since he started dating Emma.

I glance at him. He’s, what, twenty-six? But he looks old, emaciated and bent, his mouth thin.

One by one the people get up to leave. I stay seated. Don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Where I’m supposed to go. Nothing makes sense.

“Zane.” Matt is suddenly in front of me. I blink. “Come home with us. You need to sleep. I don’t think you slept at all last night.”

Maybe that’s what I should do. Besides, I can’t think, so I might as well follow his lead.

“Your friends know what happened?” Matt shoots me a glance as we walk toward the cars.

I don’t answer. I don’t understand what happened myself. I slow down, look back at the fresh mount of earth over the grave. Why am I leaving already? I can’t leave Emma here alone.

“Zane.” Matt grips my wrist and jerks me back around. “Snap out of it.” He sighs. “Listen, man. I have to tell you something. I decided to take the kids and move closer to my parents. They need all the love they can get right now, and they need someone to take care of them.”

“What?” I rub a hand over my face. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not too far. They live in Missouri. You can come visit sometimes.”

“Where are the kids?” I turn in a circle. Everyone’s gone.

“My mom took them home. I couldn’t—”

“You can’t take them away.” I’m wheezing. “You fucking can’t. They’re Emma’s kids. You have no right.”

“Dammit, they’re my kids, too, man. I have every right.” His hands ball into fists. “You think I’m not grieving Emma, too? She was my wife! But I have to think of the kids first, their needs, their wellbeing. Put yourself in my place, and tell me you—”

“Fuck you.” I spin on my heel and head toward my truck.

“Zane, wait.”

What for? There’s nothing left for me here. Matt is fucking leaving, with the kids. I think of little Mary and her baby brother, Cole. How we kept each other company almost every weekend for more than half a year now. How Mary would sit next to me on the sofa, so I could read her stories. How Cole would fall asleep as I sang AC/DC songs—softly, as a lullaby. They are my family.

They’re gone.

It’s all gone, and I need to leave before I lose my last shred of sanity. Was this what Matt had meant all those weeks ago—when he asked if someone had my back?

My friends. Dakota. They’re all I have left now. I need to get back to them before I forget why the hell I’m still alive.

* * *

I somehow make it back to Madison without killing myself or anyone else. It’s nothing short of a miracle, because I barely remember the route and can’t even tell how fast I drove. Weird snatches of memory, like images from a dream, inform me that I stopped at some point and peed by the side of the highway. I also stopped at a liquor shop, flashed my fake ID and bought two bottles of whiskey. It has to be real because, as I park at the front of my building, I see them in a brown paper bag at my feet.

Why the hell did I buy them? I’m thirsty, but my stomach churns, making me wanna puke. I’m sweating, and I’m cold, and it all seems surreal—a man crossing the street with his dog, the cars rolling by, the skyline. The colors are muted. The world has turned black and white.

Strange.

I grab the bag, open the door and half-climb half-fall out of the truck. Dakota must be home. It’s just after noon. But when I ring the buzzer, nobody replies. Where can she be?

Fumbling with my key, I almost drop the bag twice. I’m okay. I can do this.

Why shouldn’t I be able to? A dark mist gathers in my mind. Something… something bad happened.

Emma.

I groan to myself as the memory returns. Dead. She’s dead. Oh fuck.

Pushing the main door open, I stagger into the building and up the stairs, clutching the rail and cradling the brown paper bag under my arm. It’s like walking underwater, my feet heavy, the air like molasses around me. It takes me forever to reach my apartment, and then another forever to open the door and step inside. Padlocking the door behind me, as if that can keep the world out, I shuffle inside.

The whiskey bottles clink when I put the bag on the coffee table. The sound shatters the stillness like a gunshot. Echoes come back, and I shake my head slowly to clear my ears. Clear my head.

Not working. I sink down on the sofa. Something is digging into my ass, and I pull out my cell. A light is blinking on top. Missed calls. I check them. Rafe. Asher. Erin. Dakota. I hit ‘call’ on the last one.

My hand shakes when I bring the cell to my ear. I close my eyes and wait as her line rings and rings, then stops.

“The phone you are calling,” an automated voice says, “is currently out of the service area. Please try your call again later.”

I lower the cell, stare at it. Whatever. Fuck you, too, machine. My fingers spasm around the phone, itching with the urge to throw it against the wall.

I need… I don’t know what I need. What could make the mess in my head better. I suck on the barbell in my tongue. The emptiness of the apartment is taunting me. Reminding me of what I’m trying to forget. Being alone isn’t a good idea right now.

So I call Ash. My fingers drum on the armrest as his phone rings and rings. I call Rafe, and the call goes directly to voicemail.

“I don’t wanna fucking leave a message,” I yell into the phone and try to draw a breath through my nose, try to calm the hell down.

What the hell is going on?

I call Dakota again. Same result. Breathing hard, I lean back and close my eyes. What the hell is happening? Where is everyone?

Everyone’s gone.

No, dammit. No.

I scrub my hands over my face, trying to erase the image of the coffin, the flowers, Emma’s still face.

Fuck this. I reach for the paper bag and draw a whiskey bottle out. I unscrew the lid, tip the bottle and swallow.

A hiss leaves my throat as liquid heat slides down my throat, coating my insides. Pushing away the cold. I upend the bottle, gulping the whiskey down.

My vision blurs, and I wipe a hand over my eyes. Better. Yeah, fuzziness is good. Everything inside me, the razor-sharp edge of every thought and feeling, begins to dull, so I drink some more.

I can do this. Stay here, wait until Dakota or Ash or Erin or whoever calls or comes back here. Just need to hold on to sanity a little bit longer.

Someone will come. Someone will call. I know I’ve been walking around like a loaded gun for the past few weeks, snapping at everyone or avoiding them.

Shit. Dakota will come. She will.

I drink more, the warmth of the alcohol spreading in my stomach. The room tilts, and I fall back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. It spins in lazy circles. I need to… Fuck, I don’t know anymore.

Need to fit into this fucking new world order.

My eyes fall on a pair of scissors on the table. I grab them, test the edge. Yeah, they’ll do nicely. I lift them, see my wild eyes reflected in the shiny metal. Hands shaking, I get to work, cutting through my Mohawk. It’s like cutting through cardboard. Like cutting through my childhood, through my past, through all I am.

Bad idea.

The scissors clatter to the floor, and I run my hands over the chopped tufts. My head feels too light—but the heavy feeling in my chest is only getting worse. Grabbing the bottle, I chug down half of it in one go.

Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard. The room spins. I’m not sure what I’m doing here.

I need to call Dakota. Where’s my cell?

Turns out it’s lying by my side on the sofa. A symbol is flashing on the screen. It’s a tiny receiver. You have a voice message.

This is funny, and I snort. Who leaves voice messages nowadays?

Bad news, the voice in my head whispers. More bad news. Don’t listen to it. Drink some more.

I take another swig from the bottle and another. The room is still spinning, and my cell is still blinking. My fingers move of their own accord, tapping on the cell screen and opening the message. Swallowing hard, I bring the phone to my ear.

This message was received yesterday morning, a robotic voice informs me, and then it plays.

“Hello?” A man’s voice I don’t recognize. “Dakota, you said to call here. The hospital gave the final diagnosis…” The line breaks with static. I frown. “…her results came in. I’m afraid the cancer is back. It’s not looking good. They…” The line breaks again. “…come by…”

The line goes dead.

The cell drops from my fingers and smashes to the floor, pieces skittering across the room. I stare at the far wall, not seeing anything. Ugly words are ringing inside my head. Final diagnosis. Cancer is back.

She’s dying. Of cancer. Like Emma.

No. No fucking way. Dakota would’ve told me. I would’ve noticed if she was sick.

Only with Emma I didn’t know until she was hospitalized.

The room spins faster. My stomach roils, and it all comes back up. Bending over the armrest, I lose my—dinner? Something I don’t remember eating—on the floor.

I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and lean back. My body feels like a block of ice. I clench my hands, but I don’t really feel them. The light dims.

Shit. Dakota.

I’m losing it, sinking so fast I can’t grab hold of anything. This is it, I think. This is where I lose everything. My breath catches in my throat. If I break down now, I don’t know if anyone can put me back together.

Dakota doesn’t deserve this. She can’t… She can’t die.

“Why?” I lurch to my feet and throw the bottle at the wall. It lands with a satisfying crash. But it’s not enough. Not nearly. “Why her?”

I kick the chairs, grab the ashtrays and hurl them at the walls. Hurl them at my framed drawings, smashing the glass, tearing the paper to shreds. The frames drop to the floor, breaking to pieces.

Still not enough. Not enough destruction.

Lurching back to the table, I grab the other bottle from the bag and unscrew the cap. I drink, swallowing so fast I barely stop to breathe. It doesn’t burn quite as much going down as before. Maybe if I drink enough, it’ll black out my memory, strikethrough my thoughts. Erase everything. Change everything.

Except everything has already changed.

I clench my fingers around the bottle. No. I won’t let anything happen to her. I won’t. Except…

Nothing good ever lasts. You should know this by now.

“No!” I shout at the empty apartment. “I’m not giving up on her! I’m not fucking giving up. I love her.”

I grab the lamp and throw it against the window, lifting my arm over my face as glass rains down. As if it matters.

I love her.

“I won’t lose you, too,” I say into the deafening silence. “I can’t.”

But there’s no answer. There never is. No answer. No miracles. I’m raving and ranting alone, and fate doesn’t give a damn.

So I drink until my stomach turns itself inside out again, and I puke my guts on the floor. And then I drink more. Not sure it’ll be enough.

Or maybe it will. My vision is going blurry, and no matter how much I blink it doesn’t clear. I dimly realize I’ve dropped to my knees. After a while, everything goes black and quiet, and it’s like flying. But I can’t fly, so I guess I must be falling, and it almost feels the same.