The air is crisp on the iron balcony. The thick oak trees just barely block the sounds of the city traffic. I’ve always loved the colors of autumn. The way the thick dark green leaves thin out and crisp up to gorgeous reds and burnt oranges.

They’ll fall and waste away to nothing. Every spring they come back, good as new.

Bundled in my cashmere throw and sipping hot tea from the thin porcelain cup that drips of wealth, I’ve always loved their pale green beauty. But not today.

It’s not fair that they come back untarnished. It’s not right that life continues after death… only for those deserving.

I let out a deep breath, calming myself and then twist the cap to the flask and pour a bit of tincture into my tea. A small, faint chuckle makes my shoulders shake slightly as the liquid mixes with the now lukewarm tea. Tincture. Vodka, really.

It used to be a tincture. It used to be just enough to take the pain away.

But sips turned to bottles as I preferred to feel numb.

And today is one of those days.

If I can just get out of bed and make it, the day will be okay. That’s what I’d tell myself over and over again when Jace first died. Sometimes it’s true. It’s as if simply pulling the sheets tight and patting down the creases until they're all smooth is enough to hide the past and put the daily routine into motion.

Some days, it’s all a lie.

All the time I spent with Mason. All that shit was just a lie. Some fantasy that life could be okay again. As if the crack in the glass didn’t exist, or could somehow mend itself.

I take a sip of the tea, but it only makes my throat feel more parched. I set it down on the saucer and breathe in the cool air before covering my face with both of my hands. I press my palms against my sore, reddened eyes.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt this empty. Since my heart has felt as though it’s been torn open.

It doesn’t make sense in the least. I was over him. I was making progress. True progress in healing by being okay with Jace being gone.

I was okay.

For the first time since his death, I felt like I had a reason to be happy. Like it was okay to be happy.

I look over my shoulder as I rub my tired eyes with the sleeve of my silk blouse. I thought I heard someone. Just for a second, I thought I heard a creak in the old floorboards, as if someone was behind me.

My first thought is Mason. That he’s come back, and he isn’t taking no for an answer. I roll my eyes, feeling my heart squeeze violently in my chest.

I can’t make that more than what it was. A hookup, a fuckbuddy, I don’t fucking know. But I know what it is now; it’s over.

I settle back down in the iron chair and pick up the notepad. I haven’t written a poem in so long, but there are scribbles everywhere. Like loose poetry, lazy I suppose. It’s a story. Of how Jace and I met when we were young. How we fit so well together, and everyone told us we were meant to be.

I close my eyes, remembering how the school bells would go off as we walked on the sidewalk to get to class. I brushed my knuckles against his, waiting and hoping. It had to have been obvious to him. Maybe I was the one to make the first move, but he chose me. He intertwined his fingers with mine, and he didn’t let go. He was a good man, not a perfect man. But he was good to me. Or so I thought.

“Fuck,” I utter the word beneath my breath and it comes out shaky. They say when someone dies, you remember the good times. But damn are the bad times there, too. And that guilt, that’s something I don’t want. I don’t want to be angry at someone who will never have the chance to defend themselves again.

I feel like a bitch for scratching down the scenes of our fights in that notepad. I let the words flow and poured out all my fucked up memories. His infidelity.

I hear it again. I stand abruptly from the chair and as the iron scrapes on the balcony. I hear the creak of the floorboards behind me, and a chill sweeps down my body.

Every emotion that’s made me a wreck washes away, quickly cleansed by fear. I turn slowly, my mouth parted but the words refuse to come out.

I don’t have the strength or courage to ask who’s behind me.

But I don’t have to.

I let out a breath as a bushy tail comes into view.

“Boots,” I say the neighbor's cat’s name and add, “you bitch,” with my hand over my heart.

She must’ve snuck in while the balcony door was open and I was busy mulling over my wretched life. There’s an archway between my house and the neighbors, and Boots used to be a regular on this balcony. I take a few steps inside the bedroom and pick up the small tabby cat. Her fur is soft, and she purrs with content the moment I pet her. I only have a moment though. She gets fed up with attention quick and I’ve been on the ugly side of her claws before.

“You know you’re not supposed to be in here,” I scold her. Suddenly feeling exhausted, I walk her back outside, setting her down and shut the door just as the phone rings behind me on the bed.

The balcony is at the entrance of the bedroom so I have to walk quickly to get to the bed in time, but I do on the last ring.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Jules, how are you?” Kat’s voice asks over the phone. “I was just calling to check in.”

“A fucking mess,” I tell her. My throat feels so damn tight. Is this what a breakup feels like? Or is this what regret feels like? I’m not sure which is which anymore. I suppose the two are one and the same.

“God, I know it’s has to be rough.” I nod my head, but my lips are pressed into a thin line.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. I close my eyes and shake my head, and a moment later I’m able to tell her no. I’m composed, but only just barely.

“Hey, it’s all going to be okay,” Kat says as if it’s a fact. “You know that, don’t you?”

A small breath of disbelief leaves me. “No, Kat.” I lie back on the bed and say, “No, I don’t.”

“Stop it. Stop it right now.” Although her voice is harsh, I can hear the pain behind her words. “Not everything in life is good, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a good life.”

I lick my dry lips and close my eyes, lying back further on the bed and trying to relax.

“And you have a great life, Jules. You really do.”

I hate that she can say that. Especially now when my life feels so empty and meaningless.

“I thought I was okay,” I open up to her. “I thought I’d be able to move on. I thought I was moving on.”

“You’re going to, Jules.” For the first time today, tears slip from the corners of my eyes as she speaks. I keep my eyes shut tight and hold my breath. “One day, probably sooner than you know, it’s going to feel normal without him. It’s going to feel good without him. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s okay though. It doesn’t feel like it’s alright to not be upset.” I shake my head, my throat feeling tight and hate that I can’t explain what I’m feeling.

“It doesn’t have to right now. You don’t have to do anything right now, except tell me you’re going to come to my house tomorrow night.”

I sniffle into the phone, with a stupid smile that I’m sure looks ugly as hell plastered on my lips. I nod my head and I make sure I wipe every tear away from my eyes.

“Of course.”

“Good, now… are you alright?”

I answer her honestly, “I’m not, but I think I will be.”

“You definitely will be,” she says with such conviction, even I believe her. My body feels lighter as I scoot closer to the edge of the bed, ready to do something.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” I ask.

I hear her take a deep breath on the other end of the line, and I know she’s busy. She’s always busy with work. “I can’t-”

“It’s fine,” I cut her off. “I’ve got to get out of this house,” I tell her as I look up at the coffered ceilings in the bedroom. This house has too many memories in it.

“You go out and get some fresh air and maybe some shopping in, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

I nod my head. “You will.”

“Love you, Jules.” Kat’s voice is soft when she tells me she loves me. It usually isn’t.

“I love you, too,” I tell her and it’s so true. I’d crumble into a blithering mess without her.

As I rise from the bed, it groans slightly and I look back to find it a mess. I take the time to pull the sheets tight and lay the comforter just right. I even fluff the pillows and place them just where they’re supposed to be.

As my feet pad against the old wooden floor, it creaks right where I know it should and that chill comes back to me. I look up at the balcony door and find it unlocked, which is odd. I swear I locked it. I go to turn the lock.

Click. It’s loud as I stare at the lock, my fingers still on the cold hard metal.

I never did like having a balcony in the bedroom. Jace told me it was a silly fear. I cross my arms, feeling colder by the second and unsteady. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, grabbing my phone and clutch and throwing on a pair of faded blue jeans.

That’s the feeling that’s most recognizable, being unsteady. I’m not sure where I go from here. Worse, I don’t know where I want to go.

But I know in this moment, with everything in me, I just want to get the fuck out of here.