"if the future we've

“Lia, what in the fucking fuck are you doing here?” 

I squinted my eyes when I turned around, trying to look past the bright neon lights around us, and found Nora standing right behind the seat I was sitting on. 

“Oh. Hey.” I said. The words came out in a slur. Or maybe it was just the loud music messing with my head. The music, by the way, was all sorts of wrong here. Who even chose those hideous, loud songs?

Nora was dressed in a black midi dress. It looked pretty on her. She opened and closed her mouth in disbelief, before gathering herself and speaking, “Hey? I thought you were in your house studying.”

I shrugged and gulped down another solo cup of something that was making me a little more than just tipsy. It tasted sour and a little too sweet. Dangerous, I knew that, but I didn't care.

“Lia, you're getting drunk again.” She lightly touched my arm with the tips of her fingers but I shrugged her off.

“Get off my back for once, Nora.” I grumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter.

She went silent at that. I thought she had left until I turned around again and saw her still staring at me. She was drunk, I was sure of that, but she still seemed sad. Who was drunk and cooped up on emotions at the same time?

“Lia, don't do this.” I heard her murmur quietly.

Clenching my jaw, I got up from the stool, stumbling a little, and started walking away from her towards the dense crowd. Nora gripped my arm and stopped me from taking no more than just two steps.

“Lia, come on.” She complained. “Let's talk about this. You don’t need to act like this...this stuck up bitch.”

“I don't want to talk.”

“I can't just let you go and get drunk when I know you hate that more than anything. I'm your best friend.” 

She seemed taken aback when I jerked my arm away from her hold and glared at her. “Piss off, Nora. I don't need your help. You don’t get me, that's what you told me. You don’t understand me, and I don’t want you to. Maybe you should get the direct message and leave me the fuck alone. Or do I have to spell it out for you now?”

I was heavily intoxicated, hearing those words as if they hadn’t even come out of my own lips. I knew I'd said too much. Nora looked hurt. I could see that too. And it was sick that it satisfied me for a few silent seconds. Until I started registering what I had actually said.

“Okay.” She said, taking a small step back, giving me enough space to leave. “Fine. I won't stop you.”

I blinked at her. Twice. My heart had started racing a little, I realised. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Okay.” I replied and turned around, walking away from her and into the scary pit in front of me. And she didn't stop me, just like she'd agreed on. Maybe she should have. I wished she had. And I truly hated that I pushed people away only to want them back again. It was scary and sad to know how it felt like when you had nothing. Nothing left to stop you from destroying yourself. I didn’t even understand why I felt so keen on destroying myself.

Everything after that felt like a blur to me. Too many people. Too much noise. I was aware of the claustrophobia sinking in, but not enough to cloud over my drunken state. And then there was Noah.

I was kissing him again.

“What's wrong?” He asked when I pulled away from him, from his lips, and stared around me.

Slowly, very slowly, I realised that we were alone in one of the bedrooms upstairs. And the door was closed. Locked? I didn't know. I didn't even remember coming up here.

Oh God.

“Nothing.” I murmured distractedly.

Noah blinked before leaning in again. And then he was kissing me. Again. And he was touching me. I slowly started growing aware of his arm around my waist and his hand in my hair, tugging on a few of my locks to deepen the kiss. I could feel his fingers digging into the thin fabric of the dress I was wearing. A short purple dress that barely reached my knees. A short dress that I knew I wouldn't ever wear, especially not to a party like this.

I felt so so cold. And I think I wanted to throw up.

The back of my head hit against the wall behind me and I held back a tiny wince as Noah’s lips trailed lower, kissing and biting near my neck. He wasn't gentle. Nothing about him was gentle. Not like Alastair.

Alastair.

I squeezed my eyes shut again and the next time I opened them, I could feel the steady surface of the bed beneath me, and Noah was on top of me. One of the short sleeves of my dress was falling off my shoulder and Noah's hands were everywhere.

“Wait.” I breathed out, my hands splayed on his chest to stop him. He didn't stop, though. His lips were on mine again and they tasted like alcohol. His hand crept down my dress and gripped my thigh. I think I was freaking out a little. “Noah--”

I clenched my jaw when he slid his hand inside my dress, too dangerously close to my underwear. Too close. No. No. No.

“Noah, s-stop.” I rasped, still trying to push him away. But he was too heavy. He was too drunk to care, I realised. Tears sprang into my eyes when his lips trailed down my collarbone, and his nails dug into my sides. “Stop!”

He pulled away after a few seconds and frowned down at me. “What?”

I shook my head at him, a little too frantically, hoping to God I wouldn’t have to say it out loud. “I...I can’t. I don’t--” He didn't let me finish before rolling off of me with a heavy exhale.

“What is wrong with you?” Noah sounded exasperated, running his hands through his tousled curls. “You pulled me up here, you know. Why do you want to stop in between?”

I sat up on the bed and shrunk a little away from him, feeling the cold hitting me from almost everywhere. Had I started the kissing? Had I pulled him up in this room? No, no, no. That wasn’t true. I wouldn’t--

“I’m sorry.” My voice broke and I tried blinking back the tears. Still, one traitorously fell down my cheek anyway. “I can’t...do this. Please.”

I could see him frowning at me. Disapprovingly. He almost seemed disgusted. That didn’t make me feel better. Sighing, Noah got off the bed. “Fine. Whatever.” He shrugged. “I'll leave you to yourself then.”

My head seemed to be spinning. It was terrifying. “No, wait. Where...where are you going?” I didn’t want to be left alone. Even if he was the last person I wanted here, I still didn’t want him to leave me alone. I was scared. And the walls of this room were all closing in on me.

He gave me an odd look this time. “To get some beer. I'll be back.”

He didn't come back after a few seconds. He didn't come back after a few minutes either. I think an hour passed by and as I sat there in that empty, cold room, slowly--very slowly--small pieces of glass shards started piercing my heart and my body and my mind. Everything, everything fell apart.

I fell apart.

I slid off the bed and down towards the floor, away from the bed. Far away. Something about that bed and those rumpled sheets scared me. I wished the door was locked.

Pressing my back against the wall, I felt my lower lip quivering as silent tears rolled down my cheeks.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. I was so disgusting and so pathetic. What have I done? Why had I done this to myself? 

As I wiped the tears from my cheeks with trembling fingers, my eyes fell down to an empty beer bottle discarded on the floor, right near my feet. It was probably Noah's. I leaned forward and slowly picked it up, continuing to wipe my eyes with my wrist this time.

I didn't really understand why I picked it up. It took me a while to catch up with my brain, seeming like an almost involuntary action. I didn’t mean to do it--I didn’t want to. But something inside me was making me do it. I gripped the bottle a little tighter and smashed it on the tiled floor. It broke down into small glass shards all around me. 

So many people. So many faces disappointed in me. I could see them. I could see them in my head. And one of them was myself. I was so disappointed with myself. I was disappointed for letting it go this far.

But who’d ever be there to save me? Everyone was far away. I was so far away from myself, locked away, too far from everyone. Who would save me?

No one, I realised. Not when I picked up a glass shard and curled my fingers around it, pressing and pressing and pressing until I felt the pain. Until it hurt. It hurt really bad. I could feel the tender skin of my palm tearing apart. I could feel the soft, trickling blood against my fingers.

Perhaps I wasn’t worthy of being saved.

Pressing my forehead on my pulled up knees, I closed my eyes shut and a small, barely-there whimper escaped my lips.

It hurt. My hand hurt.

It doesn’t matter, a small voice spoke in my head. I deserve this. I deserve all of this.

It was a surprise, enough to make me stop crying, when I felt my phone buzzing somewhere near me. On the floor, I realised. It must’ve been in my hand. It must’ve fallen down. With shaking fingers of my hand that wasn't pulsing in pain, I picked it up and answered the call.

“Hey.” Alastair spoke up on the other end. And God, his voice, it was so soft. So warm against the cold and empty surroundings around me.

I closed my eyes again and held up the phone over my ear, gripping onto it.

“Ophelia?” He asked when I didn't reply.

I sniffled and shifted my weight against the wall, accidentally pressing my bloodied palm on the floor and gritting my teeth.

“Yeah...Yeah, I'm here.” I whispered, scrunching up my forehead.

Alastair was quiet for a while. I wished he'd keep speaking. I wished he’d talk to me, and keep on talking to me, so that everything would feel a little all right. I wished he’d tell me that it’ll be all right. But wouldn’t he be lying if he said that? Weren’t we all always lying to ourselves, reassuring ourselves that it was going to be okay, when nothing really was?

“Where are you?” He asked me. His voice wasn’t as soft as before, I noticed. I didn't reply. I was scared. “Ophelia?”

“S-somewhere.”

“You're crying.” He whispered. “Ophelia, are you all right?” I could hear the concern in his voice. Genuine concern. I wished it wasn’t there. I wished it wasn’t there because I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve any good thing that came for me. Thinking about all that made me want to throw up, heave, get it all out. 

“Yes.” I answered, wiping my nose with my arm.

“No.” He said. It was painful how easily I could imagine the scowl on his face. “No, you're not. Where are you? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

A beat of silence went by.

“Yeah.” I whispered again and closed my eyes shut, feeling another tear escaping my eye. “I'm so...so hurt. I’m so sorry. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to.”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded scared too. Or maybe it was just the horror that seemed to be seeping into my bones at that moment.

“I...didn't mean to push everyone away. But I...I said some mean things to Nora, and I lied to my...my mum. I’m l-lying to everyone.” I sobbed into my knees. It hurt to cry like this. It hurt my head. “And I still c-cant believe that...you're not dead. And it hurts. I’m...sorry.”

“Ophelia,” he murmured, so softly. “Where are you?”

I shook my head frantically and my head spun. “I can’t t-tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you'll hate me.” I sniffled. “You...you’ll hate me because...because I kissed Noah. And I wasn't…” I trailed off when I realised that I had actually said it all out loud.

It was terrifying, the silence that followed my words. I scrunched up my forehead again and cried like the pathetic mess I was. Why was I so keen on destroying every single thing around me?

“I'm sorry.” I hiccuped, my face entirely pressed into my knees. “I...I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything feels empty. And it...hurts. I don’t...I don’t want you to hate me. God, I’m so so sorry.”

Was it better to know that he hated me than knowing he was dead and all in my head?

My right arm felt like it was on fire. My palm was probably still bleeding. I don't think I cared at that moment.

“What?” Alastair whispered, sounding a little confused and a whole lot stunned. “I don’t--why would you think that? I don't hate you, Ophelia. Bloody hell. Can you tell me where you are? At your house? Are you somewhere else?”

I slowly pulled my head away from my knees, blinking up at the empty bed in front of me. I didn't know.

There was a shuffling sound on his end. "Ophelia." He sounded a bit surprised, alarmed, when I still didn't say anything. I don't know why. "Jesus, níor cheart gur thóg sé chomh fada seo orm. Labhair liom. Please."

A small, confused noise left my lips.

"Fuck." I heard him whisper. "Fuck. Talk to me, Ophelia. Are you there?"

“Yeah. I...I don’t know.” I answered, referring to the question he'd ask earlier.

Another shuffle from his end. “You do know,” Alastair said. “You just don't want to tell me.”

I blinked and blinked and it didn’t go away. Everything wasn’t going away.

“Ophelia, please tell me where you are.” He added, his voice falling to a pleading whisper. “I can help.”

“You can't.” I said, then laughed a little in between my tears. Like a maniac. “I don't...even know how you’re alive. I d-don't even know if I'm in my right mind. I can’t...I don't know how to separate fake from real. Maybe this is just a bad bad dream. Maybe.” I trailed off with another quiet sob. “Maybe...I'll never wake up from this.”

Did I even want to wake up from this, to a place where he won’t be alive ever again?

Slow, silent seconds passed by.

“I am real,” he whispered. I could hear the sadness in his voice, as if he was just as tired as me, as if he was just as lost as me. “We both are, Ophelia.”

I pressed back against the wall, staring at the bed in front of me. How can you be so sure? I wanted to ask. How could anyone know what was fake and what was not?

Instead, I nodded after another long silence, even if he couldn't see me.

“Okay.”

“Will you tell me now,” He asked, still the same gentle voice, “where you are?”

I told him where I was. And when he hung up, telling me to stay right there, I forgot to tell him there was nowhere else I could go to anyway. Though I did hope he came here before someone else did. The door wasn't locked.

Would he come? a small part of me wondered. What if he didn’t? Would I be surprised? What if my head was making this all up? This conversation? That time I saw him at the art studio?

What if all that wasn't even real?

We both are, Ophelia.

I sniffled, both of my hands curled up against my chest as I waited. I waited and waited and waited. No one came in. At one point, I could’ve felt my heavy eyelids almost drooping shut, lulling me to sleep right there.

I would have slept. But I was still a little scared, despite the emptiness I felt inside of me. My hand was still hurting. And my head felt too light. 

What if I fell asleep and never woke up?

There were footsteps outside the door. I looked up, trying to blink back the exhaustion and watched the door slowly opening. I didn't even try to hold my breath. Truth be told, I didn't care whoever it was. I didn't care what they'd say when they saw me.

I just didn't care.

However, I did find myself relaxing a little, the tension slipping away from my shoulders, right as I saw Alastair stepping inside. His eyes immediately found mine from the other end of the room, and then he was striding towards me.

“Ophelia.” He had his eyes wide as he took in my state. I shrunk back a little more when he stepped on the glass shards around me, muttering a few curses under his breath. “What the fuck happened here?” He looked back at me and scowled before crouching down right in front of me.

“Are you all right?” He asked, his concerned gaze raking down my face and seeming not even a little satisfied when it came back to my eyes. I saw him clenching his jaw and he leaned a little closer towards me. “Ophelia, talk to me. I can't--you need to say something.”

I sniffled and moved my hands on either side of me. “I’m...I’m fine.”

His frown didn't lessen even a bit. I could see hundreds of questions in his eyes. I even saw his hands twitching by his sides, almost as if he wasn’t sure about something, before he spoke up in a soft murmur, “Come here.”

I didn't hesitate before pushing myself away from the wall and towards him, nearly choking on my own tears when I pressed my face against his shoulder and felt his arms slowly, carefully, wrapping around me. It nearly broke me, the feeling that came along with it. The feeling that I had been trying to find back for so long. Ever since he died. Ever since I thought he died.

“Okay. You’re okay.” He murmured into my hair, his arms tightening around me just a fraction. “We’ll get out of here. I promise.”

We wouldn’t, I wanted to say. I would never get out of here.

My hands tried grasping his shirt below the leather jacket, but failed to do so when he gripped my arm. My right arm.

“You're bleeding.” He whispered, his warm breath fanning softly over my ear.

I didn't pull away from him, I couldn’t, not even when I felt him tensing. And not even when I heard the anger and disbelief in his voice.

“Ophelia, what did you do?” He asked, and his voice wasn’t as tender as before when he pushed me back just a little. “Fucking hell,” He swore, not even sparing me a glance as he cradled my hand in both of his, slowly uncurling my fingers and pulling out the glass shard that I hadn't realised I was still holding.

“Why would you do this?” He was muttering to himself, finally looking at me, but with the same disbelieving frown. I didn’t answer him. I didn’t know how. “Come on.” He tried pulling me up but I shook my head, nearly pulling my bleeding hand away from his. But he held it tighter, not enough to make me wince, but enough.

“You need to wash it, Ophelia.” He gritted out. “Don’t be stupid.”

This time when he pulled me up, his hand grabbing my waist when I stumbled a little into him, I went along with him without any protest. The bathroom was tiny and stuffy and I hated how much it smelled like alcohol. I leaned a little against Alastair as he opened up one of the faucets and gently pulled onto my hand to wash off the blood. 

Then I winced.

“Sorry.” He muttered, still frowning--this time at the reddish water than ran down my palm. 

I could feel the lump in my throat by the time he pulled out a bunch of tissue papers from near the sink and slowly, tenderly, wrapped them around my hand. I think it had stopped bleeding. I wanted to tell him that but he seemed a little too tense. And angry. He was angry