44

EMBER

I'm holed up in my room thinking of every mistake, every wrong turn, every missed chance that's led me to this place. Not Arkwood. Not Toronto. Not my bed.

This place? It's dark. Heavy. Hopeless. It's fingers of pure shadow caressing my face, asking me to stay. Proving my worthlessness. It's whispers of mist, telling me about life. My room measures my breathing. The walls count the number of midnights I have left.

This place isn't even real.

Today, the fog whispers, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," I whisper.

Darkness covers my eyes as I fall deeper into my sheets.

❀❀

It's another Friday and I'm going to group again.

I bury my body in dark, thick fabrics and then somehow find myself in front of the UCC. Time is different lately. Some days last years, some can be blinked away.

I fall into a chair amongst the circle, throwing my dark hood up. I take one of the two lollipops, break open the clear plastic wrapper, and pop the red one into my mouth.

It's the darkest form of déjà vu.

Michael walks in, dressed in ripped blue jeans and a black turtleneck, only making the sharp curve of his jaw that much more noticeable. I hate that I notice him. I hate that I miss him.

I haven't spoken to Michael Lund in three weeks. He's texted me, but I haven't answered. Called me once or twice, too, late when I'm lying bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

At first, I thought I was evading him because I was angry. Angry at him for what he said about Cade. Later, after the anger bleed out, I knew it wasn't because of what happened at his apartment. I just didn't want to see him. I don't know why.

So, I picked the anger back up.

I should not have asked for Michael's opinion. I looked like a fool sitting across from him, trying not to cry. He doesn't know Cade. Not like I do. Cade's hurting, and part of that is my fault.

And, Cade's right. I'm not good. I'm nothing.

I've been going to group every Friday. The week before last, Michael was so surprised to see me, he actually smiled and walked over to take the seat next to mine.

"I've been wanting to talk to you," he said, bumping my shoulder like an old friend. "I'm really sorry for overstepping with your friend. I don't know the whole story. It wasn't my place."

Michael was apologizing? The whole thing was ludicrous. I asked for his opinion in the first place.

I scoffed, got up and moved seats. Michael didn't follow me.

About a week ago, one week after seeing him at group, Michael came by the dorm. I heard him outside my room. I had instructed Noor very specifically not to give away my location if he were to ever show up, and she held up well. Michael was here to pick up Cameron to bring him to his geochemistry midterm, and asked if I was around. With my ear to my door, I hung onto every word.

"Is Ember here?" Michael asked.

"Go away," said Noor.

"I just want to talk to her," Michael said.

"Go away," said Noor.

I bought Noor dinner that night for her good work. She didn't seem...herself. She was silent, which was normal to me, but also sad. She kept stealing glances at Nes who was working away at a computer programming software assignment. I asked Noor what was wrong which only prompted her to leave our common room and lock herself behind a her door.

Then, Nes got mad at me for that, saying how I only ever create problems among the three of us and never work to solve them. She left, too, heading to Noor's room.

In my head, I thought, Well, Noor got what she wanted—Nes. That's solving a problem, isn't it? I was still the bad guy, swirling in darkness, trying to take everyone down with me.

That darkness? It's becoming an increasingly large problem. Finding motivation to study is like searching for a black grain of sand at the beach except I can't stand up. I can't even move to look.

Still, somehow, I managed to make every single one of my midterms. Business, Physics, Engineering Science I & II, Applied Math and Chemistry. They felt like sitting down in a dentist's chair as molars are cracked and yanked from your jaw without numbing. And then pieces of your own teeth fall down your throat, choking you. For two hours each.

But did I fail? No. I did not. I know I passed each midterm, which would be great if that was the bar I had to meet. To maintain my scholarship, I need 60% in each course. That's 'good standing'.

If I can graduate high school with a 96% average, I can certainly do that, right?

That's what brought me to group tonight. Why can't I find motivation? Am I normal? Will I ever get better? Why don't I really want to?

I'm hoping someone asks the questions I'll never find the voice to.

As I sit and wait, Michael's eyes meet mine across the circle. His dark ones widen, running down my frame.

Here's the real me, I think. Frail. Angry. Weak.

His brown eyes darken like two bottomless entities; black holes that threaten anything that enters their paths. He doesn't shy away from the matching intensity in my two mismatched eyes, like most have. Instead, he keeps his gaze on mine from across the circle.

I break first, lowering my eyes. He moves to greet his friends, the old ladies with dogs and Jared, the plump kid with brown hair who's brother shot himself in the head. Michael talks with him for the longest, embracing him afterwards. He goes on to talk to the other students, then sits across the circle, dropping in a chair with more irritation than I've ever seen in him.

He texted me last night asking if I was alright. When I didn't answer, he called. No message.

Give it the fuck up! I want to scream.

I sit still in this mind-trap purgatory.

His eyes are on me. Again. This time, he frowns.

I scowl, crushing the red candy with my back teeth. Stop fucking caring!

An unopened blue lollipop sits on my black sweatpants. I take it in my hands and shove it into the pocket of my hoodie for later. Eating candy prevents me from talking.

A few minutes go by as all the people I've come to recognize file in. Some enter with red eyes, some with bright smiles.

I mostly feel numb. I can't summon a smile or a tear. But, buried beneath the nothingness is a whole lot of anger. Always.

Someone new catches my eye. She's small, a pale mousey girl standing no taller than five feet with light brown hair ending at her shoulders, frizzy and wild around her long face. She looks so young, yet the sweater drowning her petite frame is dark green with the university's white logo scrawled across it.

The new girl takes the only empty chair left which ends up being beside Michael. On his other side is a guy with long oily black hair who has never said a word in any of these meetings I've attended. He sucks on a lollipop, too, thin lips wrapped around the candy.

The new girl keeps her wide brown eyes on the floor and curls into herself in the plastic chair under the dim light of the room.

Is that what I used to look like? Is that what I still look like? What if I don't care anymore?

I wonder if she'll speak tonight. I wonder if she'll do what I'll never be able to.

I wonder if she's stronger than me.

Vote!

A/N

This chapter rolls into the next.

Thanks for reading, all of you amazing, important humans ❤️❤️❤️

-Laurel