18. Zyran #2
My hand lifts before I can stop it, and I knock once, firm but not loud enough to draw attention to nearby neighbors.
I wait, listening through the door as if I just might catch the faint sound of footsteps or the creak of a mattress shifting. But the hallway and her apartment room remain stubbornly quiet.
The silence feels too complete and too heavy; I don’t like it.
I knock again, a little harder this time so that I rattle the doorframe.
When I’m met with silence, I glance down the hall, checking to make sure no one’s stepped out of their apartment to question why a guy is lingering outside someone else’s.
I shouldn’t be surprised when no one steps out; people don’t care what happens here.
And I should leave; it’s weird that I’m just showing up because she didn’t show up at work.
My fingers curl slowly into a fist at my side.
If she’s fine, she’ll be pissed, and rightfully so—she’ll yell and tell me to get the hell out, and I’ll take it, only because she’ll be awake and coherent. Breathing, and that’ll be enough for me.
But if she’s not…
I let out a quiet breath and reach for the door handle.
For a moment, I just hold it, staring at the knob like it’ll be any second that she swings it open, glaring at me.
My fingers tighten slightly around the handle before I finally turn it, fully expecting the resistance.
But there isn’t one; the knob gives, and the door shifts inward a fraction of an inch before I can even register what I’ve done, the faint creak of the hinges loud in the narrow hallway.
I freeze instantly, feeling like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar.
My breath catches in my throat, muscles going rigid like I’ve tripped over some invisible alarm.
Esperr wouldn’t leave it unlocked. After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve picked up from watching her over the years tells me she’s careful and methodical.
She always double-checks things, probably without even thinking about it.
Keeps her back to the wall and her eyes on exits like it’s second nature.
People like that don’t forget to lock their doors, especially not after what happened.
My pulse kicks up, each beat settling deeper into my chest as a quiet unease curls in my gut as I slip inside, easing the door shut behind me.
Esperr’s apartment is dim, curtains drawn shut, with thin strips of early morning light leaking around the edges.
Her well-worn converse lying near the door, her jacket thrown over the back of the chair like she peeled it off the second she walked in and didn’t have the energy to do anything else after.
There’s no sign of a struggle, no overturned furniture, no obvious signs of anything else being here. And it’s quiet, too quiet.
I moved further inside, each step carefully and controlled.
The apartment smells like her—cactus blossom.
It clings to the air, soaking into the couch cushions and embedded into the walls.
Off to the right sits a small table with two chairs, pretty sure I can see dust coating the top.
A glass of water half empty sits on the counter with an open bottle of Excedrin next to it.
“Esperr?” I call out again.
I’m met with silence.
The hallway narrows, barely wide enough for my shoulder as I move down it slowly; my hand stays fisted at my side, ready if something jumps out.
It’s like the part of my brain that was trained for the worst possible outcome slides into place without effort.
I listen for movement, for any breathing that rushes out after someone tries to hold their breath, anything that doesn't belong.
On the left side of the hall, the bedroom door is cracked open, and I push it open wider with two fingers.
Immediately I find a mess, with clothes thrown everywhere, one pillow on the floor, and a blanket half dragged off the full-size bed, as if she rolled out of it or didn’t have the strength to straighten it.
But she’s not here, and my pulse jumps hard enough that I feel it in my throat. Stepping back into the hallway, I glance right, finding the bathroom door that’s open just enough that it catches my breath.
It’s then that I hear the faint sound coming from inside, not words or a groan, more like a shift of fabric.
I’m there in a second, moving faster than I probably should without knowing what’s behind the door.
Out of all the things I thought I’d find, it wasn’t Esperr curled up on her side between the tub and the counter. With one arm tucked under her chin and the other covering part of her face, mostly her eyes, like she’s trying to block something out with her hair and a scattered mess across the tile.
Moving faster than I thought possible, I’m at her side, kneeling down. “Esperr,” I call, resting my hand on her shoulder. I’m not sure what I expect, but it’s not her flinching at my touch. It's small but instinctive, like her body reacts before she knows who it is.
“Hey, it’s me,” I whisper, hating that she flinched from my touch.
Esperr’s brows pull together slightly, her eyes opening just a sliver, squinting like she can’t quite focus. Her lips part, and she tries to speak, but all that comes out is a strained breath that doesn’t form into anything.
My jaw tightens, and before I let myself go crazy about all the possibilities, I shift my hand to her neck, pressing lightly just below her jaw.
Her pulse is there, and I let out a sigh when I find it’s beating faster and not faint.
Relief hits me in a quiet wave, but it doesn’t erase the tightness in my chest.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to keep my voice down and the worries from bleeding through.
She tries again, her mouth moving, but nothing follows, her fingers twisting against the tile like she’s trying to lift her hand and can’t quite manage it.
I glance around, finding a few pills and another glass of water.
My stomach drops to my ass, and bile rises in my throat.
“How much did you take?” I ask, and the edginess that I wished didn’t show creeps into my voice before I smooth it out.
Esperr’s brow pulls together faintly again, like she’s trying to understand the question. The hand under her jaw lifts maybe an inch before falling back down.
I slide one arm carefully behind her shoulders, the other under her knees, and lift her. The second I move her, she winces, a small, broken sound escaping her throat that makes something in me tighten further.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “Easy, I got you.”
Her head tips toward my chest, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of my shirt. It’s weak and barely there, but it’s enough to notice.