64-Kit
I awake to the chemical sting of face paint.
Someone set up the make-up station in the back lounge, and I’m herded into the chair before I’m properly conscious. Alyssa dry brushes my torso, and I go through the motions like I’m not entirely in my own body.
My limbs move, but my thoughts don’t.
Liane’s birthday party comes up in the chatter, Alyssa laughing about the ‘Better Than Sex’ cake as I nod along, pretending that I didn’t spend the night wallowing in my bunk, staring at the ceiling until sleep smothered me.
I knew Zach would be there. She’s close to the girls and deserved a night where she wasn’t drowning in the mess orbiting her name because of me.
But knowing she was only a few buses away and I couldn’t be there guts me.
I dreamt of blackness last night. A hollow brittle dark. Not the soft rest I get when Zach’s near, like a cashmere blanket pulled over my shoulders.
And somehow, that nothingness hurts more than Endymion’s presence ever did. At least the god’s voice meant I wasn’t alone in the void. This emptiness felt like punishment. Like the universe wants me to crack.
Today’s the last interview with Zach. Good because I hate interviews, bad because, per contract, this is the last opportunity for us to be alone.
The thought sits like a swallowed stone in my stomach.
Alyssa steps back. “All set.”
I stand, stretching stiff limbs, and make my way down the narrow bus aisle. Each step feels heavier than the last. Outside is sharp with morning cold. My breath fogs the air.
I’m walking to my own bloody funeral.
Crew members weave around me, hauling cables, shouting call times, laughing about something I can’t hear. The world moves at normal speed, but I’m wading through treacle.
Because I know what waits for me. A camera. Questions I don’t want to answer. And Zach—close enough to touch but impossibly far away.
Edges of that hollow dark still cling to me, whispering that I’m already too late.
But I keep walking, because I don’t know what else to do.