71-Zach
Endymion’s words play through my head like a song you can’t get rid of.
At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. But the more distance I put between myself and the tour, the clearer it becomes. He’s telling me to grow.
Growth isn’t always gentle.
I sit through the settlement hearing with my hands folded in my lap, listening to the judge drone on, strangely detached, like I’m watching someone else’s life play out.
When it’s over, the signatures inked and the gavel dropped, I walk out into the cool evening air.
The courthouse doors thud shut behind me, the sound echoing like a final verdict.
Matt’s standing off to the side, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
His dark-brown hair is longer than I remember, curling slightly at the ends.
He seems older, not in his twenty-eight years, but in emotional weight.
Part of me expects the old anger to rise, but it doesn’t.
“Matt!” I jog toward him. He stiffens as if expecting to be hit. Breathlessly, I say, “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” He blinks at me, confusion twisting his sharp features. “Thank me?”
Tears shimmer in his dusty gray eyes, and the cold satisfaction I used to get from witnessing his guilt melts away. He isn’t a monster who deserves to rot in prison. Living with what happened is punishment enough.
Like Kit, all I see is a man who’s been haunted for years. Someone who made a mistake, a terrible one, but will never stop paying for it.
“I know you regret it; want to be punished.”
“I-I deserve it.” Matt swallows hard, wiping his nose as he sniffles. “My dad’s the one who pushed for settlement.”
Somewhere along the way I reached a stagnant point in my growth, like an invisible wall I couldn’t pass.
I finally understand why. I’ve been trying to step into a new life while dragging the skeletons of my old one behind me.
Trying to heal while still clinging to the version of myself who survived the worst of it.
But that version of me, the one who lived in chaos and carried grief like armor, can’t take me any further.
She was built for storms, not sunlight.
Her job is done. She kept me alive while carrying me through hell. But the storms have passed, the chaos quieted. I’m no longer living a life of survival.
To truly live, I have to let her go; let myself die in order to be reborn.
And so, with every bit of strength I have, I stare at Matt, saying with full conviction, “I forgive you.”
The release hits so suddenly my knees nearly give out, but it’s cathartic.
Matt’s eyes fill instantly, fat tears spilling over his full lashes as his face crumples. I step forward and wrap my arms around him. He freezes for a moment, then collapses into the embrace.
We cry, openly, freely—two people bound by tragedy, resetting the broken bone of regret in order for absolution to heal it properly.
Steve stands at the bottom of the courthouse steps. He’s already shaken Matt’s hand, giving him the peace he needed. Seeing him now, calm and steady, watching me with a proud understanding, solidifies my decision.
Tonight’s the final performance of Somnium’s tour. One more show before our time is truly up. Kit and I played the roles we were meant to play in each other’s lives; catalysts, not conclusions. We were never meant to last with these versions of ourselves.
I know that our paths will cross again. Threads like ours don’t unravel; they loop and stretch, then return. But right now, I’m walking my own path. I wipe my cheeks, inhale deeply, and with a wave to Matthew, I step into the night.
For the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel like a threat.
And I’m ready for whatever comes next.