Chapter 6
Khalee
I’m sure Cosmos senses my agitation because ever since I got home from that party, his behavior has been anything but normal.
For a week now, he’s been pouncing on shadows, hissing at walls, and generally acting like he’s auditioning for a paranormal investigation show.
His dramatic meowing has officially crossed into concerning territory, to the point where I’ve already made an appointment with the vet just to rule out the possibility that he’s lost his mind, or that I have.
I’m choosing to interpret this as the Universe’s way of shoving my head out of my ass. Because if I hadn’t had Cosmos to worry about or my clients to guide, I think I would have spent the past week feeling much worse than I did.
And needless to say, I’ve been avoiding Mada.
Part of me knows it’s not fair to blame her. After all, she doesn’t remember what happened. But the other part of me? The louder part? The part that still feels sick when I think about Mark’s voice in my ear?
That part is furious.
Because, as always, Mada manages to be at the center of every fucking mess in my life.
And worse?
She wasn’t supposed to be hanging out with them. Not anymore.
So why the hell did I get the feeling that their so-called “friendship” never ended?
I panicked so badly at that party that I hallucinated.
That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. I was overtired, overwhelmed, and my mind played a cruel trick on me.
At least, that’s what my psychologist thinks.
When I told her what happened, she said seeing him was probably a trauma response. A manifestation of the part of me that still wished he had shown up that night to save me.
Because deep down, I always thought he would.
But he never did.
And this time was no exception.
I’ve spent days convincing myself it wasn’t real. That my brain conjured him up, a mirage of my own desperation.
But deep down, in the part of me that knows things,
I know it wasn’t a dream.
And that’s what hurts the most.
Not just seeing him.
It’s the fact that he saw me, too.
I have felt it. And yet… he never moved. He never tried to reach me.
Was I that insignificant to him? Was I that easy to overlook?
And then there are the questions that gnaw at my insides, the ones I can’t shut out no matter how hard I try:
Where has he been?
How has he been?
Did he… even think of me?
I’ve tried to pull at the past, to summon the happier times we shared, but it’s like touching a live wire. The memories burn too much, the pain twisting in my chest until I can’t breathe.
And then the shame comes, followed by the suffocating grief.
I miss Joana.
She would’ve known what to say.
She would’ve understood.
She would’ve guided me through this, through all the things I can’t begin to process, but she’s gone too. And her absence feels like a fresh wound, the kind that doesn’t scab over, the kind that just stays open, raw, aching.
But then, there’s Mark.
The memory of him at the party makes my skin crawl. Honestly, the memory of him at all makes me want to rip my skin off.
I can still feel the weight of his gaze, the way he moved closer, his hand brushing my arm like he had the right to touch me.
Just thinking about it makes me want to scrub my skin raw.
The disgust coils in my stomach, thick and sickening, threatening to rise.
I hate him.
I hate the way he made me feel, trapped, powerless, small… used.
If Mada only knew.
My thoughts are interrupted by Cosmos meowing again, this time next to my shoe cupboard, his tail flicking aggressively.
I sigh, setting my coffee down and scooping him up.
He hasn’t been like this since I rescued him, back when he was a tiny, half-starved kitten trapped inside the engine of my roommate’s car.
Despite the somewhat chaotic start to his life, Cosmos has always been… calm. Too calm. Mada likes to joke that he and the sofa must have been made by the same hand of God, because all he’s ever done is eat, sleep, and accept cuddles.
That’s it.
Seeing him this tense and aggressive is starting to get to me.
Not least because I’ve already cleaned the house.
And apart from the exhaustion I knew the party would leave behind, I don’t feel anything wrong in this house.
Only with me.
The shrill ring of my phone snaps me out of my head. I glance at the screen, Mom.
Of course.
I sigh, scooping up my coffee again before answering. I’d like to get this over with.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice.
“Hi, sweetie! Just checking in. How are you?”
I hesitate, glancing at Cosmos, now curled up on the couch, his tail flicking with irritation.
“I’m fine, Mom. Cosmos is a bit… off, but otherwise, all good.”
“Off? Should you take him to the vet? He might be sick,” she says, her voice immediately laced with concern that I know so well.
“Yeah, already booked it. Meanwhile, I’m keeping an eye on him,” I assure her, rubbing my temple. “I’ll probably have to ask Mada to take him since I have a client at the same time.”
“Alright,” she says, but I can tell she’s not convinced.
And then, because I knew it was coming,
“And you? When are you coming to visit us again? Your father and I miss you so much.”
I exhale slowly, pushing myself off the couch and heading toward my bedroom as I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder. I knew this was coming.
Since moving back, I’ve been home twice, but I know it’s not enough for them.
Because they missed me every single day for the last five years.
It’s not like they never saw me; we met plenty of times. But they always came to me, never the other way around.
And I still remember the way my mother’s voice cracked when I told her I was thinking about coming back to Stormhaven.
They never pressured me, not once.
But I know they prayed for it. Every single day since I left.
“I’ll visit soon, Mom,” I say, avoiding a firm commitment.
She doesn’t push, and for that, I’m grateful.
A few more pleasantries, a few more reassurances, and then the call is over.
I toss my phone onto the bed and drag a hand down my face.
My gaze drifts to the ceiling, the constellations I painted faintly glowing in the dim light.
I set what’s left of my coffee down on the nightstand, slipping under the covers.
Cosmos jumps up beside me, curling against my side like he knows I need it.
Exhaustion weighs down my limbs, and before I know it, sleep pulls me under.
* * *
I’m walking down a long corridor, shrouded in a gloom that makes it difficult to distinguish where the floor ends and the walls begin. The lights are faint, and the music that echoes in the distance is just a whisper, as if from another world.
I move forward slowly, as if each step were an attempt to get closer to something undefined, at least until I see him, in the background, almost swallowed up by the shadows. It’s him. The one I loved the most and also the one who hurt me the most.
His eyes are so deep that I feel like I’m being sucked into them, like my soul is being stripped away, revealed.
There’s something about his expression that draws me in, an intensity mixed with a fragility that I can’t fully understand and, between us, a thread of light, like the energy pull I felt the other day.
His energy is restless, but at the same time, there is a touch of affection in it, something that makes me feel safe, despite knowing he’s not real.
I approached him, almost hypnotized because I was never able to fight it.
His smile, soft but mysterious, promises so much and yet seems to hide so much more. There’s a pain in him, I can feel it. And more than that, confusion and solitude.
“What happened to you?” I try to ask, but the words don’t come out, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears, just like he did at the party.
I look around, my heart racing, feeling an inexplicable urgency to find him again.
Where is he?
No, god. Please no. Not again.
I start looking for him, running down that corridor which, with every step, seems to grow, to become an endless labyrinth, and the more I look, the more I seem to get lost without him. Because I know I am. I’ve been lost since the day he left.
I have to find him. I know I have to find him.
The ground beneath my feet begins to feel strange, as if it isn’t solid, as if I’m walking on memories I wish to remember. And then I look at my hands and see the tears.
Small, shiny tears scattered across my skin, like pearls falling from a broken thread.
I stop, confused.
Why are there tears here? Are they mine? His?
I feel an inexplicable pain in my chest, a sadness I can’t name.
Something replaces the smell of alcohol, which used to permeate the air. Something clearer and stronger. A smell of disinfectant, cold and sterile, like what you smell in hospitals. And this change of scent causes a lump to form in my throat, a feeling that something is deeply wrong.
The music stops, and in the background, I hear a clock.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
And the sound frightens me.
Time doesn’t stop, and I can’t help feeling that I’m going to lose him.
No, we’re both losing in this. We’re losing time.
I look up, searching for him once again, and there he is, closer, almost within my reach.
The smile on his lips is both reassuring and disturbing, as if he knows something I don’t.
I reach out, driven by an almost desperate need to touch him, to feel that he’s real, to dispel the growing confusion inside me.
But as soon as my fingers are about to touch him, everything changes. The world around me shatters in a jolt, and I find myself awake in the darkness of my bedroom.
* * *
I keep lying down, my heart still beating hard, the sound of heavy breathing filling the silence.
Reality begins to seep slowly into my consciousness, but his image, the sensation of that closeness, still hovers in my mind, as if the dream had left an indelible mark.
And it’s at that moment, as I try to pull myself together, that I realize that, despite being awake, the desire to meet him, to see him again, is still burning inside me, and now, real tears are burning my cheeks again.
I knew I had to come back.
I just didn’t know it would break me so much.