Chapter 5 SAGE
SAGE
Iclung to routine like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
A rigid, self-imposed structure meant to keep the chaos at bay and my mind from unraveling thread by thread.
Every morning, I woke up at precisely six.
I walked the trails behind my apartment, pacing the same worn paths until my legs ached and the rhythm of my footsteps pounded some semblance of quiet into my skull.
I read one chapter of a book—fiction only. Nonfiction hit too close to home.
I clocked in at Java-dence, my corner café where I hid behind the espresso machine and memorized regulars’ orders to avoid actual conversations.
Dinner was the same most nights, whatever was on special at the local market.
Rest was elusive, especially with the constant night terrors, but I laid down anyway.
And then I did it all over again.
Some days, it worked, where the noise in my head dimmed to a low hum I could ignore. The tension in my muscles softened just enough to let me move through the world without feeling like I was dragging chains behind me.
But then there were other days.
Days when the routine wasn’t enough.
When it felt like I was sprinting in place, stuck in a loop that pressed down on me like a vice I couldn’t slip free from.
On those days, I swore I could feel Sanele breathing down my neck.
And then everything changed.
Like the universe decided to flip the script and see what I’d do when someone else disrupted the cycle I’d clung to for dear life.
***
It was a morning like any other.
Gray sky.
Car parked in my usual space in front of my apartment building.
I was on autopilot, about to step out and start the routine all over again when something—or rather, someone—cut through the haze.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement.
A figure stepping out of the leasing office, the morning light catching in the tousled, bleach-blonde waves of her hair.
She walked like she was carrying the warmth of summer with her, shoulders relaxed, head held high, the faint bounce of her steps completely unbothered by the world around her.
She had an energy that couldn’t be ignored, like sunlight in motion, and I was the shadow watching her from behind the safety of a car window.
Before I could make sense of it, she was waving.
Ribbon bracelets in every color fluttered wildly from her wrist, catching the light and throwing flashes of bright hues in all directions.
She smiled—wide and unrestrained.
Like we were old friends.
Like we hadn’t missed a single day.
And then she was walking toward me.
Straight for my passenger-side window.
For one wild second, I thought she was about to open the door and climb in like she belonged there.
Instead, she tapped on the glass with two knuckles.
I hesitated, but before I could decide if I was ready for this, my anxiety lowered the window.
“Hey! You’re the person who just moved into the third-floor apartment, right?” she said, her voice bright and unapologetically enthusiastic. “I think we might be neighbors!”
I blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard.
People didn’t greet me like this.
Hell, people didn’t greet me at all unless they had to, but there she was—this radiant, unstoppable force of nature standing inches from my car, acting like I was the best friend she’d been looking for her entire life.
I nodded, because I didn’t know what else to do.
Her eyes sparkled with something wild and untamed, like she was constantly on the verge of letting me in on a secret too good to be true.
She radiated joy. Pure, unfiltered joy. That was the best way to describe her.
In an attempt to not scare the butterfly off, I reached for the volume knob, turning down the blaring guitar riffs that had been my soundtrack that morning—a raw, guttural metal track pounding through the speakers, but then she surprised me.
“Oh, don’t turn it down for me! I love this kind of music.” Her laugh bubbled out, light and easy, as if we were sharing a joke, I hadn’t realized we’d made. “In fact, I’m pretty sure your apartment only became available because of a few noise complaints. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Her teasing grin was infectious.
Against every instinct that had kept me alive this long, I smiled.
Really smiled.
Not the tight-lipped thing I offered to customers or a passerby out of politeness.
This was something closer to real. More vulnerable.
“Not that I’m a noisy and unbearable neighbor,” she added quickly, throwing her hands up in mock defense. She bit her bottom lip, as if considering whether or not she should say more, and then her grin widened like she’d made a decision.
“I’m Sam,” she said. “And you are…?”
“Sage,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended. So, I cleared my throat and tried again. “Sage.”
She nodded like it was already the most familiar name she’d ever heard.
“Well, Sage,” she said with certainty, “you’re officially stuck with me. We’re going to be friends.”
And that’s how I met the one who would pull me out of my routine.
By the end of that week, Sam was everywhere.
Like sunlight finding all the cracks in my armor, no matter how carefully I’d patched them. She dragged me out of my shell with a force I couldn’t fight—not really.
Her energy was relentless.
Her kindness was disarming.
I found myself saying yes to things I never would have before.
Concerts that left my ears ringing and my lungs sore from screaming.
Late-night drives with no destination, just music blasting from the speakers and the wind tangling our hair.
Lazy Sunday mornings curled up on her couch, laughing until our ribs ached at terrible movies that made no sense but felt like home.
She was a whirlwind I didn’t realize I needed until I was already caught in it.
And when I wasn’t with her, my old routine was still there—waiting.
But it felt different now.
Less like survival.
More like something I could return to when I needed to steady myself and needed space to breathe.
Sam became a regular at my work.
I pretended not to notice when she started timing her visits to match my shifts.
But I noticed.
One afternoon, she showed up at the counter, her usual grin firmly in place but with something sharper lurking behind it.
“Sage,” she said, leaning in dramatically. “I need a double hitter fix today. Caffeine. Now.”
I raised a brow, already amused.
“What happened?” I asked as I grabbed a cup and marked her order.
She sighed—long and theatrical—and rolled her eyes, as she began, “One of the partners at my firm got caught embezzling money and guess who gets to clean it all up?”
She jabbed a finger at herself.
I smirked, “Wow. What a scandal.”
“Truly,” she agreed, her lips twitching like she was trying not to smile.
Then, just as quickly, her face lit up again.
“Oh! Sage, I almost forgot, you have to come to the Sacrifice Tomorrow Festival. It is happening tonight!”
I blinked. “Sacrifice Tomorrow?” I repeated. “That sounds… a little cult-y.”
She laughed, bright and unbothered. “I promise, it’s not! It’s called that because it starts at sunset and goes until sunrise. Everyone in town comes out for it. There’s music, dancing, food trucks, bonfires. It’s a tradition, so I guess maybe it is a little cult-y.”
She winked before continuing, “Trust me. You’ll love it.”
I hesitated.
I always hesitated.
But the truth was, I was already intrigued, and Sam made it hard to say no.
It was one of her talents.
“It does sound amazing,” I admitted.
Her grin widened. “Then it’s settled. I’m picking you up at eight.”
Then she got that look. The one that meant something was coming. Something I may or not be ready for.
“What?” I asked warily.
She tapped her fingers against the counter, feigning innocence. “So… you know that guy I’ve been seeing?”
I narrowed my eyes. “The one you’ve basically told me you’re in love with?”
She nodded, eyes bright. “He’s going to be there tonight. And I want you to meet him. You know, just to make sure he’s not secretly into… questionable things.”
I snorted. “You want me to vet him?”
“Exactly,” she said, grinning. “You’re my backup. Just in case he’s secretly into nipple clamps or something.”
I choked on a laugh. “Especially nipple clamps,” I agreed.
We laughed until tears pricked the corners of our eyes. And for the first time in a long time, something warm bloomed in my chest. Something I hadn’t realized I was missing until that exact moment.
A friend.
I swallowed hard, my voice quieter than usual. “Thank you, Sam.”
She tilted her head. “For what?”
“For being you,” I said honestly. “For saying hi to me in leasing area parking lot a month ago.”
Her expression softened, and without hesitation, she reached out and hooked her pinky through mine.
A silent promise.
A vow.
“I saw something in you,” she said, sincere and certain. “Something special, and I’m so glad I trusted my gut.”
I smiled, the smallest, realest thing. “Till the bitter end?”
Her grin widened. “Till the bitter end.”