The doctors discharged me in a few days, with a folder of instructions, a bottle of painkillers, and the word "stable" ringing in my ears like a joke.
Stable.
As if that single word could ever describe the hollow thing I'd become.
Mia drove me back to my apartment. She'd insisted on picking me up herself, even though my parents had offered. She said it was "bestie duty." I didn't argue. I didn't have the energy to argue about anything anymore.
The building looked the same-same chipped paint on the door, same flickering bulb in the hallway. But when I stepped inside, everything smelled wrong. Dust. Stale air. Absence.
The furniture was exactly where I'd left it two years ago (or what felt like yesterday to me). Couch. Coffee table. Bookshelves half-full of things I didn't remember buying. It was like walking into a stranger's life.
Mia carried my bag upstairs, chattering the whole time about how she'd cleaned the fridge before I came home, how she'd stocked the pantry with the snacks I used to like. I nodded. Smiled when I was supposed to. Let her fuss.
That first night back, I sat on the couch staring at the blank TV screen.
Something itched under my skin.
A restlessness I couldn't name.
Like I was waiting for something that never arrived.
The next morning I went back to college.
Classmates welcomed me like a returning hero. Hugs. Back slaps. "We missed you, man." "Glad you're okay." A few girls lingered longer than necessary, eyes soft, hopeful.
I scanned every hallway, every lecture hall, every corner of the quad.
I was hoping-stupidly, irrationally-to see her.
The short-haired goth girl with black lipstick and storm-gray eyes.
She'd said she was my classmate.
If she was, Mia would have known her.
But Mia didn't.
And she was never there.
Girls approached me constantly.
Lexi cornered me after second period, twirling her hair.
"You look good, Elliot. Really good. Maybe we could… hang out again? Like old times?"
I smiled politely.
"Thanks, Lexi. But I'm not interested."
She blinked. Then shrugged. "Your loss."
Others tried too-notes slipped into my bag, texts from numbers I didn't recognize, shy confessions in the cafeteria line.
I rejected them all gently.
I didn't know why it felt wrong to say yes.
It just did.
Mia was always there.
Like a shadow.
Walking beside me between classes.
Sitting next to me at lunch.
Texting me memes when I was quiet too long.
She never pushed.
Never asked why I kept looking around like I'd lost something.
She just stayed.
That afternoon, as we walked toward the parking lot, she bumped my shoulder.
"Bestie," she said, voice bright. "Let's go to a party tonight."
I shook my head.
"No, Mia. You go and enjoy. I'm not feeling well."
"That's exactly why you need a party!" She grabbed my arm, tugging me toward her car. "You'll feel alive again. Without you, I can't fully enjoy it."
"But Mia-"
"Shut up. Let's go."
She was grinning, eyes sparkling with that stubborn determination I knew too well.
She'd done so much for me.
Hospital visits.
Fruit.
Stories.
The constant presence when everything else felt like smoke.
I sighed.
"Fine. One hour."
She squealed, hugged me hard, and dragged me to the car.
I let her.
Because the silence when she left was worse.
And because somewhere, deep down, I hoped a party might drown out the hollow ache I still couldn't name.
The party was loud in the way cheap bass and too many bodies crammed into one house always are.
I sat at the drink section, back against the wall, nursing a bottle of water I hadn't opened. The music thumped through the floorboards, vibrating in my chest. Lights flashed red and purple across the room, turning everyone into moving shadows. I felt like a ghost in my own skin.
Mia appeared in front of me suddenly, cheeks flushed, eyes bright from whatever she'd been drinking. She grabbed my wrist.
"Let's dance, bestie."
"No, Mia. You go dance."
"I can't dance alone!"
"There are plenty of handsome men. Choose one."
She rolled her eyes, tugging harder. "If my intention was to do that, why would I bring you? Come on."
"Mia, listen-"
She didn't.
She pulled me off the stool and into the crowd before I could finish the sentence.
The dance floor was packed-bodies swaying, grinding, laughing too loud. The air smelled like sweat, cheap perfume, and spilled beer. Mia spun around to face me, hips already moving to the beat, arms up, hair swinging.
I stood still.
She danced in front of me, close enough that I could smell the vodka on her breath. Her body rolled with the music-slow, deliberate. She bit her bottom lip, eyes locked on mine. One hand slid up my chest, fingers splaying over my shirt, pressing just hard enough to feel the heartbeat underneath.
Her hips brushed mine.
Once.
Twice.
The way she looked at me-eyes half-lidded, smile teasing, body language screaming invitation-felt wrong.
Too deliberate.
Too much.
"Are you drunk, Mia?" I asked.
She stepped closer-chest almost touching mine. Her finger pressed against my lips.
"Isssh… shut up, stupid. Dance with me."
Before I could pull back, she took my hands and placed them on her hips.
Soft curves under my palms. Warmth through thin fabric.
The second my fingers settled there, something sharp lanced through my skull.
Pain-white-hot, blinding.
Like someone had driven a spike between my eyes.
I staggered.
Vision blurred.
The music warped into a distant roar.
Mia's face swam in front of me-worried now, mouth moving, but I couldn't hear the words.
The floor rushed up.
I fell.
Hard.
Everything went dark.