The Friday afternoon sun was low. In the park, the grass had turned into a dry, brittle straw that crunched under my weight as I lay back, staring up at the canopy of bruised orange maples. I was floating in the clarity of a "lightning" high. I held a cigarette between my fingers, adhering to Alex's request; no mountain trail, no basement steps, no looks toward the lake. I was staying in the lines Alex had drawn for me, using the drugs to seal the cracks whenever the memory of Sebastian's wrist tried to bleed through. I felt like a masterpiece of selective vision, a girl of sheer surfaces, entirely focused on the burning cherry of my cigarette.
The sound of footsteps on the dry grass broke the circuit. They were light, uneven, and hesitant. When the shadow finally fell across my face, I squinted against the sun to find Emily standing over me. The usual "good vibes" she radiated were gone, replaced by a twitchy, nervous energy that made her fingers pluck at the fringe of her shawl.
"Aurora," she began, "I... I'm sorry to bother you."
"It's fine, Emily," I replied, sitting up slowly. I took a long drag of the cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke between us, a semi-permeable wall. "What's up?"
She hesitated, her gaze shifting to the trees behind me. "I was just... I've been really worried about Sebastian. And I felt shy about even coming to you, but I know you two were... well, you were best friends. At one point. I thought maybe you'd know if something specific was happening? He's just been so distant. Colder than usual."
My stomach felt queasy. I looked at her—at the genuine concern in her eyes—and felt a flash of guilt that I quickly smothered with a fresh wave of cocaine-fueled indifference.
"I don't know anything, Emily," I said flatly. "We haven't been close like that in years. Whatever he's going through... it's not something he'd share with me. I'm just a girl from his childhood he barely talks to anymore."
The lie felt like a lead weight, but I watched her face for the reaction. Emily's friendly, bohemian mask shifted. Her posture straightened, and the soft lines of her face hardened into something subtly mean. She looked at me then—really looked at me—her eyes scanning my pupils and the frantic pulse in my neck.
"Right," she said, her voice dropping. "I guess I just thought... anyway. You're probably right. Honestly, it's probably for the best that you two keep your distance. You're both so different now. He needs stability, not... whatever this is." She gestured vaguely to the cigarette and the empty, space around me. "Some things are better left in the past where they belong, don't you think?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She turned and walked away. I sat there for a long time after she vanished. The remark about being a toxin—about not being "stable"—left a bitter taste in my mouth.
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The sun had dipped lower, turning the fog in the valley into a thick grey. I found Abigail in the back room, surrounded by crates of black lilies and the cloying, funeral-sweet scent of the "Gothic Harvest" preparations. She was scrawling names on a piece of parchment, her purple hair a messy halo in the dim amber light.
"Emily was at the park," I blurted out, sinking onto a cedar crate. I felt raw and exposed, the high of the morning having long since burned off. "She was asking about Sebastian. Then she basically told me I was bad for him. That I should stay away for his sake."
Abigail didn't look up, but the charcoal in her hand paused for a microsecond. "She's insecure, Ro. It's not a mystery. She sees the chemistry between you two and it terrifies her because she knows she doesn't have the secret password. She's just marking her territory because she knows the fire is going out."
She finally looked at me, her gaze blunt and unyielding. "Stop letting the basement ghost ruin your afternoon. You have Alex. You have a chance at a fresh start that doesn't involve the brooding Prince of Darkness. Focus on the Golden Boy. He's the only one in this town who actually looks at you like you're a solution and not a problem."
I looked at the silver moon bracelet beneath my sleeve, feeling its weight against my skin. "You're right," I whispered, the lie finally starting to feel like a truth I could live with. "I'll focus on Alex."
Abigail nodded, returning to her list. "Good. Because tomorrow night, we're all going to be too high to care about who's bad for who anyway."
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By the time I reached the perimeter fence of the gridball field, the towering stadium lights were already starting to flicker out, one by one, leaving the turf in a state of artificial twilight. I moved along the gravel track. I hadn't heard from Alex since lunch. The silence from my phone had been a heavy, physical thing in my pocket all afternoon—a digital void.
I saw them before they saw me.
They were walking slowly across the 50-yard line, their silhouettes long and distorted against the remaining light. Alex was tall and certain, his letterman jacket unzipped, moving with that effortless, athletic grace. But he wasn't alone. Haley was walking beside him, her blonde hair a pale, shimmering ghost in the dark. Their laughter drifted toward me—a soft, melodic sound that felt far too intimate for an empty stadium. She was leaning toward him, her shoulder brushing his, a proximity that felt like a closed circuit I wasn't invited to join.
"Alex?" I called out, my voice sounding fragile.
They both stopped, turning in unison. Alex didn't flinch; he didn't even look surprised. His face shifted instantly into the "Golden Boy" mask. "Hale! I was just about to text you. We just wrapped up."
He jogged over, the distance between us closing in a few athletic strides, and pulled me into a one-armed hug that felt more like a defensive maneuver than an embrace. His jacket smelled of cold air and the faint, sweet scent of Haley's perfume—a floral note that didn't belong on a gridball field.
"Practice went late, and then Haley showed up," he said, nodding back toward her as she approached with a slow, swaying confidence. "We had to go over some data for the science project. You know how it is—nerd stuff."
I looked at Haley. She wasn't wearing glasses or carrying a heavy backpack; she was wearing a cropped sweater and a look of amused, unreadable detachment. "Hey, Aurora," she said, her voice a smooth, calculated purr. "Sorry to keep your man. He's just really dedicated to getting that 'A,' you know?"
"Right," I muttered. I looked at Alex, "The science project. The one with the 'nerd' partner? The day your phone died?"
Alex didn't miss a beat. He squeezed my shoulder, his fingers warm and reassuring through my jacket. "Total nerd, right?" he joked, glancing at Haley with a wink that felt like a shared secret I was only seeing the edges of. "She's the only one who can keep the lab reports straight. I'd be failing without her."
Haley laughed. "Don't sell yourself short, Alex. You're plenty smart when you want to be." She turned her gaze to me. "Anyway, I should get going. I'll catch you guys at the party tomorrow?"
"See ya, Haley," Alex called out as she turned and walked toward the parking lot.
We stood there for a moment in the deepening dark, the hum of the stadium lights finally dying out completely. Alex looked down at me, his expression melting into something soft, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "You okay, Ro?"
"I'm fine," I lied, the words tasting like copper. I didn't accuse him. I didn't mention the way they looked together on the field. I just leaned into his chest, "Just ready for the weekend."
"Me too," he breathed, kissing the top of my head. "Trust me. Tomorrow night? It's going to be amazing."
As we walked back to the truck, I felt the silver moon bracelet beneath my sleeve, its cold weight a reminder.... I was a girlfriend. I was safe. But as the truck's engine roared to life, I couldn't stop thinking about the way Haley had looked at him, or the way the "Golden Boy" had looked back.
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The attic had become a chamber of hairspray and expensive glitter. It was barely seven o'clock, but the world outside the small window had already dissolved. Inside, the air vibrating with the frantic, bass-heavy playlist Abigail had blasting from her laptop. We were three ghosts in the making, painting our faces with the kind of precision usually reserved for surgery or a crime scene.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring back at the "Gothic Juliet" staring back. The dress was a heavy, midnight silk that pooled around my platform boots, but the wings were the center of the wreckage. They were structured, feathered in shades of oil-slick black and charcoal, arching high above my shoulders. I looked like a tragedy—a romantic relic from a Zuzu City archive. I adjusted the silver moon bracelet on my wrist, the cold metal feeling like a secret beneath the sheer mesh of my sleeves.
"It's euphoric, Ro. Truly," Elliot remarked, leaning against the doorframe. He was already fully transformed, looking like a Victorian poet who had died in a gutter—all ruffled linen, velvet waistcoats, and eyes shadowed in a deep, sickly plum.
Abigail was on the floor, lacing up her heavy combat boots, her purple hair a chaotic mess of braids and silver rings. "Everyone's waiting for something tonight," she muttered, her voice sounding metallic and distant through her own high. "The whole town is vibrating. It's like a collective fever dream."
Elliot took a slow sip from a flask, his gaze drifting to the window. "Speaking of collective fevers... I had a rather enlightening conversation with Leah earlier. Emily was there, looking quite... brittle. Prismatic, as always, but the glass is clearly starting to crack."
I paused, my hand mid-air as I was applying a streak of iridescent pink glitter to my cheekbone. "What was she saying?"
"She was lamenting," Elliot said. "The distance between her and the basement ghost has become a canyon. She's convinced the 'Source Code' is malfunctioning, though she wouldn't use those words. She thinks this party—the Gothic Harvest—is her last-ditch effort to save the relationship."
He paused, a flicker of something like pity crossing his face. "She told Leah she's planning on... well, a sacrifice of sorts. She's hoping that if they finally cross that final line tonight—if they finally have sex for the first time—it will fix the problem. She thinks her virginity is the currency required to buy back his attention."
A spike of nausea hit me, cutting right through the high. The thought of Emily offering herself up as a fix for a boy who was already bleeding out in the dark felt like a slow-motion car crash. It was a desperate, human solution to a ghost problem.
"That's... heavy," I whispered, my hand slightly shaking as I tried to apply eyeliner.
"It's a delusion," Abigail interjected, standing up and grabbing her leather jacket. "Sex doesn't fix a ghost. It just makes the haunting more intimate. But hey, that's the valley, right? We all think we can outrun the tragedy if we just try hard enough."
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The walk to Shane's house felt cinematic. We were a three-person parade of the damned—Juliet in her black wings, a dead poet, and a purple-haired anarchist—moving through the October mist with a fluid, drug-fueled grace.
The sound of the party reached us before the house did. Shane's place was a beacon of neon violet and flickering strobe lights, the shadows of people dancing against the windows like ink blots.
"You ready for this, Ro?" Abigail asked, stopping at the edge of the driveway. She looked at me, her eyes dark and searching. "Once we go in, there's no turning back. The masks stay on until the sun comes up."
I adjusted my wings, "I'm ready," I lied, my voice holding firm.
The house was a vibrating shell, the bass from the speakers in the living room thumping so hard I could feel the vibrations in the soles of my platform boots. The "lightning" in my system loved it—the speed and the noise were a perfect match for the frantic, electric hum in my blood.
I navigated the crowded hallway, my black wings catching on the shoulders of people I barely recognized. I felt like a dark omen moving through a sea of neon-painted faces and polyester costumes. The strobe light from the main room caught the oil-slick feathers of my wings, flashing them into existence and then plunging them back into shadow, over and over.
Then, across the living room, I saw him.
Sebastian was leaning against the far wall, a dark smudge in the corner of the room. He wasn't in costume, just his usual black hoodie, looking like he was trying to disappear into the drywall. But when I stepped into the light, his head snapped up. Our eyes locked through the strobe-light filter, and for an unedited second, he looked caught off guard—breathless, almost—his gaze tracking the line of my wings and the dark silk of my dress with a raw intensity that made the "static" in my head roar. It wasn't the look of a stranger; it was the look of a man seeing a ghost he'd spent his whole life trying to conjure.
"Hale! You made it!" Alex appeared at my side. He looked like the platonic ideal of a gridball hero, his jersey tight across his shoulders. He wrapped an arm around my waist, his hand splayed heavy and warm over my hip, pulling me back into reality. "Check it out, Shane's got the goods."
Shane was standing near the kitchen island, looking tired and slightly manic, holding a small, clear bag filled with tiny, neon-colored tablets. "Party favors," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the beat. "The good stuff. Pure MDMA, or so I'm told."
One by one, the inner circle leaned in. Alex took a blue pill without a second thought, swallowing it dry with a wink. Abigail and Elliot followed, their faces masks of practiced, drug-fueled nonchalance. Haley was there, too, sliding a pink tablet onto her tongue with a coquette's smirk before glancing at Alex.
Then, to my absolute shock, Sebastian stepped out of the shadows. He didn't look at Emily, who was standing a few feet away with a look of mounting dread; he just reached out and took a pill from Shane's palm.
"Whoa, Seb's joining the party?" Sam cheered, slapping him on the back. "Legendary, man!"
Sebastian didn't smile. He just swallowed the pill, his throat working as he looked directly at me. It was a challenge—a silent declaration that he was ready to drown just as deep as I was. Emily's face fell, her bright energy flickering out as she watched him. She looked like she wanted to scream, but instead, she just grabbed a red solo cup and started drinking, her eyes fixed on the floor.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Forty minutes later, the world began to bloom. The strobe lights weren't sharp anymore; they were soft, pulsating orbs of violet and gold that seemed to vibrate in time with my own heartbeat. I felt every thread of my dress, the silk brushing against my skin like a physical caress. Everything was too much and exactly enough.
I drifted through the room, feeling weightless. I saw Alex near the beer pong table, his laughter sounding like music. But Haley was there, too, her hand resting "casually" on his forearm as he took his shot. She was whispering something in his ear.
I moved toward him, "Alex?" I said, my voice sounding soft and echoed to my own ears. "Can we talk for a second?"
He turned, his eyes dilated into huge, dark voids, his face flushed with the drug's heat. "Hale! You feeling it yet? This is incredible, right?"
"You're flirting with her," I whispered, the words feeling heavy and honest in the MDMA glow. "Haley. It's... it's not just 'science nerd' stuff, Alex. I can see it."
Alex didn't get angry. He didn't even look guilty. He just smiled that easy, "Golden Boy" smile and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering too long to be just a gesture. "Ro, babe, you're just tripping," he said. "You're high, I'm high... everyone's just having a good time. Haley's a friend. You're the one in the wings, remember? You're my Juliet. Don't make it weird."
He kissed my forehead and turned back to the game. I stood there, the "static" in my head fighting against the drug's forced euphoria. I felt the lie like a physical splinter in my chest.
I pulled away, drifting toward the kitchen where Sam and Elliot were huddled. Sam was vibrating with energy, talking about the setlist, while Elliot leaned against the counter, looking at the ceiling like he was witnessing a vision. Abigail and Penny were in the corner, their heads close together, the purple hair and orange hair creating a strange, beautiful contrast in the dim light. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of isolation.
"Ten minutes!" Sam shouted, "We're going on in ten!"
I looked toward the makeshift stage in the basement stairwell. Sebastian was already there, checking the cables on his synth. He looked up, his silver-grey eyes catching the strobe light, and for a second, the whole room seemed to go silent.
The basement was a humid, light-starved cavern, packed so tightly with bodies that the air felt like recycled breath. The MDMA had reached its peak, turning the low ceiling and the exposed pipes into a tactile, shifting landscape of shadows and kaleidoscopic colors. I stood near the back, my wings brushing against the cold, damp concrete walls, feeling the high ripple through me in warm waves.
Then, the first note hit.
Sebastian was hunched over his synth. He looked hollowed out, a boy made of glass and jagged edges. When he began to play, it wasn't the melodic, safe sound the valley expected. It was a dark-wave anthem.
He looked up then. He didn't look at the crowd, and he certainly didn't look at Emily, who was standing in the front row, clutching a red solo cup like her life depended on it. He looked directly at me. In the strobe-light staccato, his silver-grey eyes were dilated into twin voids, fixed on my black wings with a searing, unmistakable intensity. When he leaned into the mic, his voice was low.
"You built the cathedral, but you live in the ruins. I see the ink under your skin, even when you're wearing the wings of a saint."
I felt the heat rise to my face, a drug-fueled flush that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Across the sea of heads, I saw Emily stiffen. She turned her head, her blue hair whipping around as she searched for the target of his gaze. When her eyes landed on me, the energy she tried so hard to maintain finally shattered. Her face twisted into something bitter and raw, her knuckles turning white as she drained the rest of her cup. She leaned in, whispering something frantic and sharp into Haley's ear, her eyes never leaving mine—bruised, hateful, and entirely aware.
The music ended with a feedback screech that echoed in the sudden, ringing silence of the house. I needed air. The MDMA was making the walls feel like they were closing in, the black silk of my dress suddenly too heavy, too restrictive. I fought my way through the crowd, my wings snagging on shoulders and beer cans, until I burst through the sliding glass door into the backyard.
The night was a violent shock—a cold, damp intake of air. I stood near the edge of the patio, my breath hitching in my chest as I tried to ground myself in the dark.
"Why can't you just look at me?"
The voice came from the shadows near the overgrown hydrangea bushes. It was Emily. I stayed frozen, hidden by the angle of the house, as Sebastian stepped into the pale moonlight. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped as he lit a cigarette, the orange ember the only warm thing in the yard.
"Go inside, Emily," he said, his voice monotone. "You're drunk."
"Am I causing a scene?" She stepped toward him, stumbling slightly. "You just played a love letter to a ghost in front of the whole town! You didn't even try to hide it, Seb. Not the lyrics, not the way you looked at her. I'm standing right there. I'm the one who's been here! I'm the one trying to save us!"
"There is no 'us' to save," Sebastian replied, exhaling. He didn't even look at her; he was staring at the distant, dark silhouette of the mountain. "You're trying to fix a machine that was never built."
"Because of her?" Emily's voice rose into a frantic, high-pitched scream. "Because the Zuzu disaster came back and you just decided I didn't exist anymore? She's toxic, Sebastian! She's high every time I see her, she's lying to everyone, and you're just... you're letting her destroy you again!"
Sebastian finally looked at her, his eyes cold and unreadable. "She didn't destroy me. I was already broken."
Emily let out a choked, sobbing sound. She lurched forward, as if to slap him or hold him, but Sebastian stepped back, an effortless, cruel evasion. Without another word, Emily turned and ran toward the house. She didn't see me until she was inches away. She stopped, her face a smeared, tear-stained mask of hostility.
She didn't say a word. She just shoved past me, her shoulder hitting mine with enough force to rattle my wings, and disappeared back into chaos of the party. I stood alone in the dark, the MDMA feeling suddenly cold and hollow, while the smell of Sebastian's smoke drifted toward me in the wind.
I moved toward the pool—a dark, rectangular mirror of unmoving water that looked more like an entrance to another world than a place to swim.
Sebastian was there, sitting on the weathered concrete edge. I didn't say anything as I sat down beside him, leaving enough space for the "static" to vibrate between us. The sound of the party was just a muffled, rhythmic thrum now.
"The wings look different in the dark," Sebastian said, his voice a low, jagged friction. He didn't look at me; his gaze was fixed on the black surface of the water. "Less like a costume. More like something you grew because you had no other way out."
I leaned back on my hands, the concrete cold against my palms. "I heard you," I whispered, the honesty of the drug making it impossible to keep the secret. "I was on the patio. I heard everything. Between you and Emily."
Sebastian gave a short, humorless huff—a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Then you heard the eulogy," he said, his tone dripping with a sarcasm that didn't quite hide the exhaustion beneath. "She didn't exactly enjoy the song. I think the 'cathedral' line was a bit too on the nose for her."
I looked at the water, watching a single leaf float across the surface. "Alex didn't even notice," I said, a playful, bitter edge creeping into my voice. "He was too busy discussing 'science' with Haley in the corner. I think the lyrics went right over his head. He's more of a radio-hit kind of guy."
Sebastian finally turned his head, his silver-grey eyes catching a glint of light. His pupils were blown wide, twin voids reflecting the night sky. "Thank you," he said quietly.
I blinked, the MDMA making the moment feel heavy and profound. "For what?"
"For not being the one to tell her," he said, gesturing vaguely toward his arm, hidden beneath the heavy fabric of his hoodie. "We got into it a couple of days ago. She found the fresh cuts. She went through my room, I guess. Looking for a reason why I'm always so checked out. She found it."
I felt a pang of pity. "Sebastian... I wouldn't do that to you. No matter how weird things get between us, I don't want to see you get hurt."
"You already saw it," he countered, his voice softening until it was barely a breath. "You saw what I was doing to myself. You're the only one who didn't try to look away or pretend it wasn't happening."
The silence stretched out, pressurized by the drugs and the history we were both trying to suffocate. I looked at him, the substances in my blood making me feel dangerously brave. I reached up and touched the silver moon bracelet on my wrist—the one he had given me, the one I still wore even when I was pretending to be someone else.
"That night... a month and a half ago," I started, my voice trembling. "When I said I still loved you. I meant it, Seb. Even if we're trying to move on... Maybe it wasn't right to say anything, maybe I said too much. I don't know. I just didn't want you to think it was easy to leave or block you."
Sebastian's hand, resting on the concrete, twitched. He didn't look away this time. "Do you think I'd be writing songs that sound like a nervous breakdown if I didn't feel the same?" he asked. "I haven't been 'there' with Emily for weeks, Aurora. She knows it. Every time she touches me, she can feel that I'm somewhere else. I'm always back at the lake. I'm always back at the pier at fourteen. That's why things are so rocky. I can't be with her when I'm still stuck on you. I can't overwrite what we have."
"I wasn't... I didn't mean to come between you," I whispered, tears of drug-induced vulnerability pricking at my eyes. "I...I didn't mean to be a villain. I'm just the one who showed up late."
Sebastian looked at me then. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something—to reach across the ruins and pull me back—but before he could speak, the sliding glass door behind us hissed open.
Emily stood on the patio, her blue hair disheveled, her face a smeared, tear-stained mask of drunken rage. She was swaying slightly, a red solo cup clutched so tightly in her hand that the plastic was beginning to white at the rim. The neon light from the house spilled over her, turning her blue hair into a frantic, electric mess and catching the jagged tracks of mascara running down her cheeks.
"I knew it," she mumbled, her voice slurred. "I knew as soon as I didn't see you inside. I knew you'd be out here, hiding in the dark with her."
Sebastian stood up slowly. He stepped slightly in front of me, a subtle, protective shift that only seemed to fuel Emily's fire. "Emily, go back inside. You're drunk and you're going to regret whatever you say next."
"Oh, I'm the one who's going to regret it?" She let out a hysterical laugh, stepping closer until the smell of cheap pomegranate vodka drifted over us. She ignored Sebastian entirely, her eyes locking onto mine with a look of pure, unadulterated loathing. "What is it about you, Aurora? Seriously? You leave for years, you come back with your Zuzu City glitter and your perfect Golden Boy, and you just... you just expect everything to be waiting for you? You think you can just step back into his life and not destroy everything I've been trying to build?"
"Emily, it's not like that—" I started, my voice trembling.
"It's exactly like that!" she screamed, the sound echoing off the fence. "He was getting better. He was actually doing okay. And then you showed up, and now he's writing songs about you and cutting himself again. He's obsessed with a ghost, and it's your fault! You're the reason he's falling apart. You're a selfish bitch, Aurora. You're the reason he can't even look at me without seeing you."
Sebastian's jaw tightened, his voice dropping. "That's enough. I told you, my choices are mine. Leave her out of this."
"How can I leave her out of it when she's the only thing you care about?" Emily's voice broke into a sob. She turned her gaze back to me, her expression shifting from rage to a desperate, ugly kind of pity. "Look at you. You're wearing wings like you're some kind of angel, but you're just high and selfish. You have Alex. You have the whole world. Why do you have to take him, too? Why do you have to ruin him just because you're bored with your perfect life?"
The words hit me. I looked at Sebastian, whose silver-grey eyes were fixed on Emily with a mixture of pity and exhaustion, and then I looked at the dark water of the pool. I felt like the villain she was describing—a girl who had come back to a tragedy she didn't know how to fix and was only making it worse.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words feeling small and pathetic. "I... I have to go."
"Aurora, wait—" Sebastian reached for me, but I flinched away, my wings brushing against his arm as I stumbled back.
I didn't look back as I hurried toward the sliding glass door. I pushed past the people huddled on the patio. My vision was blurring, hot tears of frustration and guilt stinging my eyes as I fought through the crowd. The MDMA was making everything too bright, too loud, too much.
I needed Alex. I needed the boy who looked at me. I needed the lie to be true, just for one more night.
"Alex?" I choked out, scanning the sea of blurred faces and costumes. "Alex, where are you?"
I pushed through the living room, my wings snagging on shoulders and beer cans, my heart hammering against my chest. I felt like I was drowning in the saturated light, a ghost in a black dress searching for a lighthouse that was starting to feel further and further away.
"Whoa, Ro. You look like you've seen a ghost."
It was Sam. He looked ruffled, his hair a mess of blonde spikes, his pupils dilated into dark ink blots. He leaned in, his voice barely audible over the bass, but his expression was anchored in a genuine, grounding concern. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Sam," I lied, the words feeling like dry husks in my mouth. "I just... I need to find Alex."
He squeezed my shoulder once, a silent offer of comfort I couldn't quite accept, before letting me go. I found Alex near the kitchen island, a red solo cup in one hand and his other arm draped carelessly over the back of a chair. He was laughing at something Shane said, his face flushed with the heat of the drugs and the drink. He looked exactly like the hero I was supposed to want.
"Alex," I said, leaning into him, desperate for the shelter of his presence. "I don't feel well. I think the party's getting to be too much. I want to go home."
Alex turned to me, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He pulled me closer. "Hale, babe, you're just peaking," he murmured, his breath smelling of mint and cheap vodka. He leaned down, his voice dropping into a low, suggestive tone against my ear. "If we go back to your place now, we're actually going to do something about it, right? Because I want you so fucking bad right now, Ro."
The insinuation hit me like a splash of cold water. I looked at him, searching for the boy who had brought me Xanax and told me everything would be fine, but all I saw was a drunk, high guy who saw my sickness as an inconvenience to his high.
"I don't want to do anything, Alex," I said, pulling away. "I literally just told you I don't feel well. I want to go to sleep."
Alex's face shifted into a petulant, annoyed scowl. He let out a sharp huff of air and turned back to the kitchen island. "Fine. Whatever. Go home then. I'm not leaving yet—the vibe is finally getting good. I'll catch you tomorrow."
I didn't argue. I didn't have the bandwidth for a fight. I turned and headed for the door. On the way out, I passed the living room sofa where Abigail and Penny were completely lost in each other, their silhouettes a messy, beautiful tangle of purple and orange hair against the strobe lights. I didn't stop to say goodbye; I didn't want to break the only real thing left in the room. I started down the driveway, my boots crunching on the gravel, when a voice called out behind me.
"Aurora! Wait up!"
It was Sam again. He was jogging toward me, his jacket half-zipped, his breath visible in the freezing air. "I'm walking you home," he said, catching up and matching my stride. "I don't feel right about you being out here alone in your state. I'll just head back to the party after you're safe."
"You don't have to, Sam," I whispered, though the thought of the dark trail alone made my skin crawl.
"I know I don't," he said, pulling a joint from his pocket and lighting it. The cherry glowed a bright, steady orange in the dark. He took a drag and handed it to me. "But I'm doing it anyway."
We walked in silence for a while. The smoke helped—it took the edge off the MDMA and turned the world soft.
"That song tonight," Sam finally broke the silence, his voice low and thoughtful. "I was surprised he actually played it. But at the same time... I wasn't surprised at all. He's been writing versions of that since you left."
I stayed quiet, watching the smoke curl into the mist, listening to the static in my head.
"He's conflicted, Ro," Sam continued, glancing at me. "He wouldn't tell you this, but he's been struggling since the day you moved back. His biological dad started reaching out—letters, mostly—and it's been messing with his head. Sebastian has this... this abandonment thing. He doesn't handle people leaving well. And when you moved to Zuzu City, it felt like a total blackout."
He paused, taking the joint back. "And then there was the whole thing with... the Demon Lord. Josh, right? We knew you had to block us. We knew he was controlling your phone, your life, all of it. But Sebastian... he took it personally. He felt like you'd traded us in for a version of yourself that didn't include him."
I felt a sharp, stinging heat behind my eyes. The memory of Josh—the way he'd smile while he deleted my contacts, the way he'd tell me my "valley friends" were holding me back...
"When Emily showed up, she was just... there," Sam said, his voice trailing off as he looked toward the mountain. "She worked hard to get into his line of sight, but he wasn't really seeing her. Not until he saw those social media posts. The ones of you and Josh at that club in Zuzu City. You looked happy, Ro. Or at least, the version of you in the photo did. Sebastian saw them and he just... he gave up. He decided to explore things with Emily because he thought you were gone for good."
We reached the front of the General Store. I stood on the sidewalk, my black wings feeling like a physical weight on my spine, the truth of Sam's words sinking into the ruins of my night.
"He's not a ghost, Aurora," Sam said softly, stepping back toward the road. "He's just a guy who's tired of being the one left behind. Get some sleep, okay?"
I watched him disappear into the mist, the silver moon bracelet on my wrist feeling heavier than it ever had before. I was Juliet, but the tragedy wasn't the ending—it was the fact that we were both still alive, haunted by a past we didn't know how to bury.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚