That night, I dreamt of Evan. He stood by my bed, telling me to take care of Olivia. I
sobbed, begging him not to leave, reaching for him. But he kept backing away. Until-
“Thud!”
I crashed to the floor, jolted awake. The physical pain cleared my head, but grief washed over me. I knelt there..
gasping for breath.
I couldn’t let Olivia hear me; she’d only yell. I
hugged myself, staring at the ceiling until the
silence returned, and I drifted back to sleep.
My discarded phone buzzed incessantly.
When I woke, I saw Olivia had called a dozen
times, leaving voicemails. “Ethan, are your
dead?” Her voice, as cold as ever. “I told you,
L
today’s Evan’s anniversary.” “Why weren’t you
there?” “You should be the one dead.”
Olivia still hated me, blamed me. Ten years.
She didn’t know I’d visited Evan’s grave the
day before my birthday. She and Mom had
made it clear they didn’t want me there with
them.
- 5.
I moved out when college started, even
though the campus was close to home. Olivia
was there too; a senior. I’d chosen Stanford
hoping to follow in her footsteps. But a month
in, she hadn’t spoken to me.
I heard it was graduation day for the seniors.
So, I bought flowers and a gift, searching for
her in the crowd. Olivia was radiant,
く
surrounded by well–wishers. I hesitated to
approach.
I stood under a tree, hoping for a chance to
slip her the gift. Suddenly, Olivia’s eyes flicked towards me. We locked gazes for a moment. As I took a step forward, she looked
away, treating me like a stranger.
A clear message: she didn’t want to see me.
“Hey, you giving that to your crush? I’ll deliver it! I have some pull around here,” a bubbly girl appeared, grabbing the gift and skipping
towards Olivia.
I watched, unsure what she said, but Olivia
glanced back at me. She took the gift. I
exhaled, a flicker of hope. Then, Olivia, in
front of everyone, tossed it in the nearest
く
The air thickened with awkwardness. The girl
looked back at me apologetically. I couldn’t
stay. I turned and left.
- 6.
The iced latte, usually a comfort, tasted
bitter. I pushed down the sadness, wandering
aimlessly. I’d expected her reaction, but it still
stung. Since Dad left, her hatred had become
so blatant.
I figured she loathed me beyond repair, any
attempt at reconciliation futile. And my illness
was worsening. The breathlessness, the
stabbing chest pains, were more frequent,
now striking day and night.
The autumn wind chilled me to the bone, my
head throbbing, sweat trickling down my
<
back. I leaned against a wall, fighting for
breath, biting back the pain.
