Chapterat
Byron tenderly offered me a glass of water, his hand steady as he helped me stumble to a nearby bench, my legs trembling beneath me like a lead in an Jutumn pale. As I collapsed onto the cool surface, he sunk beside me, his gaze averted, his eyes laed on some invisible point on the floor.
His sigh was a heavy, defeated sound, like the creaking of an ancient door, as he dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders slumping in a gesture of despair. The silence between us was questioning, as if daring me to speak, to explain, to justify the unforgivable. But I had no words, only the bitter taste
of shume.
As my head finally slowed its dizzying spin, I sprang to my feet with a desperate umgency, my hands grasping for Byron’s shoulders like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline “Ka–Karissa, where is she?” I begged, my voice cracking with distress.
“Please, please tell me?” I pleaded, my eyes locking onto his with a frantic severity.
“Sheshe went back to San Francisco,” he stammtered as if contemplating the next words, “to move out of your place.” The words dropped like a blade, ending the last threads of hope, lewing me staring; foto the abyss of my men making.
I grasped Byron’s hands in a fervent, almost desperate gesture, my fingers intertwining with his like a supplicant’s prayer. “I need to go to her, I need to talk to her, please,” begged, my voice trembling with urgency,
“Cam–com you send my stuff to a courier, please?” I urged, my eyes locked onto his with a pleading intensity.
Byron’s expression remained grim, his face a mask of resigned determination, but he nodded curtly.
“When did she leave?” I shuddered with my question, my voice laced with a growing sense of desperation, each passing second twisting my gut into a tighter list. Byron’s response was a flat, emotionless blow, delivered with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel
“They lett about thirty minutes ago,” he replied.
The watch on my wrist seemed to mock me, its ticking a remorseless countdown to the irreversible loss that had already slipped through my fingers like
sand
The movement was brief, but it spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of my situations, and the faint glimmer of hope
I hastily gathered my belongings and sprinted to the airport, weaving through the throngs of people with a sense of urgent desperation. I dodged startled travelers and burst through the crowds, earning rate glares and muttered curses as I went.
The sounds of the terminal, the announcements, the rustle of luggage, and the hum of conversation, faded into a distant bar as 1 focused on a single goal, reaching Karissa before it was too late. My feet pounded the polished floor, carrying me toward the gate with a speed born of panic and regret.
I purchased the first available ticket, regardless of the expensive cost, and spent the interminable wait pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
The sorrow that had taken up residence in my mind marched havoc. If the self–devouring remorse didn’t ultimately kill me, the exhaustion it wrought surely would, my eyes felt like hardened pebbles, my limbs heavy with the burden carried.
Time itself seemed to slow, stretching out the minutes into an eternity of despair as I waited to board the plane, my mind racing with the devastating consequences of my actions
As I settled into my sear, relief and beartache washed over me, the private enclosure offered a small mercy, allowing me to surrender to the emotional
storm that had been building inside.
The hostess’s concerned inquiry about my disheveled state was met with a curt nod, my voice lost to the overwhelming turmoil. The bitter taste of bile lingered in my throat, refusing to subside, as I clasped my head in my hands, silently imploring the universe to ease the excruciating pain that threatened
to consume me whole.
The five and a half hours that followed were an eternity of anguish, each ticking minute a fresh torment. I kept my phone charged, my eyes fixed on the screen with a desperate intensity, as I repeatedly clicked on Karissa’s WhatsApp profile, only to be met with the crushing silence of unread messages.
My texts, filled with pleas and apologies, hung in limbo refusing to reach her. In a desperate bid to find some solace, I switched to Instagram, but what I saw there left me reeling. A post, cold and unforgiving, seemed to mock me, its words searing themselves into my vision.
As the plane touched down and the cabin erupted into a flurry of activity, I was beset on all sides by concerned queries. Fellow passengers and airline crew alike asked if I was okay, but my voice was trapped in a underground prison, unable to escape
I could only manage a faint, mechanical nod, my lips frozen in a grimace. The moment I burst through the airport doors, I hurriedly halled a cab, my heart Laid bare on the altar of slaughter.
As we sped towards my house, my mind racing with worst–case scenarios, I stoled myself for the unknown. But nothing could have prepared me for the devastation that awaited me. I dashed inside, my eyes scanning the familiar surroundings with a growing sense of dread, and what I saw was a scene from my darkest nightmares.
My world shattered into a million pieces as 1 beheld my Karissa, her delicate body contorted in a horrific pose, her limbs shaking in a violent, rhythmic dance. Her eyes had rolled back, exposing only whites, as she was ravaged by a seizure’s merciless grip. Her face was twisted in a silent scream, her skin deathly pale, and her beauty lost amidst the tunnell. I felt my heart shatter, my very soul torn asunder, as I took in the sight of her helpless form.
