Ethan and Jonathan didn’t leave quietly.
They lingered like smoke, like guilt that doesn’t know when it’s no longer welcome.
After watching their shared past burn in front of them, they showed up at my door— like two ghosts in pressed shirts, trying to claw back something they’d already buried.
“Come on, Evanny,” Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck like a boy caught with blood on his hands. “Let’s have dinner. Just us. Let’s talk things out.”
“We’ll go to your favorite spot,” Jonathan added. His voice was softer than I remembered. “Just one meal. Let us make it right.”
I didn’t answer. I just nodded.
But I already knew in my heart: this wasn’t one of our regular dinner.
It was going to be our last.
We drove in Ethan’s sleek black car. The silence between us stretched on forever until it felt like a third passenger—thick, breathing and waiting.
Then Jonathan’s phone buzzed.
His eyes flicked down, and he paled. “It’s Sophia.” He answered too fast. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice came through in a high pitched tone, spilling out loud enough for me to hear. “The power went out. Someone broke in— I think they’re still here. I’m scared, Jonathan. Please come!”
Ethan’s jaw tensed. His hand tightened on the wheel. Then he looked at me.
“Get out,” he said.
“What?”
“We have to go back for Sophia. We’ll come back to get you. Just stay here.”
Like I was a pet. Something to be left behind.
“You can’t come with us,” Jonathan added, already unlocking my door.
Rain pelted the windshield like fists. I didn’t even have time to protest before they shoved the door open and pushed me out.
The door slammed shut and the car sped off.
I watched the red taillights fading like their loyalty. I stood alone on the curb in the rain, my dress clinging to my skin with my mascara bleeding like ink.
And then I smiled. Not from joy. But from clarity.
This was the funeral feast. And they didn’t even know they’d just buried themselves.
---
Three blocks in, I kicked off my heels.
The shiny leather was too slick in the rain, and my blisters had split open. I carried them like carcasses, barefoot and breathless.
No taxis stopped for me. Drivers slowed, stared, then sped up.
Like they’d seen a ghost they didn’t want to believe in.
I turned down a side alley— it was a shortcut, I thought.
A way back to the main road. I figured I could get a taxi or even a bus faster that way. But instead, it was an ambush.
A man stepped out of the shadows in the middle of the alley. He wore a black jacket with his hood up. And glistening in his hand, was a knife.
I didn’t hear what he asked for. It was raining too hard for me to hear anything. But it was probably my phone, or wallet, or even my shoes. I don’t know. I fought anyway. Bit and clawed and screamed as he came at me until my throat bled.
That’s when he stabbed me.
I felt the knife once. Then twice. And then a third time when I tried to crawl away.
The pain was wild. Then it was so cold. So cold that it made my limbs useless.
I collapsed, cheek pressed to the wet concrete like it might offer some kind of comfort.
And then— I saw headlights.
A door slammed, followed by footsteps, and then I heard my name. “Evanny!”
I knew that voice.
He lifted me with his strong arms, breathing fast.
I was bleeding so much. My blood turned his white shirt a deep shade of red. I wanted to tell him to tell my aunt that I wouldn’t be able to visit her after all, but nothing came out.
He looked down at me and I saw his face.
“You’re not dying tonight,” he said. “Not on my watch. Not like this.”
It was him. It was the man who had saved me from drowning just last night. How was he here right now? Was he an angel that had come to take my soul? I thought I had hallucinated him last night.
“Who—- who are you?” I whispered, barely audible.
He smiled faintly, almost in an apologetic manner. “I’m Ronan.”
And then just like last night, he vanished again. Not like a ghost or anything like that. He was just gone.
I woke up in a pristine white room.
The hospital lights gone above me. There were so many tubes sticking out of me and I was plugged into machines that beeped like clocks counting borrowed time.
I stayed in the hospital for a week. I didn’t get calls or any visitors. I told the nurses not to tell my mother. I didn’t want her to panic.
I needed silence. I let myself feel it—the death of hope. The final breath of believing someone might come.
And then, on the day I was discharged, it happened.
Screaming echoed down the corridor. Nurses rushed by rolling a stretcher in.
It was Sophia on the bed.
Her wrists were bloodied and dripping blood on the white floors. Mascara streaked down her face like a broken doll. She cried like I’d never heard before, and Ethan held her other hand, whispering something to her. Jonathan carried her purse behind them.
Then they saw me.
Standing at the edge of the hallway in my paper gown, hospital band tight around my wrist.
They looked shocked.
Ethan stared like he’d seen a ghost. Jonathan like he’d watched one come back from the dead.
“Evanny?” Ethan whispered in shock.
“You were… here the whole time?” Jonathan asked.
I looked down at the IV tape still clinging to my skin. I hadn’t even changed clothes.
“I was here for a week,” I said softly. “I almost died. You didn’t even notice I was gone.”
Their mouths opened but nothing came out.
And behind them, Sophia wailed louder— demanding their attention like oxygen. Of course, they turned.
I didn’t.
I walked past them, barefoot and feeling my heart bleed inside of me.
