Time melts like wax, dripping and pooling at the edges of consciousness. I'm somewhere else now—Nick's house, I think. The air here is clean wood and expensive cologne, jarring after weeks of breathing Monty's cocktail of stale smoke and desperation. They lay me down, and the leather couch swallows me whole. I squeeze my eyes shut against the spinning room, but darkness brings no peace. Instead, she materializes like a ghost I can't outrun.

Nora.

She's five, a snapshot of innocence in that purple dress scattered with daisies. Pigtails bounce as she moves, bright eyes sparkling with the kind of hope I'd forgotten existed. Her tiny hands clutch a crayon and paper like they're precious treasures.

“Nate, you have to sign this."

"What is it?"

"It's a forever friends promise."

The memory burns bright enough to scar as she hands me a piece of paper. Her backwards S's swimming across the page, each misspelling perfect in its imperfection.

Her signature sits at the bottom, waiting for mine like she never doubted I'd sign. Like she knew, even then, that I'd promise her anything.

"The pony's name is going to be called Dolly. And we can rescue all the puppies and give them Avenger names like Superman!"

I don't tell her Superman isn't an Avenger.

Instead, little-me says, "I like the name Dolly."

"Do you promise, Natey?" She offers the green crayon like an olive branch and a lifeline all in one. "Do you promise we’ll live happily ever after?"

"I promise, Leni. I'll be your forever friend and we’ll live happily ever after.”

I sign my name, sealing a future I'd destroy years later.

Her laugh ripples through my consciousness, but the memory fractures, reality bleeding through like acid rain.

The image warps—she's not five anymore.

She's seventeen and dying, her body limp in my arms. Blood paints her lips like those cherry popsicles she loved so much. Those trust-filled green eyes flutter closed as I scream her name into the indifferent night.

I jolt upward, lungs burning for air that tastes like guilt. But I can't escape her—she's woven into my DNA, etched into every scar, living in every needle mark I've added since that night.

She's everywhere.

In every heartbeat.

In every hit.

In every broken promise.

I'm still falling, chasing oblivion but finding only memories. The drugs that were supposed to numb everything have only made her clearer, sharper, more real.

I'm sorry, Leni.

I'm so fucking sorry.

But I know better than anyone, sorry doesn't undo promises.

Sorry doesn't wash blood from asphalt.

Sorry doesn't bring back five-year-olds with backward S's and dreams of a pony named Dolly.

I keep falling, hoping the bottom will hurt less than remembering.