I dropped my bag by the counter and made my way toward one of the back rows, collapsing into the seat. My head throbbed, my body ached, and the weight in my chest was so fucking unbearable that I felt like I was suffocating under it.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against my fists.

I had nothing.

No one.

And maybe that was exactly what I deserved.

* * *

The days blurred together.

I spent my afternoons wandering aimlessly, hands in my pockets, hood pulled up. I barely ate—just enough to keep my body moving. I drifted through parks, sat on empty benches, and let the sun burn my skin to remind me I was still alive.

At night, I slipped into the cinema, locking the doors behind me, making sure no one saw. I stayed in the back rows, curled up in the dark, staring at the empty screen. The seats had become my bed, the flickering glow of the exit signs my nightlight.

Sleep came in waves, restless and fragmented. My dreams were haunted by blood, flashing sirens, and my father slipping through my fingers. Some nights, I thought I heard knocking on the doors, but when I sat up, there was nothing but silence.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Beverly’s face—her tear-streaked cheeks, her shaking hands gripping my shirt, her voice breaking as she begged me not to leave.

I told myself I’d done the right thing.

I told myself she’d move on.

But I didn’t believe it.

Then the knocking came again. It was real this time, loud and unrelenting. At first, I ignored it, squeezing my eyes shut.

But it didn’t stop. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound kept coming—louder, faster, more desperate.

I hesitated for only a second before staggering toward the lobby, my legs stiff from days of sleeping curled in the seats.

Tiffany.

I could see her through the glass doors, her hair a frizzy mess, her hoodie slipping off her shoulder, her eyes furious.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

My head pounded with exhaustion as I unlocked the door. “God help me.”

She shoved it open so fast I barely had time to step back before she was in my face. “You think you can just disappear? Jamal’s worried sick. Jesus,” she added. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” I rasped, my voice hoarse from disuse.

“Are you serious?” She let out a sharp, frustrated breath, shoving me hard. “You’ve been missing for days! And Beverly⁠—”

I flinched at her name.

“Yeah, I figured that’d get your attention, you asshole. Jamal’s been worried,” she repeated, poking my chest with her finger. “He’s been looking everywhere for you.”

“Yeah? Tell him he doesn’t have to anymore. I’m fine.”