Page 23 of Wraith

The night air hit me like a slap, cold and biting, but it was better than the suffocating warmth of the café. The bond was quiet now, retreating into the background, but its weight was still there, pressing down on my chest.

She was dead. It made me want to be dead too.

Fourteen

Warning: On-screen Suicide

The ceiling tilesblurred as I lay on my bed, staring up at nothing. Tonight, exhaustion dulled everything—my body, my chest, my thoughts. Breathing took effort. Existing felt like a punishment.

I turned my head, the faint glow of my alarm clock casting jagged shadows across the room. 3:12 a.m. The time didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered for a while now.

The bond was dead. She was dead. And I… I wasn’t sure what I was anymore. My mind wouldn’t shut off. It kept replaying her face in that moment—the way her wide, desperate eyes locked on mine. The crack of her skull against the stage. The way I just stood there, frozen, as the others walked away.

I’d thought time would dull it. That maybe if I filled my days with enough noise, enough distractions, I could bury it. But the silence always came back, louder and sharper than before. It clawed at me, tearing me apart from the inside out.

I pressed my hands to my face, my palms digging into my eyes as if I could scrub the image of her out of my head. Nothing helped. Not music, not workouts, not the stupid little routines I’d built to keep myself grounded.

Everything I used to love felt meaningless. The things that used to bring me even the faintest bit of joy now felt like hollow echoes of a life I didn’t deserve to live.

My chest ached, the pain so deep and constant that I couldn’t remember what it felt like to breathe without it. It wasn’t just guilt. It was something bigger, something that consumed me entirely. Guilt, grief, anger, shame—it all swirled together until it became this heavy, choking weight I couldn’t carry anymore.

I sat up, my legs swinging over the edge of my bed. My hands trembled as I gripped the mattress, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. My mind raced, the thoughts circling like vultures.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

In that moment, the realization settled over me, cold and absolute. I couldn’t keep living like this—if you could even call this living. I was trapped in a loop, a constant replay of that night, that moment, her face.

I needed it to stop.

My gaze drifted to the kitchenette, to the small counter cluttered with dishes I hadn’t bothered to clean. My mind ran through the options like a checklist, methodical and detached.

Pills? No. I’d probably vomit them up before they worked. Too messy. Too uncertain. Slitting my wrists? I didn’t have a sharp enough razor. And even if I did, the thought of watching the blood pool out, the pain of it—it was too much. Hanging? What would I even use? The idea was laughable in its futility.

My eyes flicked to the toaster sitting on the counter. The light from the streetlamp outside hit it just right, casting a softglow across its sleek, metal surface. My heart stuttered, my mind latching onto the thought before I could second-guess it.

It would be fast. Quiet. Final.

Before I even realized what I was doing, I was on my feet. My movements were automatic, robotic, like I wasn’t entirely in control of my own body. My mind was numb, my chest hollow, and for the first time in weeks, my muscles felt relaxed.

The toaster was heavier than I expected as I picked it up, its cord dangling limply. I carried it into the bathroom, setting it carefully on the counter beside the sink. The tub stared back at me, empty and waiting.

I turned on the faucet, the sound of rushing water filling the silence. It was almost comforting, the way it drowned out the noise in my head. Steam curled upward, fogging the mirror, blurring my reflection until it didn’t even look like me anymore.

My hands shook as I plugged in the toaster, the hum of electricity buzzing faintly against the air. I tested the cord, making sure it was long enough to reach the tub. It was.

The water filled quickly, almost too quickly. My chest tightened as I turned off the faucet, the sound fading into silence once more. The tub was warm, the steam rising around me like a blanket.

I stepped in not even bothering to take off my pajama pants and the heat bit at my skin, but I barely felt it. I sank down, the water enveloping me, its weight pressing against my chest. My breathing steadied, my hands resting limply on my thighs.

This was it.

I reached for the toaster, my fingers brushing against the cold metal. It felt solid, grounding, in a way I hadn’t felt in weeks. My chest tightened, but it wasn’t fear. It was relief.

The world felt quiet for the first time in so long. The noise in my head dulled, replaced by a strange kind of acceptance. This was the right choice. The only choice.

I lifted the toaster, the cord dragging behind it, and held it above the water. My hands trembled, but my grip was steady. I closed my eyes, my breath hitching as I whispered the only words I could manage.

“I’m sorry.”

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