Page 267 of Before We Were

"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.

Consciousness returns in waves,each one bringing fresh agony. My skull feels like it's being split from the inside, brain matter pulsing against bone. The quiet of Nick's house is deafening after weeks of Monty's chaos. Coffee scents the air, a stark contrast to the toxic mix of sweat and smoke I've been drowning in. Sunlight assaults my eyes like shards of broken glass.

"Afternoon." Nick's voice cuts through the fog. He's a shadow in the doorway, tension coiled in his frame like a spring ready to snap.

I try to sit up, but gravity shifts and tilts. Bile rises in my throat as the room carousels around me. I reach for the bucket beside the sofa and empty whatever poison is left in my system. My face feels foreign under my palms, weeks of stubble rough against raw skin. Every cell in my body screams with the memory of what I've done to it.

"I don't—" The words scrape out like they're lined with barbed wire.

Nick inches closer, reality flickering like bad television reception.

"You got high out of your mind. We were trying to give you space over the past few weeks but then hadn't heard from you in days, until Jay called and said he knew where you were. Found you at Monty's, more dead than alive."

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