Page 120 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

My skin crawled. “And you—”

“I stayed in my room.” Ethan exhaled shakily. “At first, I thought it was just some weird phase.

That maybe he’d snap out of it. But he didn’t.”

I kept silent, barely able to digest half of what he’d said.

His voice cracked. “And now that I'm seventeen, he wants me to join him.”

I swallowed. “And you said no?”

Ethan laughed, shaking his head. “Of course I said no.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until Ethan looked up at me, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Surprised?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “No, I just…” I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t get it. Why are you telling me this?”

Ethan leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the ceiling. “Because you're a good listener, Ghost Boy.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I had spent so much time assuming Ethan was just another reckless, cocky idiot. But sitting here, in the abandoned shell of his childhood, he looked… human. Or at least a demon with sense.

I sat down on the old desk chair, exhaling slowly. “What happens now?”

Ethan looked over at me, something unreadable in his expression. “I don’t know.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

And for now, whatever he had shared was enough.

Then, he stood up and moved toward a section of the wall, running his fingers along its surface as if searching for something. His movements were careful, deliberate, like he’d done this before. Then, without hesitation, he tore away the top layer, the old wallpaper peeling back with a dry rip. Beneath it, something incredible emerged—a sprawling, intricate map, detailed and vast, the kind detectives use when trying to solve a grand mystery. But this wasn’t just any map.

It was a story.

My breath caught as I got up and stepped closer, eyes scanning the familiar outlines. "Wait…this is—"

"Our country," Ethan confirmed, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.

The map was massive, covering a significant portion of the wall. It was marked with various notes, drawings, and most notably, a series of colored pins pressed into different locations. I took a step forward, examining them closely. There was something about the arrangement that tickled at my memory, a nagging sense of familiarity. And then it hit me.

"These…these are all the places we visited during our documentary," I murmured, my stomach twisting. "That’s—how is that even possible?"

Ethan let out a small chuckle, though there was something unreadable in his expression. "Yeah. Coincidence."

Coincidence. The word hung between us, empty and unconvincing. But I didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, I took in the map’s details. The faded lines, the careful handwriting, the sheer dedication that must have gone into it. Some of the pins had small notes attached, scribbled in a young, eager hand.

‘The Enchanted Park of Aislad—where real magic happens’

‘Lake Orion—blue like a dream’

‘Mt. Cain—high as the sky’

‘Dragon Park—infernos from mouths’

I scanned the entries, my chest tightening as I recognized each location. The realization sent a shiver down my spine. Ethan had made this. He had planned this. Long before our tour even began.

I turned to him, a question forming on my lips, but he moved again, pressing his fingers against another section of the wall. This time, what he revealed wasn’t just a map, but something far more personal.

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