Page 27 of Goldsin

She’ll be mine.

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The sun is setting on the horizon, bathing Seattle in glowing hues of orange.

I’m standing outside Aurelia’s apartment. The walls of the corridor, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, showcase the breathtaking contrast between the city skyline and the fiery background as they capture the essence of the sunset hour.

My shadow stretches long and thin on the marble beneath me as I pick at the lock of her apartment door. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts from beneath the door, mingling with the subtle hint of fresh laundry. Or maybe ... vanilla?

I know she’s the one who killed DeMarco. I don’t have concrete proof yet, but I know she did it.

I haven’t been able to shake the thought all day.

That’s why I’m picking at the lock and slipping inside.

I need to find proof.

Without making any noise, I make my way through the short corridor to the living room before heading upstairs to her bedroom.

I know every inch of this apartment, every turn and every wall an echo of my past, a maze I could walk through with my eyes closed after the countless nights I snuck through these corridors in pitch-darkness.

Valentine knew about my break-ins. He never said or did anything about them. After all, it was his teaching that turned me into a lock-picking expert.

I still remember that sun-drenched afternoon he spent with me outside his apartment, where he told me, “The world doesn’t leave any door open for you. You’ve got to break yourself in.”

New pictures decorate the white walls now. Memories I wasn’t a part of. But there are also whispered stories of our unforgotten shared past.

A chill creeps over my body as I let the familiar surroundings wash over me.

Each corner holds a memory that tugs something deep within.

How long has it been since I last set foot in here?

Pushing open her bedroom door, I step inside. My legs go weak as everything that’s changed crashes down on me.

Her honey perfume still clings to the air. At least that much hasn’t changed. Its sweet scent sends a shiver down my spine. It reminds me of the summer nights she would lay her head on my chest and I would play with her curls, our laughter ringing wild as we counted the stars.

Shaking off the haunting memories, I give the room a quick scan.

Everything has changed.

Her room is no longer a space containing the best memories of my life. Her room is now a stark reminder that she’s no longer mine. That we’re once again strangers.

This isn’t the same room I visit in my dreams. This isn’t the same room I was in last time, years ago.

There are no pink stripes on the walls. Instead they’re a cold shade of teal, covered with artwork I’ve never seen before.

I feel like an outsider, a stranger heading to meet the woman Aurelia grew up to be.

I feel like she slammed a door on our past.

Shaking off the burning need to get to know this new version of her, I search every inch of the room for what I came here to find.

I look under her bed. Behind the stack of papers hiding the books displayed on the white wooden bookshelf. My fingers graze the small bottles on the vanity table and the softness of her honey-scented bedspread.

But all I find is her.

She is everywhere. In every little figurine adorning her desk. In every paintbrush lying on the floor. In every colorful notebook with strings of material and paperclips peeking out of it.

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