Page 59 of Run Omega Run
This was goodbye, even if neither of us had said the word. I could feel it in the settling quality of her sleep, in the way her breathing had found a slow rhythm that spoke of endings rather than rest. The way her breaths were far apart now, and every breath voiced death’s wail as she battled her body one last time. The woman who'd been my anchor, my example, my safety net, was slipping away from me one breath at a time.
Later that day, when the house had finally settled into the deep quiet that came during evening, when even the most restless children had surrendered to hunger and exhaustion. I sat on the edge of my bed in darkness, listening to the erratic rhythm of breathing from my mom’s bedroom, and to the distant murmur of Dante's voice as he read by Mom's bedside while she slept.
My running shoes sat on the floor where I'd left them days ago, their worn leather and faded fabric as familiar as old friends. I reached for them with hands that had stopped shaking but still felt unsteady, as if the ground beneath me might give way at any moment. The ritual of lacing them up had always been a form of meditation, with the careful threading of lacesthrough eyelets, the precise tightening that secured my feet for whatever distance lay ahead.
But tonight, the familiar motions felt desperate rather than meditative. I needed to run, not for training or fitness, but for survival. To outpace the grief that was building in my chest like floodwater behind a failing dam, to exhaust my body until it couldn't contain the emotions that threatened to drown me from within.
I tied the last knot and stood, testing the fit with a few silent steps across the floorboards. Perfect as always.
The stairs didn't creak as I descended, another benefit of the repairs that made my nighttime escape possible. Through the partially open door of Mom's room, I could see Dante's profile silhouetted against the soft glow of the bedside lamp, his attention focused on the book in his lap. His marshmallow scent drifted into the hallway, warm and comforting and so at odds with the storm raging inside me it made my chest ache with a longing I couldn't afford to feel.
I slipped past without disturbing him, through the front door that had been rebuilt stronger than before, and out into the cool night air that hit my face, waking me up. The city stretched around me in varying stages of reconstruction and abandonment, broken concrete reflecting moonlight like scattered diamonds, construction equipment standing unused, as it would remain until dawn.
I started slowly, my body warming into the familiar rhythm that had always been my salvation. But tonight the measured pace felt like imprisonment, like crawling when every instinct screamed at me to fly. I pushed harder, my feet hitting the pavement with increasing force as I sought the obliteration that only came when physical exhaustion overwhelmed emotional capacity.
The streets were silent except for the distant sounds of late-shift construction crews working under floodlights to meet repair deadlines. My footfalls echoed off empty buildings as I navigated through neighborhoods still marked by earthquake damage.
I ran past the hospital where Mom had visited, past the school that had been demolished and never rebuilt, past construction sites that looked like archaeological digs in reverse, building the future on the bones of what had been destroyed.
My lungs burned as I pushed beyond my usual training pace, seeking the point where physical distress would crowd out everything else demanding space in my head. The careful conditioning I'd built over months of disciplined running was nothing compared to the desperate energy driving me tonight.
But the city seemed determined to test me. Broken concrete caught my foot at an intersection, sending me stumbling forward with arms windmilling for balance. I caught myself before falling completely, but sharp pain shot through my ankle where it had twisted against the uneven surface. I ignored it, pushing harder, using the physical discomfort as fuel for greater speed.
A construction zone forced me to detour through an area where temporary roads had been carved through debris fields. My ankle protested each impact, but I pressed on, drawn by the physical challenge that demanded complete focus and left no room for the thoughts I was trying to escape.
The inevitable fall came at a section where the temporary road surface had washed away, leaving a gap filled with jagged asphalt chunks and twisted metal. In daylight, I would have seen the hazard and adjusted accordingly. But in darkness, running on desperation rather than sense, I hit the obstacle at full speed.
The impact sent me sprawling across broken pavement, my palms scraping against rough concrete as I tried to break the fall. Sharp edges bit into my knees, and I felt the warm wetness ofblood seeping through fabric. For a moment, I lay still, assessing the damage that should have been enough to send me home for first aid and rest.
Instead, I pushed myself upright and continued running.
Blood trickled down my shins and dripped from my palms, but the pain was exactly what I'd been seeking. It was immediate, and manageable. Something I could control and endure to overcome through simple determination.
I was so focused on managing physical pain that I almost missed the figure standing in the intersection ahead, positioned in my path like an immovable obstacle. The peppermint scent cut through the dusty night air, sharp, clean, and familiar, bringing me to a stumbling halt before I could identify the source.
Bennett emerged from the shadows like something conjured by need rather than coincidence, his expression grim in the moonlight as he took in my bedraggled appearance. Blood-streaked hands, torn clothing, wild hair escaping from its ponytail, sweat mixing with tears, I hadn't realized I was crying... I must have looked like a disaster in motion.
"What are you doing here?" I gasped, my voice raw from exertion and unshed sobs.
"Stopping you from killing yourself," he replied, his dark eyes cataloguing my injuries with clinical precision. "Did you really think you could run through construction zones in the dark without consequences?"
His calm tone ignited something fierce and irrational in my chest. "I don't need your pity," I snapped. "I can take care of myself. I've been taking care of myself long before you showed up."
"I don't pity you," Bennett said, his voice hardening with an edge I'd never heard before. "I'm furious with you. For you."
The unexpected response stopped me mid-step. I'd been prepared for sympathy, for gentle coaxing, for the kind of patronizing concern that made me want to run further and faster. But fury? That was something I hadn't anticipated.
"You're angry at me?" I asked, confusion cutting through the adrenaline that had been driving me.
"I'm angry that you're so determined to hide away your emotions, that you'd rather bleed on broken pavement than accept help from people who care about you," he said, taking another step closer. “I'm angry that you're out here trying to outrun grief instead of letting us help you carry it.”
His words hit like physical blows, each one striking too close to the truths I'd been trying to avoid. The careful walls I'd built around myself began to crumble as I realized he wasn't trying to rescue me; he was trying to reach me.
"She's dying," I whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "My mom is dying, and there's nothing I can do to stop it, and I don't know how to be strong enough for everyone who needs me to be strong."
The admission broke something inside me. I doubled over as sobs racked my body, all the grief and terror and desperate love I'd been carrying finally overwhelming my defenses.
Bennett's arms came around me before I could collapse completely, pulling me against his chest with strength that felt like the first solid thing I'd encountered in months. His peppermint scent wrapped around me like a blanket, grounding me in the present moment when everything else felt like it was disintegrating.
