***"I have hours, only lonely***
***My love is vengeance***
***That's never free." - Limp Bizkit***
***Holden Young***
I was living my dream.
I repeated that to myself more times than I could count. Maybe that way, I could feel some kind of satisfaction. I wanted to feel something.
My headphones were blasting, but not even the pounding beat of the music could drown out the noise in my head.
We were on our way home, leaving the record label. The entire week had been a blur of commitments, all of which reinforced just how much my life had changed. And yet, at the same time, nothing felt different. I was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
The emptiness was constant, and at this point, I had started to wonder if this was just who I was. Possibly it was something intrinsic, a part of me as permanent as a birthmark, something that wouldn’t simply disappear.
Maybe I was just a man born to experience life simply. Without the rollercoaster of emotions, everyone seemed to ride—where joy peaks, where constant motion fuels the expectation of something new.
Cyrus, my temporary manager, always said that was a good thing. I was analytical and pragmatic. I didn’t get nervous before performances, which helped me stand out.
But I couldn’t hide my frustration when I won Next Idol. I thought that would be my peak, my moment of happiness.
And it didn’t make sense. Not at all, because I loved music more than anything else in my life. So what was missing? What would finally make me feel whole?
And then, like a cruel joke from the universe, the SUV came to a screeching halt. The jolt sent my body lurching forward, and a sharp, sickening sound echoed across the windshield. My heart leaped into my throat. The driver cursed loudly and jumped out of the car, followed by Cyrus.
This wasn’t the kind of emotion I’d been looking for.
I followed them, the sinking feeling in my stomach growing as I stepped out of the vehicle. My hands were sweating, and the air felt thick and heavy, like something terrible was about to happen.
And then I saw her.
She was lying on the asphalt, motionless. Her dark hair was fanned out around her face, messy but framing her like a shattered portrait. Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths, but her eyes were open. Blue. Achingly blue, even under the dim streetlights.
They were the same eyes I used to picture at night when sleep wouldn’t come. The same eyes that had looked at me with hesitation in freshman year, when she thought I was trying to mock her.
I knew those eyes. *I’d dreamed about them for eight years.*
"Alissa?"
My heart stopped. Her name escaped my lips unbidden, whispered but dragging a weight from deep within my soul.
For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. It couldn’t be. Not after all this time. Not like this.
She blinked slowly, her unfocused gaze trying to find me. Confusion painted her expression, and then something shifted. A shadow crossed her face, and I panicked.
She tried to move, but it was as if her body was frozen in place. My chest tightened as I watched her struggle against the pain, and my legs felt like lead.
She just looked at me. But not the way she used to—when she’d smile hesitantly while scribbling in her battered notebook, hidden in the back corner of the classroom. Not with that soft glow in her eyes that had once warmed my chest and made the world feel simpler.
There was something different now. Something that didn’t belong. Pain.
“Alissa, it’s me…” I took another step closer. My hand reached out to her cheek as her eyelids fluttered shut, an impulsive movement I couldn’t stop, but one my body desperately needed.
Before I could say anything else, the flashing lights of the ambulance illuminated the scene. Paramedics rushed forward, breaking through the small crowd that had gathered, their morbid curiosity feeding on the tragedy.
“Step back, sir. We need to assess her condition,” a firm voice said, pushing me away.
“Wait, I need to…” I began, but Alissa was already surrounded.
She didn’t look at me again; her eyes had closed completely. I had waited so long—this couldn’t be happening.
They placed her on a stretcher, and I could do nothing but stand there, helpless, as they carried her away.
I remembered the way she used to write in her worn notebook and the headphones she always wore like armor against the world. The rare smile she would give me when she let her guard down, and the sketches on napkins she’d hand me when I took her out for snacks after school.
This was the same girl I had loved. But now she was a woman, and I hadn’t known she was still here. I’d been afraid I’d never get the chance to ask her why she left.
That doubt had eaten away at me for years, and I’d tried to move on. I told myself people leave, and I focused on my goals.
But she had never left me. And now, she was back. In the worst way possible.
I didn’t know what had happened to her all these years. I didn’t know why she had disappeared.
But one thing was certain: I wasn’t going to let her slip away again.