Chapter 47

Chapter 47
ELENA'S POV

I AM… I AM…

I am selfish. I only care about myself. I only care about what I want. No one else matters… just the goal ahead.

The words echoed in my head like a bitter chant, hollow and sharp, cutting through my conscience like broken glass.

Am I wrong for acting the way I did?

"Will he forgive me?" I mumbled, my voice barely audible, drowned out by the deafening silence of my apartment. It wasn’t even a question for someone else. It was for the void… for the darkness around me… for myself. But the truth was…I didn’t know. I had no idea.

I left the sink, not bothering to glance back at the dishes or the gloves. My feet moved on their own, disconnected from my thoughts, carrying me straight to the bathroom. I pushed open the door, not caring that my clothes were still clinging to my skin, soaked in guilt and memories. My hand twisted the knob to the shower, and cold water exploded out, hitting my skin like tiny shards of ice.

I stepped into it without hesitation.

It felt like punishment. Like repentance.

The water poured down, soaking me from head to toe, but I barely noticed. I grabbed the soap and began scrubbing…hard. My hands moved frantically over my skin, as though I could scrub away the night, scrub away the guilt, scrub away the part of me that had chosen this path.

Was I just bathing?

No.

It was more than that. I wasn’t just cleaning myself, I was trying to erase something. Trying to tear away a layer of my soul that suddenly felt contaminated. A part of me that kept whispering that tonight had spiraled into disaster. A part of me that felt so hollow, so broken. A part of me that didn’t know how to feel anymore.

A part of me that simply felt like a failure.

I lost track of time. The steam fogged the mirror, and I lost myself inside that haze. I stood under the water for what must have been over an hour, maybe longer. I spoke to myself....quiet, broken words, but I couldn’t even remember what I said. I couldn’t hear myself.

I couldn’t feel myself.

I was buried too deep inside my own mind.

And inside my head… It was chaotic. It was a dark, loud, never-ending nightmare.

When I finally forced myself out of the shower, I didn’t even dry off completely. My body felt heavy, my limbs like lead. I moved slowly, almost lifelessly, like a ghost floating through a house that used to be alive. I grabbed my headphones from the dresser and slipped them over my ears. The soft hum of music began playing, dulling the screaming silence in my head. It didn’t fix anything, but it helped numb the noise.

Then, without really thinking, I headed to the kitchen.

The fridge opened with a faint creak. I grabbed a couple of beer cans, the cold metal pressing against my palm. It was an automatic motion. Like muscle memory. I needed something to help me feel less like this.

I returned to the living room and collapsed into the center of the couch. My body sank into the cushions, my eyes locked onto my phone resting in my lap.

My finger hovered—trembled—over Conner’s name on the screen. A single touch was all it would take. Just one call. Just a few words.

But something inside me pulled me back.

Don’t call him, it whispered. Everything is fine. You should be celebrating. This was your first hit. Your first real move.

You’re winning.

But if that was true, why did I feel like I was falling apart?

Why did I feel so empty?

I wasn’t celebrating. I wasn’t smiling. I was drinking alone in the dark, paralyzed by something I couldn’t name.

Why?

Why was I feeling this way?

Was it Conner?

Was it what happened between us?

Had I broken something I wasn’t ready to lose?

I cracked open the first can, the fizzy sound strangely loud against the muffled music in my ears. I tilted my head back and drank, letting the bitter taste flood down my throat. It didn’t burn. It didn’t sting. It just… was.

My music shifted to a slow, sorrowful jam. I didn’t skip it. I let it play. I let the lyrics bury into me like daggers. I sang along quietly, barely a whisper…but I felt every single word.

Each beat hit harder than the last.

It was strange how the songs felt more real when I was like this. Like now that I was sober, stripped of distractions, I could finally understand what they meant. The stories they told. The pain they carried. They mirrored mine. Reflected the ache in my chest. Amplified it.

I stayed there for hours.

Drinking. Thinking. Breaking apart, all at once.

I drank until the cans rolled off the table and clinked against the floor. I drank until my hands went numb and my thoughts blurred into nothingness. And finally, when my body gave in, I passed out…right there on the couch. Headphones still on. Music still playing. Alone.

Completely alone.



“Ahh…” I groaned the next morning, arms stretching far above my head as I rose with a sharp ache in my lower back. My body protested every movement, and my head pounded like someone was beating a drum behind my eyes.

The headset had slipped halfway off my head, dangling awkwardly around my neck. It must’ve played music the entire night…I didn’t even remember turning it off.

“Hmmm…” I muttered again, voice heavy with sleep and a deep, throbbing headache.

I dragged my fingers across my eyes, trying to clear the fog, blinking rapidly as the morning light poured through the curtains. The haze began to lift, just slightly.

And then it hit me. A sudden jolt of remembrance. Like something I was supposed to do… someone I was supposed to speak to…

Conner.

The thought snapped me back into full awareness. I scrambled. My eyes darted around the couch. Panic rose in my chest like wildfire.

Where’s my phone?

Then… it rang.

The sound pierced the room, sudden and sharp.

“Conner…?” My voice broke.

“Oh Jesus, he’s calling,” I gasped, my hands frantically sweeping through the cushions, lifting pillows, tossing blankets.

The ringing stopped before I could find it.

“Where are you? Where the hell are you?” I hissed, breath quickening.

Then, almost miraculously, it rang again.

This time I didn’t rush. I slowed my steps, letting the sound guide me. My ears followed the vibration, tracing it like it was a lifeline.

Then I saw it…jammed between the couch cushions.

I dove for it, yanked it free, and without even checking the screen, I swiped to answer while clearing my throat to sound more lively.

“Hey, Conner… I’m…”

“Miss Elena?” a voice cut in.

I froze. My blood ran cold.

It wasn’t Conner.