***"Oh, when you're all alone***
***I will reach for you***
***When you're feeling low***
***I will be there too." - Cigarettes After Sex***
***Holden Young***
Leaning against the brick wall outside the restaurant, I lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. I wasn’t a regular smoker, but tonight, I needed something—anything—to steady my nerves.
The restaurant was bustling, but the private section where Alissa and I had been earlier felt like it belonged to an entirely different world. A world where I still had a chance to fix things. Now, she was gone, and I was left with the weight of guilt and her words echoing in my mind.
"Maybe you should figure out what you really want, Holden."
I knew what I wanted. I wanted her. I wanted this to work. But deep down, I also knew she was right about one thing: none of this was fair. Not to her.
I took a deep drag, the bitter taste of the cigarette grounding me in the wrongness of it all. The streetlights reflected off passing cars, and the muffled sound of laughter and conversation from inside the restaurant made it seem like the world was carrying on, oblivious to the fact that mine was falling apart.
"You out here?" Michael’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned my head to see him standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. He looked tired, but there was something in his expression that told me he already knew what was happening.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, exhaling smoke slowly.
"Passed by the restaurant, saw you standing out here. Figured something was wrong," he said, stepping closer.
I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my shoe. "Something’s always wrong these days."
Michael leaned against the wall beside me, crossing his arms. For a while, we stood in silence, listening to the distant hum of traffic and the footsteps of strangers on the sidewalk.
"Alissa left," I finally said.
Michael didn’t look surprised. "Did you two fight?"
"I don’t know if you’d call it a fight. More like... a collision," I said, running a hand through my hair. "She thinks I don’t trust her."
"And do you?" he asked, always direct.
"Of course I do," I said, though my voice faltered.
Michael raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"I do," I repeated, more firmly. "But... there are things that don’t add up."
He sighed, shaking his head. "Holden, maybe the problem isn’t just you."
I glanced at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
"Maybe Alissa’s the kind of person who solves problems by running away," he said, his pragmatic tone both irritating and thought-provoking.
"She’s not like that," I said automatically.
He shrugged. "I’m not saying she does it on purpose. But think about it—she’s left before, hasn’t she?"
His words hit like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know what my parents had told me, but it felt like he was prodding the same wound.
"She didn’t have a choice back then," I said, trying to convince myself as much as him.
Michael nodded slowly. "Maybe. But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t do it again."
I stared at the ground, my mind spinning. My parents had told me Alissa tried to reach out after leaving the reform school. They claimed she gave up because they’d paid her off to stay away. It was such an absurd story that I wanted to dismiss it outright, but the doubts lingered, clawing at the edges of my mind.
What if they were telling the truth?
What if Alissa really had given up on me?
That thought terrified me more than I wanted to admit. It wasn’t about what she had or hadn’t done in the past—it was the fear that she might do it now. That one day, she’d just disappear from my life again, leaving me here to pick up the pieces alone.
"Holden," Michael said, his voice softer now. "What are you going to do?"
I blinked, pulling myself out of the whirlwind in my head.
"I don’t know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
Michael was quiet for a moment before pushing off the wall. "Come with me. Let’s go to my hotel."
...
Michael’s hotel room was small, functional, and utterly devoid of personality. He’d been staying there for months since the divorce, but it looked like the kind of place someone passed through, not lived in.
He handed me a beer, and we sat on the balcony, the city lights sprawling below us. The air was cool, but my mind felt heavy.
"Have you ever thought about leaving this place?" I asked, looking over at him.
Michael chuckled, but it was a humorless sound. "Where would I even go?"
I was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Use my apartment while I’m gone."
He looked at me, surprised. "What?"
"I’ll be on tour. The place is just going to sit empty anyway," I explained. "You need a better spot than this to get back on your feet."
He hesitated, shaking his head. "I don’t know, man."
"Just do it," I insisted. "Consider it a favor."
Michael fell silent, staring out at the city below. Finally, he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "But only because you’re annoyingly persistent."
I managed a small smile, but it faded quickly.
"Do you really think Alissa will run again?" I asked, my voice barely a murmur.
Michael looked at me but didn’t answer right away.
"I don’t know," he finally said. "But I think you should be ready if she does."
His words echoed in my mind as we moved back inside. Michael started packing up a few of his things, and I sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling absently through my phone.
Then my phone buzzed.
I opened the message, and the world seemed to stop.
The words on the screen hit like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
"Holden?" Michael called, noticing the look on my face.
But I couldn’t respond. I just stood there, holding the phone, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing.