THAT DAY.

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⚠️ CW: Graphic depiction of the aftermath of a suicide (method: severe lacerations and downing medication) mentions of and allusions to self harm and suicidal tendencies, extreme depression, and a toxic/abusive relationship

//“THAT DAY.”// by: [[*user Mew-ltiverse]]
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[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-mews-personnel-file Read more of my stuff]

For accessibility: Words such as red, death, blood, pain, and other SH themes, also many words highlighting her anger are all in the color RED; Words about rotting or decay are in GREY;

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Things were never going to be the same.

I understood that the moment I entered his apartment. After over **a million** text messages, **a million** more calls that made my heart rise into my throat every time it went to voicemail, and a single //naive// knock at the door, I practically broke my spare key. I remember the //echo// of the doorknob **crashing** into the wall.

What greeted me was a pitch black abyss, a deadly //quiet//. All I heard was the obnoxiously **loud** TV from his neighbors. Once, I filed a noise complaint for him since he didn’t want to bother. I'd entered this apartment thousands of times. Tonight it was a foreign cave.

The next thing I noticed as I rocketed towards the back hallway was an unmistakable distinctly ##red|metallic## scent invaded my nostrils, filling my throat with vomit.

I remember **everything** and //nothing// at the same time.

Vague memories of crying into the phone.

The warm ##red|blood## that covered my hands as I desperately checked his limbs.

That green hoodie he always wore now practically brown.

That plastic hitting the floor as I threw that damn bottle that did the opposite of its fucking job.

Vomit mixing with ##red|blood##, seeping into the floorboards.

Tears blinding my vision.

My throat spasming as I practically choked on vomit and tears.

The terror deep within my gut as I saw the dead eyes of the man I called my best friend.

Hands in latex gloves, checking my pulse. Hands in leather gloves, trying to pry the paper from my grip.

But I held on like I’d explode if I let go.

I tried to **scream**, but nothing came out.

One minute I was in that ##red|bloodstained## grave. The next I was in the ER.

My hands were cramped from holding the note. Next thing I knew the police were trying to get me to let it go.

He was in that note.

Whatever it said, held the answers.

But, I already knew.

My friendship wasn’t enough. No matter how many sleepless nights we spent together. NO MATTER how many days on end I preached false hope. We spent //less// and //less// time together. He answered my texts //less// and //less//. More and more time passed. More and more, the light in his eyes dimmed. More and more bandages coated his skin.

There comes a time when you look at someone and you realize:

//You don't have anything left to give.//

I tried.
I tried. I tried.
I tried. I tried. I tried.
I tried. I tried. I tried. I tried.
I tried. I tried. I tried. I tried. I tried.
I tried. I tried. I tried. I tried. I tried. I tried.

                           [[size 200%]] ##red|**I TRIED**## [[/size]]
        
  
This was my fault, I told myself. It was my fault.

It was my fault. It was my fault. **It was my fault.** ##red|**IT WAS MY FAULT.**##

[[size 150%]]##red|**IT WAS MY FAULT**##[[/size]]

I believed that for a while. Even when I attempted to get back to work. I couldn't forget a simple truth:

I could’ve prevented his ##red|death##.

The note said so many things, but one phrase was burned into my mind::

[[size 150%]]IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, KATIE[[/size]]

It was my fault. I was all he had.

I wasn’t enough.

I don’t know what else I could’ve done.

I know I could've done something.

He’s ##red|dead## because I couldn’t stop him. Nothing I did helped. No matter how many times I assured him I would be there, assured him that I would be his shoulder to cry on, assured him that I would be waiting for his messages if he was having an episode, no matter what I did, //nothing// was enough. I remember every night I’d pull him back from the ledge with the flashbacks devouring him whole. The kind, sweet, cheerful man I first met long ago transforming into a traumatized, dead husk.

He’d been dying for a while.

And now he's truly ##red|dead##.

I refused to forget. He was always scared of people forgetting him, forgetting his pain, forgetting that he ever was. Fading into just a memory. He didn’t want to be reduced to just a name on an obituary. But he wasn’t just a name to me.

He was **Sam Okumura**. A kind gentle soul, jaded by the world around him. He kept trying to see the good in the world even as life became impossible. Even when things were at their worst, he tried to be there for me. Sarcasm broke through. Cracked jokes about his own mental state again and again. But those times slowly dwindled.

I'll never forget the times we spent together. I saw the person he was deep down, buried beneath a ##grey|rotting## exterior. I was convinced that with time, he’d return.

Then he left the world for good. I told myself I would **never** let him be forgotten.

But it was more than just not forgetting for me.

My entire life was ruled by his //absence//.

My life started to ##grey|decay##. After I sorted through what was left of his already-meager belongings, I ##grey|rotted## away in my apartment. I thought maybe if I shared the same ##red|pain## he felt, the same ##red|pain## he //subjected himself// to, some of the guilt would pass.

It didn’t, and now I’ll just be sweating a lot more until winter.

Every day for too long I melted into my sheets. I told myself that thinking about anything but him was selfish. That if I did anything but grieve I would condemn myself to the deepest layer of hell.

Y’know, I knew what he would’ve wanted. But I convinced myself I knew better.

I bought 5 family sized packs of cup ramen and called it good. Who would’ve thought that eating nothing but processed noodles and sodium would make you feel like shit? And not eating makes you feel even worse.

Good, I thought. I deserved that. I deserved to ##grey|rot## here .I remembered begging Sam to make some food after several days of going without. Sometimes I drove over and made him something myself. Or, fuck, made sure he was at least drinking water.

I felt like I deserved to wither away.

But as much as I wanted to just ##grey|rot## away in my apartment for the rest of my life, I couldn’t.

I couldn’t keep taking my parents' money. They wanted to know how I was every day. I usually just lied, said I was still recalibrating, almost ready to face the world again. So I disappointed them by lying. I couldn’t keep disappointing my clients, God knows I’ve done enough of that in my life. So I started picking up gigs again. I couldn't take care of myself, but I could take care of people's pets. I could take care of something.

Sam always loved dogs. More than people, actually. Always said I was the only exception. He was always eager to help out with any dogs I watched. I insisted that he should get a dog of his own. Whenever I did, he insisted he hardly could watch himself. That he didn't trust himself enough. He always perked up just a little bit whenever I told him there was a new dog over. It was the small things that kept him going.

But they weren’t enough, and it was my fault.

The only thing that kept me alive was my guilt. I kept it near me like a close friend. It drove me to try and do better.

--Funnily enough, I think this was a sign.--

My first client after my break had a golden retriever. God, golden retrievers... I used to love them, too. Sam used to love them. He used to compare himself to one, a long, long time ago. Now they just reminded me of who Sam used to be. The idea of being perceived sickened me to my core, but it needed to be taken out. I decided to take it on a walk through the woods near my house. I didn’t exactly feel like running into anyone, and the dog didn’t care where we were.

It was around 8 PM. Late at night in a place nobody went. Not like anybody would show up. I trudged through the woods, AJJ blasting in my earbuds. June nights were hot, but I was still baking myself in the same sweatpants and hoodie I'd been wearing since //that night//.

I remember how calm things were. Buggy (the dog) was walking alongside me. His tail swished back and forth the whole time, and he was always panting just a little bit. He seemed happy. We were alone for about ten minutes.

Then I saw **her**.

A woman with short black hair, smoking a cigarette. She was sitting on a fallen tree, fresh from a recent storm.

I stopped. That was weird. The woman looked at me. She said something. I couldn't hear her. I paused my music.

“What brings you here?”

I shrugged. “You stole my question. But I’m walking my client’s dog. I prefer the night.”

**She** nodded. “I just like the quiet. It’s easier to process my thoughts here.”

I don't know what I was thinking, but I sat down next to **her.** I asked if she could spare a cigarette.

Next thing I knew, we were talking about all kinds of stuff. Mostly 'what are you doing with your life', 'what are your parents like', 'what was your childhood like', just a bunch of random shit. Probably spent thirty minutes there. Maybe more.

“Yeah, she was kind of a bitch." **She** replies with a laugh.

“Sounds like it! God, my middle school was full of people like that.”

“Yeah, and unfortunately, despite the fact I moved schools, she moved to the same one I went to. I did meet some really cool people there, though."

…

“Katie?”

The silence spoke volumes.

I don't know if it was me having not had any conversations longer than five minutes in ages, but all of a sudden our conversation was replaced by my monstrous sobs.

I don’t remember much.

Breathing was hard. My chest tightened. My vision blurred. The world started spinning. I felt like I was ##red|dying##. Things got spotty. I remember her desperately calling my name— just like I had done back then. That probably made me feel worse.

--What was that look in **her** eyes?--
 
I fell off the tree stump, and then things went dark.

Next thing I remember, I was covered in a blanket on a couch with a soft pillow. The TV was on, some cooking show. I could just barely see by the light. There was a glass of ice water and a sleeve of crackers on the side table. I should have panicked, but I didn't have the energy, and somehow I felt //safe//.

I didn't know back then that it'd be my second home

As soon as **she** noticed I was awake, she explained what had happened. I thanked her for taking care of me, but I didn’t stay. She checked me out as well as she could before she let me leave. We exchanged phone numbers, and then she drove me and poor Buggy home. He'd need some extra affection later.

**She** rolled the window down. “Hey, Katie? Call me tomorrow, please. I wanna make sure you’re okay, okay?”

I nodded. That felt so good to hear. **She** had a kind voice. It sounded honest.

It was a strange night. Still really weird to meet someone that important in the middle of nowhere with a dog I don't even own.

That was the day my life turned around again.

I barely made it to bed before practically passing out. Oddly enough, I didn’t have a lot of dreams during these months. I didn’t dream of Sam, I didn’t dream of **her**. I didn’t dream of anything. But as soon as I awoke the next morning, she was all I could think of.

**She** was just so //kind// to me. So understanding. She just listened to me. She just let me talk, 'and- god, it had really been //forever// since I’d talked to someone like that.

Sam and I used to talk like that all the time. We’d have so many sleepless nights that just started out with sharing random shit, going over stories the both of us already knew. He always talked so fondly of his elementary school days, back when things were simple. I could picture his face as clearly as I saw my own in the mirror. He'd tell this one story a lot, the time he tried to make brownies, //without his mom's help//, when he was //real young//. His laugh as he explained how the counters got covered in cracked eggs and flour. It was real. I could count the times I saw that light again on my fingers. When we barely managed to steer back into good memories. Dodge the depression traps. He could forget his pain for a little bit when we did that. I could forget his pain too. But thinking of his face just made me remember that day.

The day his body matched his heart.

I just shook my head and thought of **her** again. Her smile, her laugh.

**She** wasn’t Sam, though.

No one would ever be him.

But she was someone I felt I could relate to. Someone I could talk to. She had told me stories from her life, her hardships and struggles. She made me feel //heard//.

So we started talking more.

We just texted and called at first, but we did it every day. Eventually I started dropping by **her** house now and then. We started to learn about each other.

------

I went to **her** house, we sat on the couch.

“Thanks for being so chill, by the way. Most people get freaked out when they see my butterfly collection.”

I shook my head dismissively waved it off. “I think it’s cool as shit.”

**She** smiled. “Really? That’s so sweet. So many people see insects and just immediately jump.”

“My mom would be totally freaked out by this stuff, but I’ve always found it so cool. I actually wanted a pet hissing cockroach in middle school. My mom said she’d rather die.”

She laughed. “Sounds like a mom alright.” She paused. “I always wanted to be an entomologist, y’know.”

“Whaaat? That’s so cool! Why didn’t you pursue it?”

“Because my parents thought I should do something more traditional, so I did. They were paying for my college, so I really didn’t have the room to argue.” She sounded disappointed.

“Oh, that sucks. Don’t entomologists make a lot of money?” I asked.

**She** nodded. “Yeah. My parents aren’t the most reasonable people.

I nodded. “That sucks. My parents luckily were pretty okay with me doing whatever I wanted. They’ve always been pretty supportive.”

I don’t know why I took that for granted.

“That’s good. That’s how parents should be.”

“Yeah. … Hmm uh, what do you do, then?”

“I’m a nurse practitioner.”

Yeah, a nurse that smokes. I thought it was ironic at the time, deep down, I was still naive. A lot of things are ironic in hindsight. My view of the world was too simple.

“Oh, well that’s still cool! Do you like it?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. It pays well, so. Eh, maybe I could go back to school some time. It’s not too late.”

“Totally. I mean, you’re like what, 28? You’ve still got tons of time.”

“For real. I keep telling myself one day I’ll do something better, that I like more.” **She** gave a calm smile, then looked at me. “How about you? You’re a bit younger than me even, so you definitely have time to do something with your life. What was your dream career? I assume it wasn’t dog walking.” She gave a cheeky grin.

“Hey!” I replied with a laugh, then sighed. “But, yeah. Um, back in high school I…”

I went quiet. Everything. Everything reminded me. **EVERYTHING REMINDED ME**.

But she //understood//.

“Let’s just find something you’re comfortable with, okay? If old movies you used to like hurt to talk about, next time you come over, I could show you some new ones.”

So I decided to start going to her house more often.

It started with her off nights. She said I should start again new. Find new things to talk about if the past hurt too much. She had a lot of suggestions for things to watch, but we talked so much it took twice as long to finish them half the time.

It reminded me of happier times.

Because everything reminded me.

But it started to get easier. When my brain made me suffer, it didn't hurt as much. I started remembering the fun we had together instead of just the guilt.

I realized that I didn’t need to force myself to constantly think of the most traumatic moment of my life. That this is what he would’ve wanted.

For the first time in a long time I actually looked forward to waking up, because it meant I could talk to her more.

We messaged constantly, day and night, but I dug up as many reasons as I could to be with her in person.

------

It was a Saturday night. We were sitting where we usually did, her at her desk, and me on her bed.

“Y’know how you asked me what I wanted to do as a career?”

She looked up from her computer. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“As a teenager, I wanted to be an artist.” I was sitting on her bed, squeezing my sweatpants with my fists.

“Oh? That’s fun.” She smiled.

“Yeah. Uh, Sam did, too. He did these really amazing drawings. He drew a lot of fun abstract drawings of random OCs of his with dark colors. He was a lot better at it than I was.”

“No way, I’m sure your stuff was really good!”

“Thanks! I realized I didn’t really have what it takes to like, make a career out of it, so I went after other things.”

“I get that. Do you still draw?”

“Kinda. I haven’t had the motivation. Especially since, um, "I hesitated. “Since Sam passed. In the note he left me. He wanted me to have custody over everything. I think he may have forgotten that meant everything. I found a sketchbook with a note on it that said that he hoped I never found it.” My voice was shaking.

She got up from her desk and joined me on the bed. She offered me her hand. I took it.

I spoke slowly, and my voice started to tremble. “Inside were the most haunting drawings I’d ever seen. I’ve never seen so much ##red|red##. I mean yeah the contents were bad enough.” I paused. “But, I realized quickly after looking through the drawings something that was much ##red|worse##. I never knew that he-“

“Take a deep breath. It’s okay.”

We just looked at each other for a few minutes. Nobody spoke. **Her** hand felt so warm over mine. Her smile was so genuine and comforting. It felt like she saw me with nothing but care and admiration in her eyes. Eventually, she spoke.

“You look like a tomato.” **She** gently poked my cheek with her finger with a laugh, causing me to cup the spot with my hand. I stared at her like a deer in headlights.

**She** laughed. “You’re cute.” She stood up, still looking at me. “I haven’t eaten yet, I’m gonna go make some noodles. You’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

I shook my head. “I-I gotta get back, Peanut Butter’s owners are gonna be there to get her early, so uh, gotta uh, go.” I rambled, running my hands through my hair.

“Well, you can still stay and just get up early if you want, but I really think you should stay. I'll make lasagna,” **She** replied, putting her hands together. I missed something in the way she spoke, back then. That moment changed things.

I realized it when I woke up the next morning.

From there on out, I didn’t want to be without her.

My thoughts wandered far too often. When that happened when I was with her, she was able to help me focus, help me breathe, help me distract myself. I bit the bullet.

“Oh and uh, I wanted to ask you something, too.”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering like, would it be okay if I uh, also started to bring any cats I watch over here, too? I really just like— I really find it so much easier to spend time with someone. With you. And I uh, I think it would be easier if I did that, too. So I don’t have to leave until it’s time for the kitties to be picked up. … If um, that’s okay. Yeah.” I rambled on awkwardly, and  she just watched me as I talked. A few moments after I was finished, she cracked a smile and laughed.

“Yeah, of course. No problem at all.” She replied. Despite her usually calm nature, she seemed quite excited.

“Oh, cool.” I remember my chest heaving in a sigh. All my anxiety melted away. “I was afraid you were gonna think I was crazy or something.”

“What? Crazy?” She laughed. I remember it vividly, The brightness disappeared from her face in an instant, replaced with serious concern. “Y’know, Katie, I see someone deeply hurt in you. You need someone to be there for you. I’d be happy to be that person.”

That's when more often than not, I started spending more time at her house than my own.

Her home became mine.

I didn't worry so much about spending my days doomscrolling and watching TV. Every day, she came home, and I came alive again. She loved surprising me with sweet things. Candies and stuff. I always had that to look forward to, even if my mental health wasn’t doing very well that day. It was nice.

------

It was a Thursday night.

I stood up. “My client’s gonna pick up Pickles early tomorrow, so I need to get back home.”

She made a face.

I laughed. I thought it was a joke.

“Yes?”

“I just don’t know if it’s safe for you leave this late at night. What if something happens?”

“Not the first time I’ve driven at 2 AM, won’t be the last.” I picked up the cat from the couch. Pickles did his best impression of a towel.

She stood up as well. “Then I’ll go, too.”

I shook my head. “Seriously, it’s fine. I don’t need to be accompanied.”

**She** was quiet for a moment. She looked at me. She looked… --angry-- concerned. After a few moments, she sat back down. “Just… be safe.” She replied slowly.

------

I thought that was a bit weird. At the time, I thought it showed how much she cared for me. Maybe it did.

That was the first time the **cracks** started to show. I thought it was, anyway.

But it wasn’t the last.

**She** insisted she had enough money for both of us, and //really// wasn’t a fan of how often I left, so a few things changed. I stopped taking clients who needed early morning pickups. Then I stopped taking on many clients at all. She handled meals, really didn’t want me in the kitchen. Said she was still nervous with me being around knives. It made sense at the time.

**A lot** made sense at the time.

Including the snap-decision I made that Monday night.

She was working late. I had been laying in her bed for the last few hours. The skin on my leg ##red|stung##. But it made the flashbacks null out a bit, so. I was so disappointed in myself. I hadn't done anything in months, but that's what happens when you decide to go on Twitter. It'd been a good bit since I'd been reminded, so seeing things again hit me when I wasn't prepared.

I heard her enter the apartment. I panicked. I didn’t realize how long it'd been. I quickly tossed on the first pair of pants I saw. Sweatpants. Just as I was about to sit down, I heard her.

“Katie? You look panicked.”

I shook my head. “I’m not, just tired.” I replied.

She put a hand on her hip. “Why are you wearing sweatpants? You weren’t when I left,” She asked.

“I got cold.” I fibbed. It was a terrible lie. I could feel the sweat on my forehead.

A sympathetic look crossed her face. She set her purse down and wrapped her arms around me.

My shoulders stiffened for a moment. I relaxed them intentionally, and then I melted into her arms. I remembered what I felt in my heart. I felt safe. Despite everything, I felt safe.

“It’s okay now," she whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.” Her voice was warm and full. She ran her fingers through my hair.

My thoughts were racing. I clung to her and began crying. The world was so dark and cold. Everything was cold.

But she was warm.

She hushed me again and again, running her hand down my back.

The details are a bit fuzzy. The next thing I remember was laying in her bed with her. My head laid on her chest, her hands brushing through my hair. She had slipped my hairtie free and put it around her wrist. We stayed like that for who knows how long. Nobody said a word. Eventually, she spoke.

“You should quit your job for good and move in with me.”

I was shocked. We hadn't even known each other for half a year.

“Move in? It hasn’t even been a year since we—“

“I know,” She interrupted. “But I’ve seen the light in your eyes die and revive a million times since we met. The more you forget Sam, the more dead you seem to be. I’ll make sure you never forget him.”

**//Ugh. How obvious.//**

I remember a sinking in my chest. I cracked a nervous smile. “What do you mean? I haven’t forgotten him. I’m just… trying to move on from his death,” I replied.

She nodded. “You hurt yourself because of a reminder. It's good to be reminded of him. It can make sure his worst fear doesn’t come true, right?”

##red|**RIGHT?**##

I naively gave a gentle nod. “He didn’t have any family… I’m all he had left,” I replied.

“It would be pretty terrible if you didn’t honor his legacy,” **She** explained.

My heart leapt into my throat.

“And it’s gonna be really rough to be reminded. I’ll make sure you don’t do anything to yourself. And that would be easier if you were with me.” She explained. It made so much sense to me at the fucking time. 

##red|**FOR SOME FUCKING REASON**##

“We’re already together all the time,” I reasoned. “But it seemed weird to pay rent for an apartment I don’t spend a lot of time in.” Her words hurt, but I thought she was just trying to help.

“So you’ll do it?” **she** asked hopefully. “I know how to help you. I've helped you heal this much. I can help you more."

I hesitated.

“I’ll do it.” 

She sounded so sure of herself, and she had helped me a lot already. It made sense.

**She** smiled brightly. She kissed her fingers, then put them on my cheek. “Wonderful.”

I really was a **moron**. I should have seen through that obvious act she was pulling.

##red|**A FUCKING MORON**##

But I really did keep those rose colored glasses on for far too **fucking** long.

So we moved in together. Not much changed, honestly. Besides the fact that I quit my job for good, as **she** insisted she had everything covered. I moved in a small collection of my things, and the rest went in a storage locker she paid for. I didn’t bring a lot in general, so Sam’s stuff stayed there, too. I did keep Sam’s sketchbook under her bed. I needed it near me, even with what was inside. **She** wasn’t very happy about it, but agreed to let me keep it.

I should’ve seen why.

I didn’t have much of a reason to leave the house for the upcoming months, so I didn’t. I hardly even went outside. I got some air walking dogs before I moved in. Now I was scared to even walk through the front door. I managed to convince myself it was due to my fear of the world as a whole. I started feeling more and more anxious whenever I wasn't in the comfort of **her** home. It's not like I needed to buy groceries, anyway. She gave me everything I needed. Meals, snacks, toiletries, candy, art supplies, everything.

A part of me just wanted to get back some sense of normality. Despite the fact I had convinced myself that this //was// normal, I knew better.

Deep down, I knew better.

Eventually we hit Christmastime. Ah, December. Felt like it had taken forever for winter to come around. Felt like half a year had passed in a blink, too.

Nine months since he passed.

Things went really fast, all in all. I was hurting a lot. Last Christmas, Sam and I celebrated together. He couldn't stand Christmastime. Too many bad memories. We found stuff we both enjoyed, though. We settled on sitting at the local park, drinking hot chocolate and admiring the Christmas lights. It was fun. He didn't smile a lot, but part of him lit up whenever he saw families with their kids. Seeing them stomping around in the snow and staring wide-eyed at the lights stirred some really strong nostalgia. It was one of the rare times he seemed happy.

I wanted to ask if we could go look at the lights, like how Sam and I had.

But I knew the answer.

My mom texted me asking if i wanted to join them in the park on Christmas Eve. I said yes as soon as I saw it. I didn't even ask **her** if it was okay. My mom was overjoyed. We talked a bit. She wasn’t even mad that I hadn’t been messaging her. I hadn't realized how much I missed talking to her before then.

------

It was nighttime, December 23rd.

I was sitting in her bed, she was sitting in her desk. She was on her computer, I was on my phone.
It was just like how we always sat.

“By the way, I’m gonna go see some Christmas lights with my parents tomorrow.” I brought up. Being afraid to bring it up at all should've been a sign.

I should’ve known.

**She** turned to look at me. “Your parents? You’re gonna leave?” She asked calmly.

I nodded. “Yes. Um, Sam and I always uh, we looked at Christmas lights in the park. Every Christmas Eve.” I explained slowly.

**She** nodded. “I’m just… I’m a bit skeptical.”

“Skeptical? Of my parents?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “They’ve been really worried about me, you know.”

**She** stood up from the desk, and sat on her bed. “You haven’t been telling them how you’ve been?”

##red|**Ugh, you SNAKE.**##

[[size 150%]]##red|WHY WAS I SO BLIND## [[/size]]

I was //confused//. “No… I haven’t. I just— I haven’t felt like they’d understand what I’m going through.” I shrugged. “I have you.”

**She** nodded. She lay down next to me, placing her hand over mine. “Didn’t they tell you to 'get over' Sam’s death?”

“That’s not how they said it.” I insisted, then hesitated. “I mean, my mom was saying to move on as soon as two months after, I guess. She said that I needed to find meaning in my life again.”

It was never malicious. Why couldn’t I see that?

“You have meaning. Your meaning is to remember the man that feared being erased,” **she** said calmly.

I put my phone down and rolled onto my side to face her.

“My purpose,” **She** wrapped her arms around me, holding me close to her, "is to be here for you." She paused. “I never knew what I was truly meant to do until I met you. But the moment I met you, the moment I learned what you'd been through, I knew what I was supposed to do with myself. I just…” She breathed in, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You don’t need anyone else,” she stated bluntly. Her voice sounded… tight. Unsteady.

I had my head against her chest. Her heart was beating quickly. Her hands squeezed my shirt. They were shaking. She was usually calm.

But something felt **different**.

**She** breathed in again. “It hurts me that you don’t think I’m enough,” She said tightly.

I wanted to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. It took me a bit before I managed. "You are enough," I insisted in a whisper.

**She** nodded slowly. We both laid there, dead silent, for a while. I just listened to her breathing. It finally started to calm.

“If you need to remind yourself of Sam, I’m sure any of his belongings you took in could help.” **She** replied calmly, seemingly regaining some of her composure.

[[size 150%]] ##red|DO YOU THINK YOU’RE SLICK?## [[/size]]

"I just... I dunno, I thought it would be fun," I replied. “But I’ll tell my parents something came up.” My voice was unsure.

“Sounds good. We’ll totally have fun together on Christmas,” **She** assured gently.

A while passed, and **she** went off to the kitchen. I got up to leave, and then I saw her butterfly collection. I paid attention to it for the first time. Many beautiful different types of butterflies. Killed and pinned down and locked inside of a glass case. Each specimen had their common and scientific names written on a small slip of white paper tacked underneath. The few I remember were the monarch, common buckeye, and painted lady.

I saw my reflection in the glass.

------

Christmas came and went. We opened our gifts and spent the whole day watching movies. **She** got me some nice sweets that I’d asked for, and I made her drawing of a bunch of different butterflies. I wanted to buy her something, but she got pretty antsy when I bought anything without asking, so I made do. She seemed so happy that I had thought of her. She always bought me gifts, so what she got me wasn't that special, but I still wanted to give back. She insisted she didn't need anything, but I still wanted to show my appreciation for everything she'd done for me. I made the drawing before the whole debacle on the 23rd. I almost considered not giving it to her, but I convinced myself I was being stupid to doubt. Everything she had ever done was for me.

##red|**Right?**##

**She** went back to work on the 26th. My mind was so full from the last couple of days. My mom sounded so disappointed that I wasn’t able to join her and dad. The way she was acting was starting to make me anxious. And worst of all, I felt so //guilty// for not honoring my tradition with Sam that I went through his sketchbook again. One of the drawings I hadn’t noticed before made my ##red|blood## run ##red|cold##. It was a drawing of himself, in the exact pose and with the exact injuries I had found him with. There were words too. Messy, but I could make them out.

//“This would be real, but I’m a coward”//

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. The memories of **that day** crashed back into my mind. I jammed the sketchbook back under the bed and hugged myself as hard as I could, weeping. **She** was at work. I didn’t wanna bother her. With the way she was acting lately, I wanted to take care of it myself, anyway. I decided to go to the storage locker. Look through his things, find something that reminded me of the good times. I went to the kitchen drawer. We kept both the car keys there, and the spare keys too.

My keys weren’t there.

I was confused. I hadn't moved them in ages, I hadn't even started the car. I texted **her** to ask where they were. She said she had just cleaned the drawer out. That it'd be better to keep my keys somewhere else, in case I wanted to 'do something bad to myself'. She //hid// them. I had no idea where she could have put them. My heart thumped in my chest. I couldn't get away. I couldn't go anywhere on my own now. I'd have to call an Uber or some other rideshare whatever, and I hadn't seen another human being in person in months. And to make it even worse, my plan to calm myself down was out the window. I decided to do the next best thing. I took out the sketchbook again and flipped to a blank page in the back. I wrote a note. I remember exactly what it said.

//“Hey Sam. I’m sorry I looked at your drawings even though you asked me not to. I regret it. I was gonna look at Christmas lights, but I was kinda convinced against it. I wish I would’ve gone anyways, but **she** stole my car keys. I feel terrible, but you were always really chill about canceled plans. Maybe next year?//

By the time I was done I was crying again. I wasn't sure how I felt, but it was better than before. I didn't know how **she'd** feel if she found this, but I was pretty sure she didn't check the sketchbook, so. I managed to calm myself down without her.

I thought about that up until **she** got home. Then I decided to confront her about my keys.

------

**She** entered her room and set her purse on her desk. “Hey, Katie. How are you feeling?” she asked in a concerned tone.

I was sitting in her desk chair, gently rocking myself side to side with my foot. “A bit nervous, to be honest. Why did you hide my keys?” I asked. I remember trying my best to keep my voice steady, but the feeling of wrongness wouldn't stop swelling in my chest.

“Look, Katie. Just… trust me, alright?” **She** looked at me, awaiting an answer.

“I just… I feel really anxious not being able to leave.” I couldn't stop fiddling with the hair tie around my wrist.

**She** gave me a look. I’ve really tried to make it so you have no reason to leave,” She explained. “You have everything here that you need.” She calmly smiled, but I wasn't calmed. “I just need you to trust I know what’s best for you.”

I stared at my lap, watching the hair tie snap against my wrist again and again.

“You do feel like you have everything, right?” **She** grabbed my hand and slipped the hair tie off my wrist.

I was quiet.

**She** put her hands on my shoulders. “Did you hear me?” She gave me a concerned look. “You’re spacing out.”

“I just uh, kinda wanted to check out my stuff in the storage locker,” I admitted slowly. My eyes couldn't stop darting between her and the floor.

**She** sighs. “I thought you got everything you wanted already.”

“I mean I didn’t bring much here. Obviously I might wanna look through my old stuff.” I explained. I looked up at her and held eye contact.

“Oh.” **She** replied curtly. After a few moments, she spoke again. “Katie, you trust me, right?”

I froze. Months ago, I would’ve said yes without a second thought. But now, I wasn’t sure. “Yes.” I tried to keep my voice steady. It didn't work.

**She** pulled me into a hug. “Good.” I usually reciprocated her embrace, but I just sat there awkwardly, arms in my lap. “I just need you to know that everything I’ve done has been for you, okay?” She whispered in my ear, and a chill ran down my spine.

“I know.” I replied quietly. My mind was //racing//, but my lips barely moved.

**She** pulled away, smiling calmly. “Now, I’m gonna go make dinner. What do you want?”

I shrugged. “I’m not picky.” I replied quietly.

She nodded. “Okay.” She looked at me for a moment, before exiting the room.

I was exhausted. I climbed into her bed, and then I collapsed.

------

I still remember the dream I had that night. Every instant of it.

I was sitting in the woods on that log I met her by. Wearing just a tank top and shorts, smoking a cigarette. Branches brushed me, and my thighs itched. The sky was dead. Completely black. I stared ahead into nothing.

Then I saw **him**.

I knew it was a dream. I wanted out.

“You’re not real! This is just a dream!” I screamed, squeezing my eyes shut.

“This place is kinda dreary, don’t you think?”

I opened my eyes. He was sitting next to me.

I was quiet.

“Y’know, I’m touched you wanted to honor our tradition. I’m sorry **she** convinced you to stay home. I’m not mad at you,” He started.

I put my hands in my lap, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah. Next year, I’m gonna go for sure.” I gave a weak smile.

He gave a sympathetic laugh in return, but his smile faded.

“I’m… really worried for you.”

I stared at him for a solid minute. He was in that same green hoodie he was always in. The one he was in **that day**. His sleeves were pulled down so I couldn’t see his arms. I didn't want to see what was underneath.

I started sobbing. I hugged him close, my despair breaking the silence.

He just held onto me, without a word.

I don't know how long we stayed that way.

Finally, I spoke again.

“Why did you leave me?” `I managed a firm tone, but I couldn't get rid of the quiet and desperation.

He was quiet.

“I’ve been dead for longer than these past months. You knew that. We both did. There’s nothing you could’ve done, Katie.” 

I pulled away, staring into his eyes. Still dead. Still nothing. I drew a tense breath.

“I thought that I’d no longer be in the ##red|pain## I’d been in for so long. That by putting myself in ##red|pain## one last time, the emotional ##red|pain## would stop," he explained sadly.

I looked down at my legs. “Did it?”

He chuckled sadly. “That’s… complicated.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Why can’t it be a happy dream? One where you at least tell me you’re at peace now? And that everything’s gonna be okay?” I demanded, voice trembling, eyes red with tears.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. Then he spoke again. “It’s… not that simple. I don’t know what the future holds, either. But besides, I’m getting off topic. You couldn’t save me, nobody could. Please—“

“I could’ve!” I insisted. “I know that I could’ve—“

“You couldn’t, Katie.” He insisted firmly. “Now, please **run** from **Hannah**. She’s trying to keep you from getting better. If you don’t get out now, you’re gonna ##grey|rot## again.”

He was right. I knew that already. But what was I supposed to do? I cut off all my clients, I moved in with her. I hardly talked to my parents. I never left the house. I did so little with my life that I didn't even notice her hiding my keys. Her solution felt so much easier than just living again. I convinced myself that this was living again. I was scared. What would I do without her? I needed her. I needed someone.

“Why didn’t you visit me before now? All these months and I haven’t had a single dream about you! This is when you show up? I’ve needed you! I’ve needed you ever since you left me!”

He gave me a sad smile.

“There are reasons, I promise. There’s a lot I don’t have time to explain.” He paused, then took a breath. “You’re always gonna be my best friend, Katie.” He took my hand in his. “But you need to find someone else to be your best friend. And please, find someone else that you let in close that doesn’t destroy your life. Uh, not that it’s your fault. You got unlucky, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I thought my ##red|death## would fix things. Look like I just fucked you over, huh?” He looked guilty. Regretful.

I shook my head. “No! It’s not your fault!” I insisted, throat clenching, voice cracking. “You didn’t know!”

He nodded, that sad smile returning again. “Heh, yeah. You’re right. Just like how my death isn’t your fault, yeah? We can both agree we’re not at fault.” There were so many things I wanted to say. The look on his face seemed much the same.

I stared at him for a few moments. I couldn’t find the words to speak. I felt the tears coming. Before they could take hold, I yanked up his sleeves.

All I saw was a group of ##red|red##. No flesh, no bones, no ##red|blood##. Just ##red|red## pixels.

He laughed sadly, pulling his sleeves back down.

“Yeah, I—“ He shook his head. “Please focus on what’s important. Don’t end up like me. Like I said, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. I just…” He paused, then locked eyes with me, gaze iron and focused. “Please. Save yourself.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I begged, tears clouding my vision.

He stood up.

I shook my head, reaching out my hand. “You can’t leave! You were hardly here!” I screamed. “I still have so many questions! Like— how are you here? Is this really a dream? Are you okay? Please—“

“Katie.” He interrupts. “Please be careful. No matter what happens, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault I ##red|died##, it’s not your fault she manipulated you. I… hope things will eventually end, and she’ll be done for good. I promise that I’m gonna be okay. See ya, Katie.” He smiled at me and waved.

And he was gone.

And then I woke up.

------

I woke up in a cold sweat. I already missed him so much. It felt real. Like we were really there, talking one last time.I started tearing up. I barely managed to keep quiet. All the lights were out. I could barely see, but I could feel **her next to me.** 4 AM. She was gonna be up in a couple of hours for work. I aimed my phone's screen at her face, illuminating her closed eyes. Asleep. I hoped. I didn’t know what to do. I was starting to get really freaked out being stuck here. All the red flags were hitting me at once. I was freaking out. I had to get out of here.

[[size 200%]]##red|I WAS SO STUPID## [[/size]]

//“It’s not your fault she manipulated you.”//

The words played back in my head. I carefully got off the bed, constantly checking back to make sure I didn’t wake **her** up. I crept over to my purse, using my phone for light. I unzipped the inner pocket, slipping out a folded-up sheet of paper and carefully flattening it out. I stared down at it. Those five words.

[[size 150%]]IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, KATIE[[/size]]

Not crying was getting much harder. I carefully put the note back where I kept it.Still next to my purse, I went to the last message Sam ever sent me.

//“Love you, Katie, you’re my best friend. I’m sorry.”//

More than anything, I just wished these last months were a bad dream. That I’d wake up and I’d still be able to talk to Sam about the stupid names people give the pets I watch, about the new chapter of our favorite game, about how I hate that my favorite ice cream flavor changed recipes. Just about anything.

And that I never met **Hannah**.

The dream I had was right. I needed to do something. I needed to ##red|GET OUT##.

It was 4 AM. The world was dead asleep. I still texted my mom. I asked her if she’d be able to pick me up later. That I had a lot I needed to discuss. That I was sorry for not talking to her and my dad. That I just really, **REALLY** needed to see them. A sob escaped me. My anxiety spiked. I stared back at her bed. I heard a groan.

I froze.

“Katie?”

My breathing was getting heavier. I held as still as I could.

“What are you doing?” **She** sounded tired.

I'd gotten up in the middle of the night before. My plans just had me boiling over with anxiety. I was terrified that she'd find out.

“Are you there?”

I took a breath. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

My mind was blank. I couldn’t think of an excuse. “Couldn’t sleep.” I managed.

**Hannah** chuckled. “Oh. Well, we could watch something. I’ve gotta get up in a few hours, anyway.” She offered.

Even though she couldn’t see me, I nodded. “Sounds good.” My voice was incredibly shaky.

**Hannah** turned on the lamp. She looked at me holding my phone, sitting next to my purse. “What are you doing next to your purse? You didn’t pull the note out again, did you?” She sounded concerned. She got out of bed and sat next to me.

I gripped my phone tightly, turning the screen to face against my lap. “I was just… looking for some comfort. I didn’t wanna wake you.” I managed.

**She** nodded, putting a hand on my shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak.

Then my phone rang.

Dread hit me like a truck.

**Hannah** looked at me. “Who is that?” she asked tightly. She attempted to keep her facial expression calm, but I could tell she was irritated.

I stared at her, and my phone kept ringing. “I uh… I don’t know.” I answered carefully. My mind was racing. I was terrified.

**She** nodded, taking my phone out of my hands. She looked at the caller ID. “Your mother. Why is she calling you at 4AM?”

“She must have a good reason.” I replied. I attempted to reach for my phone, but **she** held it behind her back. Eventually, the line rang out. 

I felt panicked, but also **ANGRY**. “**Hannah**, give me my phone,” I demanded, crossing my arms. Then she looked at me, and I felt so small.

I heard my phone buzz, and my heart sank. I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in that the messages didn’t give away what I said.

**She** looked at my phone again, then back to me. “You’re trying to leave?” Her voice sounded… //hurt//. She carefully handed my phone back, still staring at me.

I felt deep in my chest that things were over. I didn't know what that meant.

**She** stood up. “I’ll… give you some space,” She replied.

I was still stunned into silence. I nodded.

She exited the room without a word.

I couldn't believe how calm she was being. It shocked me. I was… //scared//, too. I eventually made my way to her bed, staring at my messages with my mom, but I didn’t dare type a word. I decided that I would make a break for it when she left for work. That I’d run as far as I could and get my mom to get me wherever I was. I was staring at the clock, just praying for time to move. I was unnerved **Hannah** hadn’t returned to her room yet, but relieved at the same time.

Eventually, it became about 5:40 or so. I was sitting in her bed, anxiously awaiting for to return so I could **##red|LEAVE##**.

The door opened. **Hannah** was holding her jacket in her arms, her hands obscured. “Hey. I’m… I’m sorry for how I was acting.” She replied carefully.

I nodded. “It’s um… it’s okay,” I replied quietly. I was willing to say anything just to get her to **##red|LEAVE##**.

**She** walked up to the bed and sat next to me. “Before I leave, I need to show you something,” She said calmly. “Close your eyes.”

Something was **##Red|WRONG##**. I didn’t want to. I was //##red|afraid##//.

“Please? Trust me.” **Hannah** replied with a gentle smile. “It’s good, I promise.”

Those words sent a chill down my spine. I knew I wasn’t getting out of this. **She** kept staring at me, and I anxiously glanced at my lap. Every shred of self-preservation and logic in me said not to comply. To run out the door.

To get up. **##red|TO DO SOMETHING##**

[[size 160%]]##red|ANYTHING##[[/size]]

[[size 90%]] //But I was frozen.//[[/size]]

I felt trapped under her gaze. I eventually found myself closing my eyes.

“Thank you.” Hannah replied softly.

I heard moving. I felt something against my head, right above my ear. I heard a //click//.

Everything from the past months is suddenly flashing before my eyes.

Sam’s suicide.

Meeting Hannah.

The wonderful days.

The cracks showing.

The sudden dread.

Everything.

[[size 150%]] ##red|EVERYTHING## [[/size]]

[[size 200%]] ##RED|EVERY STUPID DECISION I MADE TRUSTING THE DEVIL HERSELF## [[/size]]

And then—

[[size 500%]]##RED|BANG##[[/size]]

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

I thought everything was going to go dark. I don’t believe in an afterlife. I never have.

But I find myself staring at

[[size 150%]] ##red| MYSELF## [[/size]]

My ##red| unrecognizable face## replaced with NOTHING BUT ##red|RED##.

Then I see **##red|HER##**

[[size 200%]] ##red|I SEE HER GLOVED HANDS PUTTING MY LIMP FINGERS AROUND THE TRIGGER## [[/size]]

[[size 250%]] ##red|HER TAKING MY PHONE, PRESSING THE CALL BACK BUTTON, WAITING FOR HER TO PICK UP## [[/size]]

[[size 300%]]##red| CRYING SOME SOB STORY TO MY MOTHER ABOUT MY **//SUICIDE//**## [[/size]]

[[size 350%]]##red|IF YOU TRULY LOVED ME, WHY DID YOU DO THIS? WHY?##[[/size]]

[[size 400%]]##red|WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY##[[/size]]

[[size 400%]]##red|I'LL SPEND THE REST OF MY AFTERLIFE MAKING SURE THAT YOU'RE MISERABLE##[[/size]]

[[size 400%]]##red|AFTER I OPENED MY ENTIRE SOUL TO YOU I WAS BROKEN AND HURTING AND YOU USED ME DID YOU EVER REALLY CARE?##[[/SIZE]]

[[size 400%]]##red|GET RID OF YOUR TEARS YOU DID THIS YOU DID THIS YOU DID THIS YOU DID THIS YOU DID THIS##[[/SIZE]]

[[size 400%]]##red|YOU DON'T GET TO CRY##[[/SIZE]]

[[size 400%]]##red|YOU GET TO SUFFER##[[/SIZE]]

"I don't know if you can hear me. P-please know that... I loved you, Katie. You were suffering. I hope you can be with Sam now. You didn't understand... I-I just wanted to keep you safe." **Her** pathetic voice cried.

[[size 400%]]##red|SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU DIDN'T CARE IF YOU CARED YOU WOULD'VE **WANTED** MY IMPROVEMENT YOU SELFISH SELFISH SELFISH##[[/SIZE]]

I try to reach for **her**, to ##red|**STRANGLE**## her. To ##red|**HIT**## her. ##red|TO RIP HER HEAD FROM HER BODY TO SCRATCH HER FACE TO A PULP TO RIP HER APART LIMB BY LIMB##

 ##red|**TO DO SOMETHING.**##

//Nothing works.//

My ghostly hands fade right through **her**.

[[size 200%]]##red|I can't stay in this room. Can I-- I can.##[[/SIZE]]

[[size 150%]]I need to think.[[/SIZE]]

[[size 150%]]Did this happen to Sam, too? Where is he? Could I[[/SIZE]]

see him again?

What would he say if he could see me? Would he be disappointed in me? No. That’s not the Sam I know. I just… wish things could’ve been different.

Wait.

I //know// what he’d say. He told me.

//“It’s not your fault she manipulated you.”//

That //was// him. He’s not truly gone, and it seems nor am I. Does that mean… he had to see me on **that day**?

I can’t think of that right now.

I can leave the room. But can I leave this house? Can I find him again?

Figures. I was stuck here in life, and now I'm stuck here in death. Sam’s still out there, and I’ll still never see him again.

**She** repulses me. Prattling on about her pathetic sob story to the police. Pretending over the corpse of the woman she ##red|**MURDERED**##

[[size 200%]]##red|CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? HELLO? SHE MURDERED ME! SHE’S LYING TO YOU##[[/size]]

…

…

//Nothing.//

[[size 90%]]I’m stuck here.[[/size]]

It’s so busy. I want to leave. I want to be away from her. I want to think. I want this to all be a dream.

All of this.

Think. I think again about what Sam said to me..

//“I… hope things will eventually end, and **she’ll** be done for good.”//

Does anything end?

I… I’m **stuck** here. I have been for the last week at this point. I've discovered my head is bloody, but not unrecognizable like my ##red|dead body's##. **She** took Sam’s sketchbook and hid it somewhere. That enraged me, I wanted it back. I want to prove to him that things aren’t over for me, as he would’ve wanted. For now, I’m stuck with no one to hear me but, I’m not done. I’ve clearly been kept here for a reason. I wonder, has **she** done this to anyone else? They’d be here like me if she had, right?

Sam believed that I could make it out. He believed in me. I refuse to disappoint him. I’m gonna make sure **Hannah** never hurts anyone again. **I’ll spend the rest of my afterlife preventing this monster from killing again.** I don’t care what it takes.

Just if only someone could hear me. If only— 

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar voice. A knock on the door.

**Hannah** rushed from the back.

A woman with shoulder length red hair was standing at the door, holding a bouquet of flowers. “I heard what happened.”

**Hannah** gasps, giving a sad smile. She is quiet, then quickly begins to sob.

The woman embraces her. “Oh **Hannah**, I’m so sorry.”

No, no, no! You have no idea what you’re in for! I’m… not going to let you succumb to my fate. I’m not letting Hannah hurt **you**.

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THAT DAY.

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