* Trigger warnings* violence, torture, fighting, swearing, medical coma, alcohol abuse, grief.
The facility was silent except for the rhythmic hum of the machines keeping me barely alive. The tubes connected me to the Cube pulsed with an eerie glow, siphoning my energy bit by bit. My body lay limp against the cold metal table, my skin pallid, barely rising and falling with each shallow breath.
Then, a distant boom. The ground trembled, dust trickling from the vents above. Dr. Amar stiffened from his position at the console, his fingers pausing over the controls. His face twisted with irritation. Another explosion. This time, closer. The alarms screeched to life, their wailing sirens echoing through the walls.
I barely registered the noise, my mind foggy, my body too weak to react. But somewhere deep inside me, past the exhaustion and pain, I felt him.
Miras.
The door to the lab burst open with a deafening crash. A gust of hot air rushed into the sterile room, and through the smoke, Miras emerged like a storm—breathless, furious, and alive. His dark eyes burned with rage as they landed on Dr. Amar, then flickered to me. The fury turned into something worse—something raw, something desperate.
"You," Miras growled, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements, his entire body coiled with barely restrained violence. "Get away from her."
Dr. Amar merely sighed, his hands lifting from the console in mock surrender. "Ah, young love. Always so predictable. You never did learn when to give up."
Miras didn't waste time responding. In a flash, he lunged, closing the distance between them in an instant. His fist collided with Dr. Amar's face with a sickening crack, sending the scientist sprawling to the ground. Miras didn't stop. He grabbed Amar by the collar, lifting him with terrifying ease, his teeth bared in something almost animalistic. "What did you do to her?"
Dr. Amar chuckled through bloody teeth. "She was already dying when you gave her that bracelet."
Miras slammed him against the console so hard the screen flickered, the words on it glitching. "Liar."
Dr. Amar wheezed a laugh, his lips curling. "It doesn't matter. She's tied to the Cube now. You take her away, and the power inside her will consume her. She won't last an hour."
I tried to move, to say something, but the effort was too much. My body felt detached, distant, like I wasn't really there anymore. Darkness threatened to pull me under again.
Then, a voice. Faint. Mine.
"Miras…"
His head snapped toward me, and in an instant, he was at my side. His hands cupped my face gently, his thumbs brushing over my clammy skin. "I'm here," he breathed, his voice raw. "I've got you."
A sharp movement behind him. A flash of silver. Dr. Amar lunged.
Miras twisted just in time, the blade missing him by a hair's breadth. The knife whistled past and embedded itself into the wall. With a snarl, Miras spun, shoving me behind him as he faced Dr. Amar.
The doctor was fast—faster than I had ever imagined. He retrieved another weapon from his belt and slashed again, a cruel smile twisting his face. Miras ducked low, sweeping his leg out in a brutal arc. Amar staggered but did not fall.
I wanted to warn Miras, to do anything to help, but my body remained lifeless, heavy as stone. I could only watch.
They clashed again, their movements a blur. Amar struck high, Miras blocked, their arms locking for a moment in a deadly test of strength. Miras bared his teeth, eyes burning with fury. With a sudden burst of power, he wrenched Amar's arm aside and delivered a savage elbow to his ribs. Amar grunted but retaliated just as quickly, driving his fist into Miras's stomach.
Miras staggered back, breath hitching. Amar was already on him again, this time aiming straight for his throat. Miras caught Amar's wrist mid-air and twisted, a sickening crack splitting the air as the knife clattered to the ground.
A scream of rage tore from Amar's throat. He lashed out wildly, his fingers clawing at Miras's face, but Miras shoved him back with a brutal kick to the chest. Amar hit the ground hard, gasping, his body heaving with exertion.
Miras didn't hesitate. He pressed a knee to Amar's chest, pinning him in place. His hands curled into fists, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. "Give me one reason," he hissed, "why I shouldn't end this now."
Amar grinned, blood staining his teeth. "Because killing me won't save her."
Miras hesitated. It was a split second, but it was enough. Amar surged up, slamming his head into Miras's, the impact echoing through the room. Miras reeled, and Amar took the opportunity to roll free, staggering to his feet.
"You don't get it," he wheezed, blood staining his teeth. "You're fighting the wrong battle."
And then I felt it.
A pull, deep inside me, violent and insatiable. The Cube's energy surged through me like a lightning strike, making my vision go white. My body arched, my breath caught, and a scream tore from my throat as the power inside me twisted, desperate, hungry.
Miras's head snapped toward me, eyes wide with alarm. "Cherish!"
I gasped, clawing at the floor, at my own skin, trying to contain it, trying to fight it. But it was winning. I was slipping.
Miras turned back to Amar, his face a mask of fury. Without hesitation, he grabbed the doctor by the collar and slammed him into the ground. Hard.
"You're not in control anymore," Miras snarled.
Amar only laughed, a wet, rasping sound. "Neither is she."
Miras didn't hesitate. His fist came down, crashing into Amar's face once, twice—until the doctor was coughing blood, his body limp. But the Cube's energy wasn't stopping. If anything, it was worse now.
I couldn't hold it back.
Tears burned down my cheeks as the power inside me screamed for release. My fingers dug into the ground, trying to anchor myself, trying to stay here, with him.
Then, another voice. Urgent. Commanding.
"Miras! Stop!"
Imani.
He was suddenly there, pulling at Miras, his hands gripping Miras's arms, his voice sharp. "You have to stop! He's done! Miras, listen to me!"
But he didn't. He was lost to his fury, his knuckles stained with Amar's blood. Imani gritted his teeth and shoved himself between them, grabbingMiras's face and forcing him to look to stop.
"Miras, Cherish needs you!"
That was what did it.
His breath came in ragged pants, his hands shaking, but his eyes snapped to mine. He saw me—really saw me—struggling, breaking apart under the weight of the Cube's hold. The rage flickered, dimmed, replaced with something worse.
Fear.
A strong arm pulled Amar's limp form away—my father. He barely spared the doctor a glance before turning to me, his expression a storm of emotion. "We need to sever the connection," he said, voice tight. "Now."
The moment Miras's hands cupped my face, everything seemed to freeze, as if the world paused, and I was caught in a painful clarity. My pulse thundered in my ears, my vision blurring, but I could feel the Cube's presence—heavy, like an iron weight pressing against my chest, pulling at my thoughts, pulling at me. It was suffocating, and I didn't know how much longer I could hold on.
I tried to focus on Miras. Focus, Cherish. Focus. But it was hard. The Cube whispered to me, its voice like static, its presence curling in my veins, telling me things—telling me that Miras couldn't save me. That no one could. That I was already gone, already taken.
But Miras... his hands, trembling slightly as they gripped my face, his eyes wide with panic—it was all too real. Too human.
"Cherish, look at me. Please." His voice broke through the static, pulling me back, just enough to fight the pull of the Cube.
I tried to answer, but my lips barely parted, the words stuck in my throat, heavy as lead.
"Why are her eyes so glossy?" His voice was raw, desperate now. He was trembling, and I felt the shift in him—this wasn't just about what I was becoming. It was about losing me. Losing the me that he knew. The me that existed before the Cube found its way into my mind.
Don't lose me, I thought. But even as the thought formed, I wasn't sure if I meant it for him or for myself.
But then I felt it—something was changing.
My father was there, I could feel him. His presence, heavy and commanding, like an anchor in the storm that was raging inside my mind. "We need to sever the connection," he said again, and I felt his hands—strong, steady, like they knew exactly what to do. I could feel Miras's hands on me, pulling me closer, trying to force through the pain. Trying to reach me.
"Cherish," he whispered again. "Fight it."
I tried. I wanted to. But the Cube... it didn't want to let go. It loved me, it whispered. It needed me.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.
Then, it happened.
The Cube, that cold, dark force, started to unravel inside me—slowly at first, but with a violence that made me want to scream. I felt it like a weight lifting from my chest, the pressure building as the edges of my vision started to bleed into a haze of light.
And then, I felt him—my father's hand—prying the Cube from the center of me. I could hear the way it screeched, the sound echoing deep in my skull, a thousand voices crying out all at once.
I cried out too, the tears spilling down my face, my body wracked with the force of it. The pain was unbearable. But there was something else too. Something like relief—like air.
"Hold on, Cherish," Miras was saying, his voice strained but steady. His thumb brushed against my cheek, and I could feel the connection between us—the real connection—shimmer through the haze.
But it wasn't enough yet. The Cube wasn't gone. It still held its grip inside me, and I knew it wasn't going to let go so easily.
I gasped, eyes wide, and locked onto Miras's, desperate.
His eyes widened, like he was seeing me for the first time—really seeing me, the terror in my eyes, the pleading that was buried deep beneath the Cube's chokehold.
"Cherish," he whispered, his voice cracking, but it was stronger this time, more determined. "I'm not letting go. You hear me? I'm not letting you go."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him. But the Cube... the Cube was still there, worming its way deeper inside, sinking its jagged claws into the core of me. I could feel it pulling me under, the darkness trying to swallow me whole. And in that darkness, I heard the voice again—the cold, sharp voice of the Cube, twisting my thoughts, turning them against everything I knew.
You belong to me.
I felt it pulse, like a heartbeat, reverberating through my chest, my skull. It wasn't just in my mind anymore—it was in every cell, in every fiber of my being. It was me.
I tried to fight it, tried to push it back, but the pressure was too much. My heart was pounding so loud, so fast, like it was going to burst.
Then I heard it again—my father's voice, stern but soft, like a tether pulling me through the storm. "Cherish, listen to me. Focus on Miras. Focus on us."
I could barely see through the haze, but I managed to find his eyes. My father's grip on the Cube—on it—was tightening, but I could feel the strain in his movements, the battle within him as he wrenched it out, piece by piece. The Cube resisted, fought back, and the intensity of it made me want to curl into myself, to just give up. But I couldn't. I couldn't for Miras. I couldn't for my father.
And then, as if someone had whispered the final command, Miras's voice broke through the chaos.
"Focus on me. I'm here, Cherish. Fight for us."
His hands, now warm and steady, were gripping mine, pulling me towards him as if his touch could anchor me. His face—so raw with fear and hope, the very essence of him reaching into me—I could feel it, deep in my bones.
"I—" I tried to speak, but my throat felt like it was closing up. The Cube was pushing against the walls of my mind, demanding my attention, its fingers brushing across my thoughts like icy tendrils. But then I saw it—saw Miras's face again, clear and sharp. I saw him the way I used to, the way we used to be before all of this madness.
"I won't let you go," Miras whispered again, more desperately now, as though his words could hold me together. "Please, Cherish. Come back to me."
A sharp pain shot through my chest, and I gasped. It felt like the Cube was splitting open inside me, tearing at the seams of my mind. I wanted to fight. I wanted to hold on to him. But the weight—the suffocating, crushing weight of the Cube was almost too much. But then, just when I thought I was about to be swallowed up, I felt it—something small, something fragile, like a breath of air pushing its way through the storm. It was a whisper, but it was the most real thing I had felt in what felt like forever.
"I love you."
He had said it. Not in a dream–in real life.
"I love you, Cherie."
The words felt like a burst of warmth in the cold, like sunlight breaking through a storm. Miras's voice had cracked when he said it, raw and full of emotion, but they hit me with the force of a thousand storms. His hands, shaking and desperate, held onto mine as if his touch could hold me together. His face was so close, eyes wide with hope—and I wanted to say something back. I wanted to tell him the same. To say the words that had been buried so deep inside me, words I hadn't let myself believe in for so long.
But my body—my broken, trembling body—didn't want to cooperate.
I opened my mouth, trying to force the words through the lump in my throat, but nothing came out. The air was thick, every breath I took like it could be my last. The Cube was almost gone now—my father's hands had wrenched it away, piece by piece—but its last remnants were still clawing at me, still twisting my insides. I could feel it pulling, trying to drag me down, trying to pull me back into its cold embrace.
I tried again, my lips trembling, my eyes locked onto Miras's, trying to make him understand. I love you. I love you, Miras.
But then, something snapped. The last thread that was holding me to the waking world broke, and I could feel my consciousness slipping away like sand through my fingers.
"Cherish?" Miras's voice cracked, full of panic now. "Cherish, stay with me!"
But it was too late. The pain was overwhelming, like the world was pressing in on me from all sides. I couldn't fight it anymore. The last thing I heard was Miras's voice, calling my name, desperate and broken.
And then—nothing.
It was quiet.
So quiet that I thought maybe I had forgotten what noise even was. The kind of silence that fills up all the spaces until you can't tell where the sound begins or ends. I couldn't remember what had happened before this, or if anything had happened at all. My mind was a blur of half-formed images, the edges fraying like old fabric. But there was one thing I could feel—one thing that tethered me to whatever this was, this strange, half-real place I was in.
Pain.
It was distant, muffled, like a faraway thunderstorm. I couldn't place it—didn't know where it was coming from—but it was there, persistent and heavy, threading through the emptiness. Sometimes it seemed to pull me forward, forcing my body to register the ache. But it was always fading, like it never quite made it to the surface.
I tried to grasp for something, some piece of me, but everything kept slipping through my fingers. Time felt like it was stretching, bending, breaking in places. I wasn't sure how long I'd been here—could have been hours, days, weeks. Or just seconds. It didn't matter. My body wasn't responding, my mind wasn't awake enough to care. The darkness was easier, safer.
But then, there was a voice.
It was soft at first, just a faint tremor in the air. And then clearer. More real. Miras.
I couldn't see him. I couldn't feel him, not in the way I wanted to. But I could hear him. His voice cutting through the fog, full of pain, full of fear.
"She's still dying when you're done with the bottle!"
Shit, dad was drinking again?
The words hit me like a stone, sharp and cold, sinking straight into my chest. It wasn't the words that hurt—it was the tone, the rawness, the desperation that wrapped itself around every syllable. Miras—Miras—wasn't just worried for me. He was drowning in it. His voice cracked like glass, sharp and breaking, and I could feel the weight of his fear, feel it deep in my bones, even though I couldn't respond.
I wanted to. I wanted to scream, to make it stop, to reach out to him. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't gone yet. That I wasn't dying. But the words wouldn't come. They couldn't come. My throat was heavy, my chest too tight, and my thoughts kept slipping away, like they were water running through my fingers.
His words echoed in my mind, repeating over and over, until they turned into something else. Something softer. Something that was just for me.
"Cherish, please… don't die."
I wanted to scream. To shout. I'm not dying, Miras! I'm here, I'm still here. But my voice was gone, my body trapped in this strange, frozen place. All I could do was feel him—feel the way his words twisted inside me, threading themselves into the spaces where my thoughts should be.
I thought of him. His face, so full of pain. The way he looked at me with that desperate hope, the way his hands had held me, trembling, as if my life depended on the pressure of his touch. It felt so real, so vivid. Almost too real. I could feel him beside me, though I couldn't see him, couldn't touch him.
Miras sat beside me, his hand hovering just above mine, like he was afraid to touch me too hard, afraid that I might slip away entirely if he did. The quiet hum of the machines around me filled the space between us, but it was his voice I focused on, even when I couldn't respond. I had to focus on his voice. It was the only thing that felt real in this place where everything was blurred, where I couldn't make sense of time, of myself.
"I don't know if you can hear me or if you're even still fighting," he whispered, his hand finally brushing against mine, his touch warm but so gentle, like he was afraid that if he squeezed too hard, I might shatter. "But you have to know... you have to know that I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere. Even if you can't wake up yet, even if you can't feel me, I'm here, Cherish. I'm here."
His voice cracked again, and I felt that crack deep inside me, like it was reverberating through my bones. The pain in his voice was unbearable, but it was also everything I needed to hear
" You're home now. Dewey's been begging me to let me see you. He texts every five minutes. Every Time I give him an update he calls, no matter how small it is. I've never seen my aunt so distraught before. I remember her—briefly—being in the hospital…but she's not even staying at the apartment anymore. If she's not working, she's here. Talking with Imani, trying to come up with a plan. She sings to you like she did when I was a baby. Your dad hasn't slept in almost a week, but I can't say anything because neither have I. None of us have, not since you went missing. You're on life support: a machine breathing for you, pumping your heart. You're on dialysis so your blood is being cleaned and circulated. I rub your legs and arms to try and keep your muscles from stiffening–I don't know if it's working. I hope it is. It's all temporary—just until you wake up."
Miras sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than I. I felt his weight shift beside me, and suddenly his lips on my forehead.
"You have to let me make it up to you, remember? I haven't made it up to you for being so stupid—for taking so long to ask you out. Whatever it is—whatever you want, I'll do it. Just don't leave."
"I don't even know if you can hear me."
Imani.
His voice is low, rough around the edges. There's exhaustion in it, something raw and fraying at the seams. He exhales slowly, like he's deciding whether to keep talking. But then he does.
"I'm gonna tell you anyway," he says. "Because if you can hear me, you need to know what he did."
Miras. He means Miras.
I try to move, to react, but my body doesn't exist in this space. I am only thought, only feeling. But I feel him here, sitting close. Imani doesn't fidget, doesn't waste energy on movement unless he has to. He's still, steady, but something in his voice tells me that he's barely holding everything together.
"He lost his mind, Cherish," Imani says, quiet. "The second you disappeared, it was like something inside him just… broke." A pause. "No, shattered."
Something inside me tightens.
"He didn't sleep. Barely ate. Just kept looking. Asking questions, shaking people down—hell, threatening people who didn't even have answers. And when he finally got a lead…" A humorless chuckle escapes him. "He burned through it like wildfire. Didn't care about the risks. Didn't care about anything but getting to you."
Imani shifts, and I swear I can almost feel his presence lean closer.
"And when he found you…" He exhales sharply. "He saw what Dr. Amar did to you, and I swear to God, I thought he was gonna tear him apart. I had to pry him off."
Something aches deep inside me. I don't know if it's real or just the weight of his words pressing down on me.
Imani shakes his head. "And no one stopped him. We couldn't." A dry laugh. A shift. The scrape of a chair. His voice lowers, rough but steady.
"And now he's just waiting," Imani says. "Just sitting by your bed like if he looks away for even a second, you'll disappear again. And I—" He stops, breath catching for a moment before he forces himself to keep going. "I can't watch him fall apart like that. Not when you could bring him back. The universe wouldn't survive it."
I want to. I want to wake up. But my body won't listen.
"That's one hell of a boyfriend you have there, Cherish. He's crazy for you—literally. Downright Insane. When we got you back to the jet, he did CPR for three hours straight, and wouldn't let anyone step in or take over. Even though he hadn't slept or eaten in about three days. I thought the kid was going to collapse but, he kept going until we got you here. And even now, he still refuses to rest. When your heart stopped—I've never seen him so scared. But he refused to let you go.
I died?
Imani exhales, then stands. "I'll be back tomorrow," he mutters. "But you better be fighting your way out of there, you hear me?" A pause. Then, softer, "Because he's still fighting for you. We all are."
The darkness hasn't changed. It still stretches endlessly, weightless yet crushing, but there's something different now—something stirring. I can't tell if it's coming from within me or from beyond this void.
Then, the air shifts. A new presence enters the space.
A woman's voice, low and composed, yet threaded with something deep and knowing.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time before I found myself here," she murmurs. Aunt Nayley.
Her words are careful, deliberate. Not hesitant, but… precise. Like she's measuring the weight of each syllable before she releases it into the stillness.
"I imagine you've heard quite a bit already. Imani, most likely. Maybe even Miras, though God knows that boy wouldn't know where to start." A pause. "But I wonder if anyone has told you the most important thing."
The chair creaks slightly as she sits. Her presence is steady, a quiet force rather than a looming one.
"I've seen people fight for their lives before. I've seen them claw their way back from the brink with nothing but sheer willpower. And I've seen the ones who let go." Her voice dips, thoughtful. "I don't know which one you are yet."
I wish I could tell her. I want to be the first, the fighter, the one who claws her way back. But I am stuck—adrift in this limbo where I can do nothing but listen.
"You must understand," she continues, "Miras is not the kind of man who breaks easily. He was raised to endure, to weather any storm, to survive. But you…" Her voice softens just slightly. "You have undone him."
Something cold and aching curls through me.
"Not in a way he resents," she clarifies, as if sensing my reaction. "No, quite the opposite. You've unraveled the walls he built. And now that you are here, like this, he does not know how to put himself back together."
A breath. A pause. Then:
"You have to wake up, Cherish."
There is no desperation in her voice. No pleading, no breaking. Only a quiet, absolute certainty.
She sighs, the sound so full of experience. "Miras is a fool sometimes. He always has been." Her laugh is quiet, rueful. "Stubborn. Impulsive. And yes, reckless. But that's why he'll never stop fighting for you. Even if he doesn't always know how to do it. Even if he's pushed everyone away, even if the world is trying to tear him apart—he will never give up. And it's because of you. Not just because you're the one person he loves, Cherish. No. It's because you're the one person who's ever seen him, truly seen him, and didn't run."
She shifts slightly, the sound of fabric moving.
"I used to think that love—real love—was supposed to make you feel light. Like it could fix everything. But I'm starting to think that maybe it's the kind of love that breaks you before it builds you up again. Miras's love for you? It's like that. It's raw. It's everything he's tried to bury, all the parts of him he thought were broken. And you… you stir him, Cherish. You make him want to do better, be better. And that scares him. It's why he's been pushing so hard."
A pause.
"But even I can see it now," she says, her voice softening, vulnerable. "You're the only one who can pull him back from the edge. The only one who can help him heal. And now, here you are—trapped—while he's out there, losing himself piece by piece. He won't stop until you come back. And you know what? I don't blame him."
Her words settle over me like a heavy blanket, not suffocating but grounding. She's speaking truths that I can't yet fully grasp, truths I know are meant for me. I just need to hear them.
"I just want you to know, Cherish," she continues quietly, "that if you need to go, if it's too much for you… Miras won't blame you. He can't blame you. But if you're still in there, if you can still hear me…" Her voice wavers, and there's a pause, long enough that I almost think she's gone.
"Please, come back to him."
****
At first, there's only silence. A heavy kind. The kind that means someone is here, but they don't know what to say.
Then, finally, a sigh.
"You know, I almost didn't come," a voice mutters. It's different from Imani's, different from Aunt Nayley's and Miras's. There's something rough about it—like it belongs to someone who doesn't usually say things out loud. "Not because I don't care. But because I don't… do this."
A scrape of a chair. A rustle of fabric as someone sits down.
"But Miras—he's been sitting in this damn chair for days. He won't leave. He won't sleep. Barely talks. And it's…" A sharp exhale. "It's bad, Cherish."
Dewey.
I can hear it now. The dry, almost sarcastic edge in his tone, even when he's serious. The way he doesn't sugarcoat anything.
He shifts again. "I don't think you get it. I don't think anybody gets it. Miras is a bastard, yeah, but he's our bastard, and I've known him long enough to tell when he's at his limit." A pause. "And this? You? You're his limit."
Something twists inside me.
"He's always been the one walking that fine line. Between control and chaos. Between burning the whole damn world down and just barely keeping it together. And you—you were the only thing keeping him on the right side of it. You're the only thing that ever made him stay."
Dewey's voice drops lower.
"And now you're here, lying still, and he's losing it. I see it happening, and I don't know how to stop it. None of us do." He lets out a short, bitter laugh. "And that's the thing, Cherish. You're the only one who can."
I want to. I want to wake up.
He leans forward. I can't see him, but I can feel it—like the weight of his presence is pressing closer.
"So I don't care what's keeping you here. I don't care if it's hard, if it hurts, if it feels impossible. Because he needs you. And if you don't wake up soon, I don't know if there's gonna be anything left of him to save."
A long silence.
Then, softer, "And, you know… we need you too."
The door opens with less grace this time. There's a shuffling of feet, a sigh—long, reluctant. Then another sound. A chair being dragged across the floor. The heaviness in the air tells me it's him before he even speaks.
"Sit." Imani's voice is firm. No room for argument. "Talk to your daughter, she needs you."
A muttered curse. A scoff. A pause that stretches too long. Then the creak of old leather as someone sinks down into the chair beside me. The air shifts, warmer but heavier.
"This is bullshit," my dad mutters. His voice is rough, hoarse in a way I don't remember. "She—she ain't even listenin'."
Imani doesn't respond. The silence stretches, thick and unmoving. I can feel my dad shifting beside me, uneasy, like he wants to stand right back up and walk out. Maybe he would if Imani wasnt standing there, blocking the way.
A hand drags down a face, the rasp of calloused fingers over stubble. Another sigh. But this one shakes, just a little.
"I—" my dad stops. Clears his throat. Tries again. "I don't know what the hell you want me to say, Imani."
"Say something," Imani repeats, just as firm as before.
More silence. Then, finally:
"Baby girl…"
It's barely a whisper, but it hits me. A name that carries years of memories, of scraped knees and bedtime stories, of rough hands fixing broken things and a voice that once made the world feel steady.
But now that voice is unsteady itself.
"I ain't been good." He exhales sharply, almost like a laugh, but it's humorless. He only talks like this when he's drunk–far beyond drunk. "Hell, I've been real bad. I know that. I know—I know I shoulda been here more, but I—"
His voice catches, and there's a pause. His weight shifts in the chair, like he's restless, like his own words are too heavy to sit with.
"I don't know how to do this," he admits. "I don't know how to sit here and talk to you like this when you…"
A sharp exhale. A hand hits the armrest of the chair—frustrated, aimless.
"I wasn't built for this," he mutters. "I wasn't built to sit still and wait. And I know—I know what you'd say. You'd say, 'Suck it up, Dad.' You'd say, 'Quit makin' excuses.'" A rough chuckle, wet at the edges. "And you'd be right."
A deep inhale, shaky on the way out.
"But I don't know how to be strong without you." His voice cracks on the last word. "I don't."
Something inside me aches. He sounds… lost.
He shifts again, rubbing a hand over his face. I can hear it in the way his breath catches, in the way the chair creaks under him.
"I thought—" he stops. Swallows. Tries again. "I thought if I just drank enough, maybe it wouldn't hurt as bad. Maybe I could pretend I wasn't losin' my damn mind waiting for you to wake up. But all it did was make me a coward."
The words hang in the air like something heavy, something that refuses to move.
There's a long pause before he speaks again, and when he does, his voice is quieter, thick with something unspoken.
"I ain't never been perfect," he murmurs. "You knew that. You always knew that. And still, somehow, you looked at me like I was good. Like I was worth somethin'." His breath shakes. "I don't know if I still am, baby girl."
His hand moves again, and this time I feel something warm against my own—rough fingers brushing over mine, hesitant.
"But I swear, I ain't gonna—" He stops. Breathes. Tries again. "I'm gonna do better. I just—I need you to wake up. I need you to tell me to get my shit together. I need you to—"
His breath shudders.
Then, softer than anything else, "I just need you."
Silence.
Then Imani speaks, low and steady. "Then be here when she wakes up."
My dad breathes out, long and slow.
He doesn't say anything for a while. I hear him shift again, standing up this time. The chair scrapes, and for a second, I think he's just going to leave without another word.
But then, just before the door opens—before he steps away—he whispers:
"I love you, baby girl."
Then he's gone.
And for the first time since the darkness took me, something deep inside me stirs.