I stared into the bathroom mirror, my breath fogging the glass as the quiet trickle of water filled the space.
Three years.
Three years since that night. I ran my tongue over the words, soft as a prayer.
"It's alright. I'm okay," I whispered to myself.
I whispered it again, this time to the pale reflection of a person I barely recognized. My fingers found their way to my side, brushing over the ink etched into my ribs. "Today never happened – K.1.25." A lifeline that still grounded me in the dark.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I was back there...hands gripping the icy bridge railing, the night so dark it swallowed my breath. I remembered the emptiness below, the lure of silence... and then her voice. Her hands pulling me back. A stranger whose face I couldn't remember anymore, whose name I never learned.
Three years, and her words still echoed in me, faint but steady. Like the tattoo, they anchored me when nothing else did. I felt grateful, but guilt lingered just as heavily. How would you repay a debt to someone who saved you but still felt that you were drowning? How could you hold on to hope when you are so tired of the weight?
The water spilled onto the floor, a sharp sound that pulled me from the memory. My hands sank into the icy pool, and I splashed my face, gasping as the cold shocked my skin. I felt like I had been on this loop forever... a broken record of surviving, not living.
A soft bark broke the quiet.
"Arf. Arf."
I turned, and there she was... Tequila. Her small body quivered as she wagged her tail, her dark eyes looking at me as if I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around her. She was warm, steady, alive. My face pressed into her soft fur, and for a moment, the weight lifted.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Thank you for being here, Tequila. I don't need anyone else. Just you and me."
Her warmth spread into me, filling the cracks. The world outside was still cold, still sharp, but in this moment, it felt distant.
I was still tired. I was still broken. But Tequila reminded me that somehow, I was still here. And maybe, for today, that was enough.
Tequila nuzzled me, her tail wagging harder now. Her presence steadied me, as if she knew I needed her more than ever today. I stood, wiping my face, and glanced at the small leash hanging by the door.
"What do you say, Tequila?" I asked softly, the faintest smile tugging at my lips. "Shall we celebrate my third anniversary with a walk in the park?"
Her ears perked up as if she understood, her excitement contagious. I grabbed her leash, and together we stepped out into the cool afternoon air.
The park was quiet, the gentle rustle of leaves blending with the soft patter of Tequila's paws on the path. The weight on my chest felt lighter here, under the open sky. For a moment, I felt something close to peace.
I watched Tequila sniff at the grass, her curiosity boundless, her joy so simple and pure. It reminded me that life didn't have to be grand to be meaningful. Sometimes, surviving was enough. Sometimes, a quiet walk with your best friend was enough.
And today, it was.