That night, the sky was silent.
No stars. No moon.
Only darkness hanging still, like something waiting to collapse.
I sat on the floor of a dead building, alone—or maybe not.
In my hand, a needle brushed against my skin, as if begging to be let in.
"You know this isn't the way out," I whispered hoarsely.
I stared at the liquid dancing inside the syringe, as if it held the answer to everything I couldn't bear.
"Be quiet for a while," I murmured.
"Just until all of this… disappears."
The needle entered. Warmth spread. The world turned to cotton.
Amid the slowing of my heartbeat, I asked—not to anyone, but to myself:
"Do you think… we can still be saved?"
I smiled.
"I'm not trying to be saved. I'm just trying to run away."
Slowly, my smile curled and vanished.
I took off my black hoodie and tossed it somewhere, then walked to the corner of the room as fast as I could.
I sank down, knees hugged tightly. The tears couldn't be held back anymore, and I stopped trying.
This was a release.
I let go of the emotions I had buried. I poured everything into this moment—hoping it would be enough punishment for me.
I just wanted to live normally after this.
Morning came, like any other day. Sleepless, I began my daily routine.
First, I returned home—emerging from my hiding place to restart a life I didn't want to live.
"Hey, bro! Where have you been?" said my little sister, freshly sixteen, as she saw me walk in.
"Welcome home, dear. What have you been doing these past few days?" my mother called from the kitchen upon hearing me return.
I sat on the couch and didn't answer them properly—not even once.
Then my father, who had been sitting on the living room sofa all along, finally asked,
"Do you hate this house?"
"Hey! Arnold! Of course Ray doesn't hate this house!" my mother turned to me, continuing,
"Right?"
"That's right!" my little sister chimed in, her voice playfully sweet. "No way Ray would hate a house with a cute little sister like me who wakes him up every morning with pure adorableness!"
"Yes, yes, Maria—cutest in the world," Mom smiled.
"Hehe," Maria looked proud at the compliment.
"Whatever you say," my father stood up, silencing us all.
He looked straight at me and said,
"Don't do anything stupid again. Come home on time next time."
Then he went upstairs.
Next time? What does he mean, next time?
When is that? A minute from now? An hour? Tomorrow?
I didn't need to answer. I knew he'd be angry if I did—because my answer would be no.
And I think he already knew that.
He warned me, but never tried harder.
I wonder if he really cares.
But none of that matters.
Because after breakfast, I have to go to school.
That means I won't see my family for the next eight hours.
With no preparation and no will to learn, I walked out the front door toward a school I didn't want to reach.
"Hey Ray! Same sleepy eyes as always. Long time no see, buddy," said a guy who probably knows me better than my own family.
He always shows up unexpectedly—even halfway to a school that means nothing.
I only met him last week.
Our meeting was odd: we both skipped the freshman orientation.
Instead of lining up with the others, we snuck off to a nearby café, hiding our uniforms.
This guy's dangerous.
He's sharp—surprisingly perceptive.
Ignore the popular-boy façade; he's smart, and I admit it.
We're polar opposites. He's light, and I'm shadow.
Of course I want to be the light. But I know—I'll always be the shadow.
He's the positive charge, and I'm the negative.
While I hesitate to help an old woman out of fear of looking like a show-off, he helps her without a second thought—even when others think he's doing it to impress nearby girls.
That's why I might respect—and envy—him.
I want to be him.
But that doesn't matter.
Because I'm me.
Rather than stew in jealousy, I choose to walk beside him—as a friend.
Maybe that's why I can still enjoy the morning sunlight, even while he rambles on about nonsense.
Eventually, I reached class, sat in my seat, and buried my face into the desk.
It felt safe. It kept people from talking to me.
I'm afraid of communication.
It makes me anxious.
I don't know why—but I know I'm afraid.
Someone suddenly tapped my shoulder.
I think it was an accident. I didn't respond.
But they did it again, saying, "Hey, don't ignore me."
I thought it was just a prank, so I pretended not to hear.
Then she yanked my collar, forcing my gaze upward.
I flinched—staring into the annoyed face of the girl who pulled me up.
"Hand over your math homework. Now."
She pointed to another girl sitting nearby—the class president, always wearing glasses.
"Give it to her before I smash your face in."
I stayed silent—still shocked, maybe a little impressed by this girl.
She grew more annoyed and grabbed my head, making me cry out in pain.
"Do you understand? Answer me, don't just sit there!"
"Yes! Okay! I get it! Ow! Let go of me!"
She finally released me and sat down—in the seat right next to mine, as it turned out.
I glanced at the class president, who gave me a forced smile.
Before approaching her to explain, I looked back at the violent girl.
"What are you staring at? Want me to hit you?"
I didn't reply. I wouldn't fight back even if she did.
I stood up, walked slowly, avoiding direct eye contact.
I knew everyone was watching.
I just pretended they weren't, praying I could disappear.
I didn't want to be seen.
Once I reached the class president's desk, I said,
"I... you know... didn't do it."
"Oh... I see. That's okay. You can still turn it in next week. I'll explain it to the math teacher for you, alright?"
"Y-yeah... Thanks. Well... bye..."
I sat back down and let out a deep breath—relieved, like I had just survived something hard.
Not long after, the first teacher came in and started the lesson.
Minute by minute, my eyes kept drifting to the clock above the whiteboard.
That ticking circle hypnotized me. I couldn't focus at all.
Then, at exactly 9:14, my bag vibrated and made a strange noise.
I had no choice but to check.
I felt relieved when I saw it was just my phone.
But for some reason, I was scared to look deeper.
Maybe it was instinct.
And it was right.
[Get permission to leave now. I'll explain to your teacher later. Your sister had an accident on the way to school this morning.]
The message glowed on my screen—sent from my father's phone.
I replied: [Are you serious?]
[you are the one who joking right now. Hurry up and get here!]
"No way..."
A weak voice, powerless. That voice was mine.
I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to run away.
I froze. Unsure how to react. But...
[Maria needs you.]
That last message from my father... made everything clear.
I had to be by her side.
By Maria's side.
As her brother.
As family.
No matter what it takes.