Twelve days before Christmas, she lay beside him, back against his chest, his arms around her. So warm. Safe. Perfect.
Snow pattered on the window.
But his heart raced. She felt it. Always did.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
"Yeah." Too fast. He was lying.
She looked at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, jaw tight, mind elsewhere.
"You've been different. You vomited," she said softly. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm fine. Just fever," he said, harder this time.
She touched his chest. He caught her hand briefly, then let it drop.
"We're supposed to talk. You said you love me—"
"Don't start," he muttered.
"Start what? Caring?"
"I have too much going on. I can't handle this right now."
"This?" she whispered. "You mean… me?"
"No." But she knew the answer.
The silence cut her heart.
"Did I do something? Did I say—"
"It's not about you," he said.
"Can you at least talk to me? Please?"
"Why do you always need something? Why can't we just… be?"
He stood up and paced. "Look, I care about you. But you're too intense. Everything becomes pressure."
"I'm not trying to pressure you. I just… love you."
"That's the problem."
"I'm graduating soon. My life is changing. You need someone with a stable future, and I just…"
"So you don't want a future with me?" she whispered.
"I don't know! Can we just live in the now? You're always asking where this is going."
She hugged herself. He sounded scared. Overwhelmed. Pushing her away before life pushed him.
"Do you… I… You don't love me anymore?"
Silence.
He walked to the window, staring at the snow. Cold, quiet distance.
♣♥♠♪
♪♠♥♣
The next night, she went to his large off-campus apartment. He was packing.
"You're leaving?" she breathed.
"Going home for Christmas. Too cold here."
"You weren't going to tell me?"
"You know I would. Just didn't want any touchy reactions yet."
"I'm your girlfriend," she said, voice shaking.
"You're making this harder."
"So you ARE breaking up with me?"
"I never said that. I just… need space. I need to focus. You're making everything seem so bad."
"You didn't tell me about traveling and lied that you loved me," she whispered.
"I meant it. And maybe I do. But love isn't enough. Not with everything I'm dealing with. Not with you asking for more than I can give."
"So this is my fault?"
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to."
Her voice broke. Shaking. Tears gathered in her eyes. Hands trembling. She was trying to understand this change, this pain.
She just couldn't bear this rejection. She was madly in love with him and had even done a lot of crazy things....
He stayed there. Didn't move. Indifference was worse than anger.
"Then say it. Say you don't want me."
"I think… it's better if we stop."
She nodded. No words. No strength. She walked to the door.
"You could've just been honest than lie ever since," she whispered. Then she went out into the cold.
She blocked his number an hour later.
The day he left, she didn't cry. She thought she had time. But life moved fast. Her father's health worsened, her younger sister panicked over her studies, house rent was overdue.
No time to explain, no connection to reach him, no peace.
She packed, folded memories into boxes.
Her father suddenly said in his push-chair a day to their leaving. "Where's that boy of yours? He hasn't come around for some days now."
"We're… we're not together anymore," she whispered.
"Are you okay?"
"He said he needed space. A break. A trip. I think that means he doesn't want me."
Her father's hand covered hers.
"He left," she cried. "I hate him so, so much, Dad."
He pulled her into a frail hug. "Don't cry. Just don't lose yourself."
But she already had.
"Maybe try to call him… Well, you might find him again one day even. It's a small world. He'll talk."
♠♣♥♪
♪♥♠♣
Late that night, she stood behind the kitchen door and dialed his number.
Once. Twice. Ten times. Twenty.
It went straight to voicemail. Every single time.
"Please pick up," she whispered into the phone. "Please… just tell me you didn't mean it."
Nothing.
She tried again. Again. Again.
Still nothing.
Her heart cracked slowly.
Fine, she told herself hours later. If he didn't want her anymore… she would not beg.
She blocked the number with trembling fingers. Deleted their chats. Deleted their pictures. Deleted herself from every app he could find her on.
Then she wiped her little tears with the back of her hand and lied to herself:
"There was no future for us. We needed to let go."
But the truth burned inside her like salt in a wound. She was breaking and she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to leave either but she couldn't wait for someone like him.
♪♠♣♥
♥♠♣♪
He called her.
No answer.
He tried again. No answer. Again. Nothing.
He checked her socials. Gone. Blocked.
He cursed under his breath, angry at her, angry at himself, angry at everything he didn't say when she asked him if they were okay.
He punched the steering wheel once and whispered: "I'm so sorry. You didn't even let me try again.… "
He told himself she should've waited.
But deep down, he knew he'd pushed her away first.
♥♪♠♣
♪♠♣♥
On Christmas day, he came back to town with wrapped gifts in his hands, a letter and rehearsed words in his head.
Snow covered the street. He stopped in front of her door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
Silence.
He knocked again. Nothing.
He tried the knob. The door pushed open.
Furnitures gone. Curtains gone. The house felt… dead.
Like she'd never existed.
He stood in the doorway, holding gifts that suddenly felt stupid.
A soft snowflake drifted into the room, landing on his hair.
He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. He just stared at the empty space where her life used to be. The memories swamping his vision.
He whispered her name once. Even though no one was there to hear it.
Then he closed the door gently, walked back to his car, and drove to his grandparents' home in silence.
He didn't cry. But something inside him did.
♠♣♪♥
♥♠♣♪
He started feeling the cold first—his teeth chattered, his hands shook, and his chest ached. Sweat formed on his forehead even though the December wind was freezing.
He felt dizzy and nauseous, but when his grandparents tried to help him, he shouted and pushed them away, insisting he didn't need anyone.
His grandparents tried to calm and soothe him, but he was too frustrated, too proud and scared to listen. His body felt weak, his vision blurred, and every movement was painful. He began to vomit all over the floor.
Even when his father ordered him over the phone to go to the hospital, he resisted, wanting to handle it on his own.
Finally, too weak, cold and feverish to fight anymore, he was guided outside. His grandparents supported him as they took him to the car, holding him gently but firmly.
The cold wind hit him sharply, and each breath felt like stabbing pain, but they managed to get him safely into the car.
And his angry father's threats continued to ring in the night's air.
♣♠♪♥
♣♠♥♪
He only heard the sirens and felt unbelievably cold.
He heard nothing at first — only the strange hum that came when pain was too much for the body to understand. His head had hit the window. Hard.
He could taste blood now.
So much blood in his mouth.
Someone was shouting, but the sound was beginning to drift away, like it was sounding from another far world.
Then his dream opened.
A soft laugh.
Snowflakes in the beautiful girl's hair.
Her mouth on his. Sex.
Countless orgasms, the arguments, the reconciliations, her sweetness, her kindness.
Their breaths tangled.
Her body clinging to him in a warmth that made his ache and love.
Then, the memories came too fast — the way she whispered his name when she came, the way he looked at and felt about her like she was the only safe thing he had ever held. Her tears and her worry.
They flashed like lightning. Too bright. Too close. Too cute.
He tried to reach her.
But the scenes scattered immediately.
He saw himself at her door with gifts, hand lifting to knock. Snow falling behind him. His heart pounding.
The door opened.
Empty.
An endless, dark house swallowing him whole.
"—BP dropping! He's crashing!"
The doctor's voice cut through the dream, panicked and sharp.
But he wasn't even in the hospital.
He was too far away now.
The emptiness stretched into darkness, and out of the dark came faces he knew too well.
His grandmother. His grandfather.
Then when the light came, his grandmother's head was pressed back against the crushed front seat, neck twisted at a wrong, impossible angle.
Blood ran down her temple, warm, bright, unreal. Her eyes were open in horror, mouth agape in her final moment of prayer. Staring. Staring at him.
"No...." Damon whispered inside the dream. But he had no voice.
He fought. He tried to scream but he was paralyzed.
His body convulsed.
A seizure shook him, and the world blinked white.
There was a loud beeping sound.
His pale, physical body was being pushed in a shiny hosptal.
"Heartbeat is unstable!"
"He's not responding."
"He's in shock."
"He's gone— he's gone! Oh my god."
"Son! Son, open your fucking eyes! No!"
Those last words were the only ones his dream-self understood.
Dead. He was dead.
A coldness swept through him, swallowing her smile, sweet memories with his grandparents, his grandmother's blood, the empty house, the loud scary noises, the snow.
Then everything went black.