Alice woke up in a big house, in a massive bed, beside four or five other people.
She climbed out and looked over the chaos they'd caused last night.
Besides the bed, there were more people passed out on the floor—empty bottles everywhere, spilled potting soil, clothes, and other objects either broken or just damaged.
She stepped over them and ended up in a huge kitchen. Someone was there too, leaning against the fridge, wearing nothing but a ripped shirt.
Alice nudged the guy aside so she could reach the fridge, found a bottled water, and drank every last drop.
After that she sprawled on the living-room couch, between two naked girls who were asleep. She lit a cigarette and stared at the blank television.
The owner of the house appeared in a black robe—a tall, dark-haired man around forty, lighting a thick cigar.
He waved one of the girls away from Alice, sat down beside her, and turned on the TV.
He was a well-known producer and businessman, the kind who often threw parties in his villa on the edge of town for his more famous friends.
— Want one, sweetheart? — he held up another cigar.
— Maybe later.
— Good party last night, huh?
— Not bad, I'll give you that.
— See? Told you it was worth coming. — He exhaled smoke, then lifted a whiskey glass between gold-ringed fingers. — So tell me—what's up with the band? When are you playing again?
— No idea. I think they got pissed at me after last time. Honestly, I don't even remember half that concert.
— Ah, forget them. You're good enough for a solo career. The audience goes crazy for you. I know a few managers if you're interested.
Alice didn't like the idea at all.
— Thanks. I'll think about it.
***
Back home, Alice stared into the mirror for a long time. She didn't like what she saw.
She was thin—her ribs showed. Her skin was pale, corpse-pale.
She threw on a robe and collapsed onto her bed, eyes fixed on her phone.
She thought about calling someone—one of her friends—but she gave up on it almost instantly.
She didn't remember much from the concert they'd fought after, but she did remember what she'd thrown in their faces.
She'd even managed to piss Pinky off with her behavior—and Pinky wasn't easy to push that far.
She was alone. There was no one left in the world. The loneliness was slowly eating her alive.
She couldn't see the point anymore. The pointless existence. There wasn't enough booze, drugs, or sex left in the world to make her forget the horror.
She sat on the edge of her bed. The shadows in the dark room wrapped around her. A cigarette trembled between her fingers as she put it to her lips and lit it.
When she exhaled the smoke, she felt like crying—but for some reason, she couldn't force even a single tear out.
She couldn't free herself from the pain. It clawed at her chest, gave her headaches, crushed her under a weight that kept pressing her down, deeper and deeper—and she was sick of it.
She kept staring at the phone. She knew one call might fix everything… and yet she couldn't even take that one step.
So she looked for a faster solution. Something that would end the suffering.
She went to the kitchen and pulled the sharpest knife from the drawer, ready to finally end her life.
She'd already cut into the skin on her arm. A few drops of blood had even dripped onto the floor when she noticed the phone ringing.
She froze.
Time stopped around her and nothing existed anymore except the ringing—growing louder and louder, like it was drilling into her skull.
She didn't answer. The call went to voicemail.
She set the knife down on the kitchen table and moved toward the phone so she could hear the message better.
For a moment she almost hoped it was Justin, or Cornel, or maybe Pinky—Ervin, even.
She held her breath, waiting to hear which voice would come through.
But it wasn't any of them.
It was just a manager—probably a friend of that producer.
Alice grabbed the answering machine with the phone and smashed it into the wall. It shattered into pieces.
There was another phone in the apartment. She plugged it in quickly, then called herself a taxi.
A few minutes later she got dressed and went down to the street. The taxi arrived and parked in front of the building.
The driver looked familiar, but Alice couldn't place where from.
The woman asked where she wanted to go. Alice told her to just start driving—she'd decide on the way.
About ten minutes later, the driver really wanted to know the destination. She didn't want to rush Alice—she was simply curious.
— Where are we going, sweetheart? Any idea yet?
— Just keep driving a little more. I'll figure it out.
Alice tried to light a cigarette, but her lighter died.
They were stopped at a red light, so the driver leaned back over the seat and gave her a flame.
— Thanks.
The light turned green and they started moving again.
— You've been in my cab before, haven't you? Forgive me for saying this, but… you've really let yourself go. You look awful, honey.
Alice didn't mind the driver's honesty. She had to admit she was right. She was in a terrible state, and this time she didn't even try to hide it.
— You're that singer, aren't you? My son is obsessed with your music.
— Really?
— Yeah. His favorite is "Burn With Me!" Can't lie, I like it too… but the last song on your album is the one that really got me. You know—the one about the Grim Reaper, Death.
— You know… I don't even remember when I wrote that song. I must've been half asleep in bed.
— It hit me hard… You know, I had a time like yours too. You lost someone, didn't you?
Alice didn't answer, but the answer was written all over her face. She went quiet, looked away.
— I remember that night clearly now—the one when I drove you. You were in a huge hurry because of your little sister, and I don't want to brag, but I did the route in record time. I even thought about a racing career for a second. You know why I was so bold that night?
Alice just shook her head.
— I kept thinking something terrible would happen if I didn't hurry. Your sister… she ended up being okay that night, right?
— She had a fever, but she got better after I gave her medicine.
— Then I'm glad I drove like that.
The driver put out her cigarette in the ashtray near the gearshift, and silence settled between them.
To the driver, Alice was an open book. She pieced it together fast—why she looked like this, why she was falling apart.
Then Alice broke the silence.
— Take me to the Pink Tiger.
— That club? Alright. Right away.
The driver turned the wheel and headed in the right direction.
— You know, I also hurried that night because I lost someone too. I didn't get somewhere in time—that's what I blamed, or at least that's what I believed back then. It wasn't easy to forgive myself and move on… but when I finally did, it felt like I dropped a huge weight off my soul. The wound didn't heal instantly, but it helped a lot.
It made Alice think.
— I'm old enough to know you shouldn't load your soul with too much weight, or you'll collapse under it. Forgiveness sets you free. Of course, I'm not trying to preach—you do what you want. I'm not judging.
They arrived. The driver parked by the club.
The club was a dark building with a massive tiger on top, glowing neon pink.
A drunk stumbled out near the entrance, leaned against the wall, and threw up. The driver grimaced.
— I'm not picking up that disgusting guy.
Alice pulled out her wallet, paid, got out, and started walking toward the club.
She smelled the stench and felt nauseous. Every step got heavier.
Normally she would've sprinted into self-destruction without hesitation.
Halfway there she stopped—then turned around.
The puking drunk was already wandering toward the taxi, so Alice rushed ahead of him and slid into the back seat.
The driver looked relieved.
— You saved me, honey. — She drove off and left the parking lot behind. — That guy would've definitely thrown up in my car. I just got it cleaned. So—did you come up with a different destination?
— I think so…
— That's the spirit.
***
Alice knocked, then rang the doorbell too, just to be sure.
Half a minute later the door opened—and her father stood there, stunned.
Since Lucy's funeral they hadn't met. They hadn't spoken.
Her father didn't know what to do. He got nervous immediately.
— Alice? Come in… if you want.
Alice stepped inside, and it surprised her how the apartment wasn't as awful as she'd imagined.
Her father wasn't drunk—or at least he hadn't had enough to show it. He looked more put together than usual.
They sat in the kitchen. He offered her coffee. She accepted, and they sipped the warm drink together.
— So… what brings you here?
— I'm not sure, honestly… You got anything stronger?
Her father disappeared for a moment, then came back with a decorative bottle, set it on the table, and brought glasses too. He poured for both of them.
— Thanks. — Alice lifted the glass and threw back the whiskey. She found it good.
— You like it? I was saving it for some big occasion, but… I don't think anything will ever surprise me more than this. You came to see me.
— Not bad. Can I have more?
They started working through the bottle quickly—mostly Alice.
She was getting ready for something that, in her mind, required alcohol just to survive.
Her father was visibly happy she was there, offering her food, offering her everything.
— You sure you don't want anything? The fridge is full.
— No thanks. Just let me have one more drink.
He poured her the rest and put the bottle away.
— So… why did you come? Just to drink with your old man?
Alice swallowed the whiskey, then pulled out her cigarettes. Her father gave her a light.
— Listen… I wanted to talk about something, but it's not easy…
— We've got time. Take it slow.
Her father felt different today. His presence didn't anger her as much.
Maybe because right now she hated herself more than she hated anyone else.
— Looks like you finally figured out what a mop is for.
— Yeah… I cleaned up a bit. You know, I met someone, and I'd like to invite her over soon.
— Yeah? Where'd you meet?
— At the meeting. Alcoholics Anonymous. I know I broke the rule by doing this, but I hadn't seen you in such a long time…
Alice stood up from the table. She got a little dizzy, but she didn't fall. She still had control of herself.
She walked straight to her sister's room, opened the door, and looked around.
Everything was exactly the same. Clean. Neat.
— You clean in here too?
— Yeah. Lucy's room is always clean.
Alice stepped to the bed, sat on the edge, and picked up a pink plush dolphin, staring at it.
Her father adjusted a picture on the wall—one of the whole family at the beach.
— Remember this? — he asked, pointing.
— The beach. That was a good day.
— For you two, yeah. I got stung by a damn jellyfish.
— That was actually pretty funny. — Alice said, a faint smile on her face.
— It hurt like hell. But yeah… it was a good day. One of the best. — He set the picture back straight. — You know… I went to your concerts.
— You did?
— Almost all of them are in Rust city… I never dared to come up to you, though. Once I almost did. I was standing pretty close, but I was scared of what you'd say to me.
— What happened?
— I walked right past you and you didn't even notice. Lucky for me, you were busy with something else. I wasn't good enough to talk to you yet. And I'm still not great, clearly—since here I am drinking with you, like I haven't had enough over the years.
— Don't worry. I'm not gonna rat you out.
Her father sat at Lucy's little desk and just stared at her notebooks lined up in perfect rows.
He opened the one where she practiced handwriting.
— She had beautiful handwriting. Just like you. I remember how excited you were when you learned to write every letter.
He set the notebook down, then sat on the other end of the bed beside Alice.
— Listen… I don't really know why you're here, but it makes me so happy that you came. If I can help with anything, just tell me. I can't be your father anymore—I'm too late for that. But maybe… maybe I can still be your friend.
Alice still couldn't say what she'd come for. But something else pushed its way out of her.
— Were you there?
— There?
— When… she died.
— Oh… Yes. I was there. Until the very last moment.
— She didn't… suffer, did she?
— No. It didn't take long. She was looking for you. She really wanted you to be there.
— I fucked that up… I was so knocked out, I don't remember anything from that night.
— Yeah… that sounds familiar. But don't blame yourself. Lucy loved you more than anything, and you gave her everything you could. You replaced her mother, her father… and you were her big sister too. You're an incredible person, Alice. And I'm proud of you—if that means anything…
Alice couldn't hold it in anymore. The tears started all at once and streamed down her face.
She looked at her father, and he looked back at her.
— It does…
Her father moved closer, tried to hug her, and he was surprised when she didn't push him away—when she actually pulled him in.
— I don't want to be angry anymore… — she sobbed. — I don't want to be angry at you, or anyone, or myself… I'm so tired of it…
— You don't have to be, sweetheart.
— I forgive you… — she forced the words out, painfully. — I forgive you, Dad.
It hit him like a shock. He hadn't expected it.
It slammed into his chest, and he started crying too.
For the first time in a long time, Alice felt like maybe the father she'd loved before the accident… maybe he could finally become that man again.
A massive weight fell off her. And it felt good—truly good—to forgive him.
She didn't feel healed yet.
But she knew she'd finally stepped onto the road that led there.