Life

I took a long, slow drag from my clove cigarette, letting the familiar burn settle in my lungs before exhaling a thick plume of smoke into the crisp October night.

The weight that had been crushing my chest for the last year was finally gone. My final conversation with Gaby had stripped away all my remaining excuses. It made me realize that the only obstacle keeping me in this miserable purgatory was me. I just needed to let my defenses down and step forward.

I let out a quiet, raspy chuckle, shaking my head. It was tragically funny. Gaby was supposed to be the broken, innocent one who needed my protection, yet she had turned out to be the strongest person in the room. She had the courage to let me go. Damn. I crushed the cigarette stub into the glass ashtray and reached over to the stand, picking up my acoustic guitar.

I rested it on my knee, my calloused fingers instinctively finding the fretboard. I started strumming, picturing the exact melody that had been trapped inside my soul for months. I closed my eyes, letting the cool wind wash over my face. I didn't perform for an audience this time. I let the raw, unfiltered voice from my heart carry the melody:

“If they paused and breathed inside,

They’d feel the hurt they tried to hide.

A fading spark they once held tight,

Slipping quiet into night...

My fingers slowed their rhythm, the chords turning deeper and more resonant.

Still they run, still they burn,

Never knowing when to turn...

So the road keeps pulling slow,

Whispers asking where they’ll go.

Footsteps fading into night,

Chasing shadows for a light...

I took a breath, striking the final, resolving chords as the absolute truth of the song washed over me.

And in the end, they come to find,

The rope was theirs the whole time.”

I rested my hand flat against the vibrating steel strings, silencing the instrument. The balcony plunged back into the quiet hum of the city below.

The rope was theirs the whole time. It was true. I had been tying my own noose, letting my toxic savior complex suffocate me because I was too afraid to just live for myself. But not anymore. This time, I was moving on for good.

I stood up and placed the guitar securely back on its stand. I leaned against the cold railing, taking one final, deep breath of the freezing autumn air. I looked at the empty space beside me on the balcony—the space the ghost used to occupy.

"Farewell, Jessica," I whispered into the night, a profound sense of peace finally settling into my bones. "It’s time for me to wake up."

I turned around and walked back inside the loft, sliding the heavy glass door shut and locking the cold out. I walked into the bedroom and threw my body onto the mattress. The bed was massive, quiet, and completely my own. And for the first time since she left, the emptiness didn't terrify me.

Good night.

**

My days gradually fell into a quiet, completely mundane rhythm. And for the first time in a year, I actually welcomed the boredom.

I started waking up naturally around 6 a.m., assuming I hadn't spent the previous night drinking my body weight in imported vodka with Nikolay and the Russians. I would cook a simple breakfast, clean up the loft, and take a long shower. I had to admit, living with Gaby’s frantic cleaning habits for months had permanently changed me. The loft was always spotless now.

Standing in the steamy bathroom, I wiped the fog off the mirror and stared at my reflection. My broad shoulders had visibly shrunk. The sharp, cut definition of my abs had blurred under a layer of neglect. Shit. I really need to start training again. I hadn't worked out properly since I left my dojo in high school. The depression had completely eaten away my discipline. I decided I would start jogging around the neighborhood every morning to rebuild my stamina until I could find a gym I liked.

By 8 a.m., I was walking the campus grounds. I didn't bother making deep connections or trying to build a new social circle at school; my loyalty was entirely tied to the Brotherhood now. I treated my classmates as friendly acquaintances—people to pass the time with during group projects or between lectures.

And yet, my classmates seemed inexplicably drawn to me. I realized that Jessica’s warm, effortless social grace had permanently rubbed off on my personality. The stoic, intimidating aura I used to project had softened. Conversations just flowed naturally now.

After my afternoon classes wrapped up, I headed straight to the café. Honestly, taking this job was the best thing I could have done for my mental health. I loved the grounded reality of the work. It wasn't just about pulling the perfect espresso shot; the regular customers had become my daily anchor. I prided myself on anticipating their usual orders before they even reached the register. Whenever a customer looked exhausted or stressed, I quietly slipped into the role of an active listener, letting them vent while I wiped down the counters.

But autumn had officially swallowed Chicago. The freezing, relentless rain had been pouring for days, turning the usually bustling café into a ghost town.

*

I let out a slow sigh, leaning my forearms against the back counter as I stared out the large front window. The rain was washing down the glass in heavy sheets, distorting the city street lights. The café was practically dead. There were only two customers left, tucked into a corner booth and completely absorbed in the glowing screens of their laptops.

I took a slow sip of the black coffee I had brewed for myself just to kill the time.

"Slow day again, huh?"

I blinked, snapping out of my trance, and turned to my coworker. "Heh. Yeah, the rain is brutal today."

"I don't see that huge guy who usually sits in the corner," she noted, methodically wiping down the steam wand on the espresso machine.

I glanced at her over the rim of my cup. "You mean Ron? He told me yesterday he’s flying out of town for a week on a business trip."

"Wow. You really know your customers, huh?" she giggled, looking impressed.

"Heh. Yeah. You pick things up," I said, taking another sip.

"I’m going to make a sandwich in the back room. Do you want one, Daeron?"

"Sure, if you don't mind," I replied, offering her a genuine, subtle smile.

She smiled back, her cheeks flushing slightly, and pushed through the swinging doors into the employee break room.

On slow, dreary days like this, I was genuinely grateful that my coworkers were such a decent, laid-back group of people. The owner of the café was notoriously selective about her staff. Well, except for me. I completely bypassed the interview process because Boris pulled a massive string. Because the owner trusted Boris with her life, she hired me on the spot without a single question. Knowing that, I was determined to work twice as hard to ensure I never tainted the trust Boris had staked on my name.

A few minutes later, the swinging door opened and a ceramic plate slid across the counter toward me. "Here is your sandwich, sire."

"Ah. Thank you..." I looked up at her face. My mind went entirely blank. Fuck. What the hell is her name again?

She immediately giggled, catching my panicked, blank stare. "It’s Claudia."

Shit! Is she a mind reader? "Thank you, Claudia," I recovered smoothly, picking up the plate.

"You’re really good at remembering the life stories of random customers, but you can't remember your own coworkers?" she teased, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms.

"Wha—sorry, I usually do, it’s just—"

"Chill, it’s a joke!" she laughed, waving her hand. "Don't feel bad. I literally couldn't remember Karlsten's name for my first four months here. I just kept calling him Lauren."

I chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Really?"

"No," she deadpanned, before bursting into genuine, bright laughter.

"Oh, you menace! You're pulling my leg." I laughed, picking up a half of the sandwich. "I hope there isn't a prank inside this..." I eyed the bread suspiciously, looking back at her.

She took a slow, calculated step backward, hovering right next to the café’s landline phone. "Well, you won't know until you take a bite."

I squinted at her. "...Why are you standing so close to the phone?"

"Just in case there's a sudden medical emergency," she smirked wickedly.

"Oh, screw you!" I laughed out loud, taking a massive, defiant bite of the sandwich anyway.

She glanced up at the wall clock, her smile softening. "Oh, it’s almost 6 p.m. I’ll go clean up the back room so Karlsten won't grumble during tomorrow's morning shift."

"You mean Lauren?" I shot back smoothly.

She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she giggled. "Hey! Don’t call him that, or he’ll figure out I was the one who gave you the idea!"

I chuckled around my food. "Your secret is perfectly safe with me. Consider it payment for the sandwich."

"Great!"

An hour later, the shop was clean. We locked the heavy glass front doors and stepped out under the canvas awning.

"Shit, the rain is still pouring heavy," I muttered, zipping up my jacket against the biting wind.

Claudia popped open her umbrella, checking her wristwatch. "I’m going to head out first, Daeron."

"Do you need a lift? I have my car parked just around the block."

She smiled warmly. "No need, I have to be somewhere else first." She gave me a quick wave and rushed off down the wet, reflecting sidewalk, disappearing into the Chicago evening.

I let out a heavy sigh, watching the rain hit the deep puddles on the asphalt. "Slow days make me so damn sleepy," I mumbled to myself. I pulled up my collar and jogged through the rain to my car, ready to head back to the quiet peace of my loft.

**

November 2012.

The freezing autumn rain became a near-constant companion this month, completely washing out my new morning jogging routine. On the days when the downpours were too heavy to brave the streets, I resorted to working out in the loft, lifting weights just to keep the depression from settling back into my shrinking muscles.

Bzzt! Bzzt!

My phone vibrated violently against the marble kitchen island, pulling me out of my reps. I set my barbell down on the mat with a heavy thud and picked it up.

"Derro!!! Buen dia!!"

"I don’t speak Spanish, Brotha," I answered dryly, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

Nikolay’s booming laugh echoed through the speaker. "Blyad! Your Papa is half-Spanish, but you can’t even speak a word of it!"

"Well, you have to emphasize the 'half' part, Brotha. That technically makes me only a quarter," I chuckled. "So, what’s up?"

"Derro! We are going to a party tonight! I will pick you up right after your shift ends."

I frowned, leaning against the counter. "Huh? You're picking me up personally? That’s unusual."

"What do you mean, Derro? I’m a nice guy!"

"Let me guess... Boris and Andrew couldn’t join you right away, so you need a wingman?"

"No! They’ll come later! I’ll pick you up, okay?" Click. The line immediately went dead.

I lowered the phone, staring blankly at the screen. Hmm. I wonder why he insists on picking me up alone. That’s very out of character for him.

Hours later, after I finished wiping down the café counters and clocked out, I stepped into the damp evening air. Nikolay’s massive black SUV was already idling by the curb. I had purposely taken the bus to work this morning just so he could easily scoop me up.

"Have you been waiting long, Brotha?" I asked, pulling the heavy passenger door shut behind me.

"It’s okay, Derro! So..." He forced a wide, boisterous grin. "Let’s go to the party."

As he merged into the Chicago traffic, the atmosphere inside the SUV immediately flatlined. Nikolay, who was usually a chaotic, loud whirlwind of energy, was dead silent. He stared straight ahead at the wet asphalt, his jaw tight. I observed him from the corner of my eye. Beneath his usual bravado, he looked profoundly exhausted. There was a heavy, uncharacteristic sorrow weighing his broad shoulders down.

I let out a soft sigh, leaning back into the leather seat. "I know that look." I shot him a knowing smirk. "Alright, spill it. Who’s the girl that caught your attention?"

Nikolay slammed on the brakes slightly, his eyes blowing wide in sheer shock as he looked at me. "What?"

"Come on, Brotha. You purposely isolated me from the other guys so you could talk to me alone, right?"

He stared at me for a second before letting out a massive, ragged exhale. His large hands gripped the leather steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "You remember Lana?"

My eyebrows shot straight up. "No shit. You're into Boris’s little sister?"

"…Yeah, Derro," he admitted, his voice dropping into a guilty whisper. "I know it’s completely fucked up, right? But I can’t lie to myself anymore, Derro."

He shot me a desperate glance, his blue eyes begging for a lifeline. "You’re the Loverboy in our bunch. You actually know how to talk to girls. I couldn't talk about this with Boris or Andrew first. I need your honest opinion."

Loverboy. If he only knew what a catastrophic, toxic failure my love life actually was. But I pushed my own ghosts aside. He didn't need my baggage; he needed a friend. "How long have you had feelings for her?"

"I met her back during my freshman year. Boris invited me to spend the winter break at his uncle’s house in Brighton Beach, New York. I met Lana there, and Derro... I swear to God, it was love at first sight. She’s so incredibly gentle and fun. But I was so terrified. I was afraid that if I tried to get close to his sister, I would permanently ruin my friendship with Boris."

He swallowed hard, staring blankly at the red taillights in front of us. "But now... she entered UIC as a freshman this year. She’s constantly hanging out at our apartment. Seeing her every single day makes it so fucking hard not to fall for her even more, Derro."

"Well, now I know why you've been looking so down lately," I said softly, understanding the gravity of his trap. "It must be absolute torture, especially since Boris and Andrew live under the exact same roof as you."

"See? It's driving me crazy. Help me, Derro."

I leaned forward, my voice firm but intensely reassuring. "Look, first of all, you absolutely have to talk to Boris about this, Brotha. Do not go behind his back. Just look him in the eye and tell him exactly what you just told me. Show him you respect him."

I reached over and clapped his massive shoulder. "Besides, you're not doing it alone. I’ve got your back, Brotha. We can talk to Boris together later tonight."

The crushing tension finally left Nikolay's face. He let out a long breath of pure relief. "Thank you, Derro."