Page 15 of Endo

We’re both smiling now, and for a moment, the garage doesn’t feel so suffocating. For a moment, it’s like Cruz is still here, laughing along with us, calling us idiots for hauling a keg in a shitty car to impress a group of girls who didn’t even show up.

“God, we were so stupid back then,” Sayshen says, shaking his head. “But it was good, you know? Simple.”

“Yeah,” I agree, the smile fading just slightly. “It was good.”

The memory lingers between us, holding back the weight of the present for just a little longer. But eventually, reality settles in again, heavy and unrelenting.

“I’ll try,” I say finally, my voice low but steady. “I don’t know how, but I’ll try.”

Sayshen nods, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “That’s all I’m asking, man.”

The tension between us dissipates, replaced by a fragile kind of understanding. As I climb off the bike, my legs feel unsteady, like I’m walking on ground I’m not sure is solid. But I take a step, and then another, because maybe that’s the only way forward.

As I head toward the door, I glance back at Sayshen, who’s already turning toward his own bike. The weight on my shoulders feels just a little lighter, like maybe—just maybe—I can figure this out.

And for the first time in months, I think I actually want to try.

7

LENA

The grudge - Olivia Rodrigo

The soundof running water fills the apartment, the dishes from dinner finally done and stacked neatly on the counter. I scrub the last few plates, the warm suds sliding over my fingers, almost soothing in the quiet of the apartment, except for the soft hum of the music playing in the background. It’s a low, mellow playlist, one I’ve played on repeat too many times to count, but tonight it feels comforting, like an old friend. The steady beat pulses through the air, a steady rhythm that almost drowns out the weight of everything else that’s gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I rinse my hands and dry them off with the towel hanging from the oven handle, glancing around the kitchen. The night’s dragging on, and I can feel the pull of exhaustion again, the weight of everything I haven’t dealt with settling into my bones.

The music shifts, the song more upbeat now, but I don’t feel it. My feet drag as I make my way down the hallway, each step heavy with the weight of everything I’ve been avoiding. My muscles ache, sore from the tension of the day, from the quietbattle with myself. I reach the bathroom, the lights flickering on with a hum, casting a soft, dull glow across the room.

I turn the shower knob, and the hot water hits my neck, the heat instantly soothing against my skin. I stand there for a moment, letting the steam curl around me, letting the water seep into my tired bones, as the music continues to play in the background. It’s familiar.

Almost comforting. Almost.

The water hits my skin like a blanket of warmth, coaxing the tension out of my shoulders as it flows over me. I close my eyes, letting the steam rise and fill the bathroom, the heavy scent of lavender and chamomile from my shampoo wrapping around me. I’ve always been a sucker for the calming scent—something about it makes me feel like I’m trying to outrun the world for a moment, like I can forget, even if just for a few minutes.

I lather the shampoo in my hands, the rich foam sliding easily through my hair. The scent, so familiar, almost too familiar. And then it hits me—the memory.

A few years ago, Cruz showed up at the center with a surprise for me—a bouquet of wild lavender. He’d always known how much I loved the scent. It was one of those random, sweet things he’d do that never failed to catch me off guard. The lavender was tied together with a simple piece of twine, the stems still a bit tangled, and the vibrant purple flowers looked like they had been freshly picked, their color almost unreal against the backdrop of the late afternoon sun.

I remember holding the bouquet to my nose, breathing in the deep, calming fragrance. The scent was warm, earthy, like summer wind and sun-soaked fields. It instantly relaxed me, the weight of the day melting away just from the smell. Cruz had this way of knowing exactly what you needed before you even realized it yourself.

He’d grinned, standing there in the doorway of the center, watching me inhale the lavender, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint he always carried. “I figured it’d make the place smell better than the usual antiseptic air,” he’d joked, a small laugh following the words.

And for a moment, everything was right. Just Cruz, with his kind heart and effortless charm, making my world a little brighter with something as simple as a bouquet of wildflowers.

I run my fingers through my hair, rinsing out the foam, but the memory lingers, vivid in my mind. Cruz’s laugh, the sound of it echoing over the hum of the tanks filters, making everything feel easy. But as I stand there, the water still warm against my skin, that feeling of ease slips away. The laughter fades, and I’m left with the hollow ache of knowing that day is gone, that he’s gone.

I inhale deeply, the lavender scent thick in the air, but it doesn’t quite cover the emptiness. As the water cascades down my back, I scrub harder, trying to push the thoughts away, but they cling to me—those memories of better times, of a version of myself that still felt whole. Of a version of us that didn’t know how cruel life could be, that didn’t know what it would be like to lose Cruz.

The shampoo’s scent doesn’t reach me the way it used to. Now it feels like a faint reminder of something lost.

I rinse my hair, the water running clear, the tangles finally worked out. It’s so stupid—how something so simple as shampoo can bring all of that back. I’ve been avoiding the thoughts, avoiding feeling anything at all. But sometimes no matter how hard I try to keep them out, they push their way in. Forcing me to face the shit I would give anything to forget. Cruz is gone, and I’m still here, with nothing but these memories and the damn smell of lavender on my skin.

I run my fingers through my hair again, this time just to feel the movement, to ground myself into something that’s real. But the moment doesn’t last. The buzz of my phone on the counter pulls me back to the present, like a slap across the face.

I glance at the phone, not needing to see the name. Revel’s the only one I haven’t pushed away completely. Sure, Bexley, Cece, and even some of the Demons have checked in, but I’ve kept my distance from all of them. I don’t have the energy for fake pleasantries or forced conversations. But Revel? He’s different. He’s been persistent, and for whatever reason, I can’t shut him out the way I’ve shut everyone else out.

I don’t even know why I’m still picking up when he calls, maybe cause I know he wouldn’t give up as easily as everyone else. No, Revel would break down the fucking door if it meant making sure I was okay, so I guess I just know there’s no point in trying to avoid him.

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