Page 35 of Psycho Killers

“I need to go,” I tell Addy, my voice more resolute than I feel. “I need to celebrate with my friends.”

“Not just celebrate,” she adds, her face bright with encouragement. “Reclaim what you feel you’ve lost. Forge a new path, one that’s forged with joy rather than sorrow.”

I nod as I towel off, the fabric soft against my skin. Each motion feels deliberate and right, with every second pulling me closer to the living room. The laughter swells again, heartening and warm, and I can almost imagine its arms wrapping around me in a welcoming embrace. Embracing the light doesn’t mean erasing the darkness, I realize. It means learning to coexist with it, acknowledging its place in my life without allowing it to define me.

Stepping into my clothes, I glance back at Addy one last time. She stands in the soft flicker of candlelight, a graceful figure in the shadows, mirroring the very duality I must learn to live with.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling genuine gratitude in my voice. “For reminding me.”

She smiles—the kind of smile that speaks volumes—a testament of understanding and acceptance. “Just remember, I’m always a part of you, whether you want me or not. It’s up to you how we coexist.”

With that lingering thought, I turn and stride out of the bathroom, the fragrance of lavender from the candles trailing behind like a spectral blessing. The laughter grows clearer as I walk down the hallway, and with each step, the weight in my chest lightens, giving way to excitement. I’ll face Gunnar when the time is right, but for tonight, I can let the joy of the moment surround me.

As I enter the living room, I can already see Dominic and Ash sharing their tales of the night, their animated gestures echoing with infectious joy. Killian sits among them, muscle tension still audible but slowly beginning to ease as he recounts his own journey of pain and triumph. My heart swells, knowing that they have found their paths towards liberation, and now it’s my turn to join them.

Sliding into the embrace of the group, I catch their infectious laughter, letting it wash over me. I see the warmth in their eyes, each reflecting back a piece of the strength I had almost forgotten I possessed. A toast is raised, and as glasses clink together, I feel a newfound spark igniting within. Instead of retreating into shadows, I will step into the light and allow myself to feel.

“Here’s to not having to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life. Here's to healing,” I say calmly, my heart pounding with the thrill of belonging.

The cheers erupt in response, drowning out any lingering doubts. At this moment, I'm not just a specter of my past; I'm alive, filled with hope and resilience, and ready to embrace whatever comes next. Perhaps the hardest battles I’ll face are within, but together, we’ll take them on, one laugh at a time.

SEVENTEEN

STRUGGLING

ECHO: TRAPT

ASH

I've been home for a week now, and it’s been one of the most challenging weeks of my fucking life. I had hoped that after waking from a long coma and unwittingly getting off of the drugs, the adjustment would be easier. But, to my dismay, it’s been fucking anything but simple.

I’m not experiencing withdrawal, yet the cravings and vivid dreams are overwhelmingly intense. I truly admire the efforts of those around me striving for sobriety; their determination fuels my own resolve. Yet, not a single day goes by without thoughts haunting me—the urge to sniff a perk, use some coke, or even shoot up H. Their resilience to stay sober is both surprising and commendable, especially since they're doing it for me as I embrace this second chance at life and strive to make things right.

Still, the struggle remains immense. If they can do it, so can I. I just need to remind myself of that—at least ten times a fucking day. I’m truly wrestling with the struggle.

As the sun beats down on my bare shoulders, tiny droplets of sweat bead on my skin, leaving me sticky and uncomfortable—reminiscent of the cold sweats from withdrawal. The smallest, most random thought inevitably pulls me back to the drugs, and I just want it to fucking stop.

“What are you doing out here?” The sudden sound of Five’s voice from behind startles me, but I don’t turn around.

His shadow moving closer blocks the sun, offering a brief respite from the heat, but it also sends shivers down my spine, igniting a familiar craving deep within me—one more hit. I know I don’t need it, yet my mind argues otherwise. Addiction is a deceptive beast, a series of fucking mind games, and I’m ready to move past it.

“I just needed to escape, but I’m fucking bored,” I confess, taking my last drag from my cigarette and flicking the butt off the balcony.

“There’s a race tonight. You feel like driving?” Five asks, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Absolutely. But I think my car needs some work; it’s been parked for ages,” I sigh, another painful reminder of how long I’ve been away from the real world during my coma.

“Well then, let’s go,” Five says, winking at me. “I’ll take you to my man’s shop so you can get your baby ready for tonight. Dominic’s coming too.”

“What about Killian?” I ask, curious if he has slipped away to paint again.

“He and Cali are gearing up to go visit Gunnar since her plans got all fucked up last time." He shrugs, motioning for me to follow him inside.

“Are they coming tonight?” I pull myself up from the chair and slowly follow Five inside, a blast of AC greeting me as my feet hit the kitchen floor.

“They’re supposed to be,” he says, disappearing down the hall toward the bathroom.

I sink into the couch, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my shirt. With my eyes closed, I suddenly feel a cool hand gliding across my shoulder blades. The familiar scent of Cali’s perfume fills the air, awakening something inside me that has long been dormant. Opening my eyes, I find myself gazing into her bright eyes, the shadow of her long, dark lashes dancing over them.

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