The air tasted like ash and regret. Another day. Another seven days. I counted them, of course. I always did. It wasn’t about waiting for something to happen; it was about surviving until it did. Or didn’t. Didn’t matter much these days.
The chipped Formica tabletop felt cold under my palms. The diner was empty save for Old Man Hemlock behind the counter, polishing glasses with a rag that had seen better decades. He didn’t look at me. He never did, not anymore. Not since… well, since everything.
I stirred my coffee, the swirling brown mirroring the mess inside my head. Seven days ago, she’d left. Not left *me*, exactly. She’d just… vanished. Like a glitch in the system, a deleted file. No note, no goodbye, just gone.
“Anything for you, darlin’?” Hemlock’s voice rasped, barely audible above the hum of the refrigerator.
“Just keep it hot,” I mumbled, staring into the murky depths of my cup. Hot coffee, hot anger, hot, aching emptiness. It all tasted the same.
I traced the rim of the mug with my finger, the ceramic rough against my skin. Seven days. She’d said she needed space. Needed to “find herself.” Which, translated into her language, meant she’d found someone else. Someone shiny and new, someone who didn’t come with the baggage of a broken past.
I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t just *leave* without a word, unless she was trying to punish me. It was her favorite game, after all: silent treatment. I had to admit, it was always a little bit intoxicating. I’d play along, because I didn’t want to lose her. I’d give her space, because I didn’t want to smother her. And now, after seven days, I was beginning to wonder if I’d suffocated her by letting her breathe too freely.
The bell above the door jingled, and a figure stepped inside, shaking off the drizzle. It was Leo. My brother. Or, what was left of him. He looked like he’d been sleeping in a dumpster, and he probably had.
He slid into the booth across from me, the vinyl groaning under his weight. He didn’t say anything, just stared at my coffee.
“You look like hell,” I said, because Leo always needed a reason to be angry.
He grunted, then reached for the sugar dispenser, pouring half the packet into his cup. “She still gone?”
“Seven days,” I said, watching him stir the sugar until it dissolved into a sickly sweet swirl.
“Figures.” He didn’t sound surprised. Leo never did. He’d always been the pragmatic one, the one who saw the world in shades of gray. I was the one drowning in color, in the chaos of my own making.
“You gonna do anything about it?” he asked, finally looking at me. His eyes were the same cold blue as the storm outside.
I shrugged. “What’s there to do? She’s gone. She’s always gone.”
“You gonna let her walk away with everything?”
“Everything?” I laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the empty diner. “She already has.”
Leo leaned forward, his voice low and gravelly. “Don’t be stupid. You think she’s just gonna disappear into the ether? She’s got something planned, I can smell it.”
“You always smell trouble,” I said, because it was true. Leo was a walking, breathing disaster zone.
“This time, it’s her trouble,” he said, his eyes fixed on mine. “And it’s gonna be a mess.”
I stared at him, wondering what he knew, what he wasn’t telling me. Leo always had a shadow life, a network of informants and shady deals. He was the one who knew the underworld, the one who could find anyone, anywhere.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He shrugged again, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. “I’m gonna watch. See what she’s up to. And if she tries anything… I’m gonna be there to clean up the mess.”
I didn’t trust Leo, not even a little bit. But right now, I was desperate. I was drowning in despair, and he was offering me a lifeline, however frayed and dangerous it might be.
“Fine,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Watch her. See what she’s planning.”
Leo nodded, then took a long sip of his coffee. “Seven days,” he said, his voice echoing my own. “She’s playing a game. And you’re gonna be the pawn.”
I looked at the rain-streaked windows, at the empty diner, at the chipped Formica tabletop. The ash taste in my mouth was getting stronger. I was a pawn. And I was starting to think I liked the idea of playing.