The sun's barely risen, but I'm already moving. My mind is racing as I pull on my jeans and shrug into a t-shirt. The house feels too small, too quiet. I'm buzzing with energy, like my body can't contain it all. I slept maybe three hours, but I feel like I've had ten shots of espresso and a fucking lightning bolt to the chest.

Today's going to be a good day. I decide that as I lace up my boots with sharp, efficient movements. My fingers are trembling, but it's fine. It's fine. Everything's fine.

I glance at the mirror, running a hand through my hair. It's sticking up in too many directions, but I kind of like it that way. Disheveled but intentional, like my entire existence. My reflection stares back at me, a little too bright-eyed, a little too sharp around the edges. There's a tightness in my chest, but I ignore it. I don't have time for that today.

Valarie. I've got lunch plans with Valarie. That's enough to keep my mind focused. She texted me last night, checking in like she always does, and for once, I actually responded. I'm not proud of how I've been shutting them out. Her, Declan, Adrian. But I needed the space. Or at least, I thought I did.

Now, I'm not so sure.

I grab my keys and helmet and head out the door, the morning air hitting me like a slap to the face. It's cool and crisp, the kind of air that makes you feel alive. I straddle my motorcycle, the machine purring to life beneath me, and the vibration settles something restless in my chest.

***

When I pull up to Valarie's building, she's already waiting outside, her arms crossed against the chill. She looks up as I stop in front of her, and her face lights up in that way that always makes my chest feel too tight. She's wearing a leather jacket, that I bought her, over a dress and tights, and somehow, it works. She always makes everything work.

"You're early," she teases, stepping toward me as I hand her the spare helmet.

"Miracles happen," I reply, grinning as she climbs on behind me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and it's like a puzzle piece snapping into place. Her warmth seeps through my shirt, and for a moment, everything feels... okay.

***

The road stretches out ahead of us, the hum of the engine vibrating through my bones. Valarie's grip tightens as we pick up speed, her fingers digging into my stomach. Her presence reminds me I'm not alone, even when my mind tries to convince me otherwise.

But then I see it.

A flash of red and white in the distance. A storefront with a faded "Darlene's Flowers" sign. My chest tightens. My mother's name. It's just a coincidence, I tell myself, but the memories come anyway, unbidden and sharp.

Darlene. My mom. The woman who used to braid my hair when I was a kid, who laughed too loud and too often when she was sober, who broke every promise she ever made when she wasn't. The woman I was supposed to bring Valarie and the guys to meet. The woman I'll never see again.

My grip on the handlebars tightens, my knuckles going white. I can't breathe. It's like the air's been sucked out of my lungs, replaced with the weight of everything I've been avoiding. The anger, the guilt, the fucking emptiness. It all comes crashing down at once, and I can't stop it.

My vision blurs, my focus narrowing to a pinprick as the memories flood in. Her laugh, high-pitched and manic. The slurred apologies. The times she held me too tightly, the times she didn't hold me at all.

I'm driving faster now. Too fast. The world rushes by in a blur of colors and sounds, but I can't stop. I don't want to stop. The engine roars beneath me, drowning out everything else, but it's not enough to drown out her voice in my head.

"Elias!" Valarie's voice cuts through the haze, sharp and panicked. Her arms tighten around me, her nails clawing at my stomach, but it barely registers. I'm too far gone, lost in the spiral.

The turn comes out of nowhere.

I'm going too fast. I know it the second I lean into it, the tires skidding against the asphalt. Valarie screams, the sound piercing through the roar of the engine and the rush of blood in my ears.

And then we're airborne.

The world tilts, everything spinning in a sickening blur of sky and pavement. The bike crashes to the ground with a deafening screech, and we're thrown from it. Time slows, every detail searing into my brain with terrifying clarity. The feel of Valarie's body leaving mine. The weightless, helpless sensation of falling. The sound of my own ragged breath.

We hit the ground hard.

My body slams into the pavement, pain exploding in my shoulder and ribs. The world goes dark for a moment, the air knocked out of me. When I come to, everything is still. Too still.

"Valarie?" My voice is barely a whisper, rough and strained. I try to sit up, but my body screams in protest. "Val?"

My heart pounds as I scan the road, my vision swimming. Then I see her, a few feet away, lying on her side. She's not moving.

"Fuck," I breathe, crawling toward her despite the searing pain in my ribs. "Valarie, please." My hands shake as I reach out, my fingers brushing her shoulder. She stirs, a small, broken sound escaping her lips.

Relief floods me, but it's short-lived. She's hurt. I can see the blood on her arm, the scrape on her cheek. My chest tightens, guilt crashing down like a tidal wave.

She groans, her eyes fluttering open. Some bystanders start to gather. Checking to make sure we are okay. I hear someone on the phone, describing our accident.

The bike is totaled, the metal frame twisted and broken. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters. All I can think about is how close I came to losing her. How close I came to losing myself.

And for the first time in days, I feel something other than numbness.

I feel terrified.

***

The rhythmic beep of Valarie's monitor feels like a metronome, ticking off the moments I've spent in this chair, staring at her. She's asleep, her arm in a cast and resting on a pillow, her face dotted with scrapes and bruises that make my chest feel like it's being squeezed in a vice.

I shouldn't be here. No, I mean, I should be here. For her. But I shouldn't be sitting here while she's lying there, hurt because of me. The nurses told me I was lucky, just bruised ribs and a few scratches. But this? This feels worse than any broken bone. This guilt sitting in my chest, clawing at my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

She stirs, her eyelashes fluttering before her green eyes crack open. They're foggy with pain and sleep, but the moment she sees me, her lips curve into the smallest smile.

"Hey," she whispers, her voice hoarse.

"Hey," I manage, leaning forward so she doesn't have to strain. "How're you feeling?"

She blinks a few times, her gaze sweeping the room before settling back on me. "Like I got hit by a bus. But I'm guessing it was a motorcycle."

I let out a breath that's more laugh than sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Val, I'm so-"

"Stop," she cuts me off, her tone firmer than I expected. "Don't even start."

"Valarie-"

"I mean it, Elias," she says, her eyes narrowing. "If you're about to sit there and grovel, don't. I'm okay. You're okay. That's all that matters."

My throat tightens, the words I've been holding in threatening to spill over. I don't deserve her forgiveness. Not for this. "It does matter. You're in this bed because of me. Because I couldn't keep my shit together."

She tilts her head slightly, her gaze softening. "You weren't trying to hurt me. It was an accident."

"An accident I caused," I say, my voice cracking on the last word. "I was driving too fast. I wasn't thinking. I-" I break off, swallowing hard as my eyes drop to my hands, clenched into fists in my lap. "I'm so fucking sorry, Val."

For a moment, the room is quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor. Then I feel her hand on mine, her fingers threading through mine despite the IV taped to the back of her hand. It's such a gentle, simple gesture, but it almost undoes me.

"Elias, look at me," she says softly.

I lift my gaze reluctantly, meeting hers. There's no anger there, no blame. Just... understanding. And that makes it so much worse.

"What happened?" she asks, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Out there, I mean. You've been holding everything in, and then this. Talk to me."

I exhale sharply, leaning back in the chair as I scrub a hand over my face. "I saw something. On the way to lunch. A sign. It said 'Darlene's Flowers.'"

She frowns, confused. "Darlene? Your mom's name?"

I nod, my throat tightening again. "Yeah. It just... it hit me. Hard. All at once. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. And instead of pulling over like a sane person, I sped up, like I could outrun it."

"Outrun what?" she prompts gently.

"Her," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "The memories. The fucking guilt. The anger. All of it."

Valarie stays quiet, her gaze steady, and somehow, that makes it easier to keep going.

"I haven't told you much about her," I say, my fingers tightening around Valarie's as if they're the only thing tethering me to this moment. My voice cracks slightly, and I clear my throat. "But she wasn't... easy. My mom, I mean. She was complicated, messy. A tornado of contradictions. One minute, she was fun and full of life. Taking me to the park, dancing around the kitchen to some old rock song. And the next... she was gone. Not physically, but in every way that mattered."

Valarie's brow furrows, her lips parting slightly, but she doesn't interrupt. She just watches me, her eyes steady, her silence pulling the words out of me.

"When she was sober," I continue, my voice rough, "she was... almost who I needed her to be. She'd make pancakes shaped like dinosaurs, or sit with me for hours helping with my school projects. But when she was drinking, when she was high... it was like she wasn't my mom at all. She'd disappear into her room or some stranger's car. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days."

The weight of those memories presses down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hand flexes around Valarie's instinctively, and she squeezes back.

"She used to promise me things," I say, my voice quieter now, but no less raw. "Big things. That she'd quit drinking. That she'd stop buying drugs from some asshole who scared the hell out of me as a kid. That she'd get her life together, for both of us. That she'd be the mom I needed her to be."

My throat tightens, the ache spreading to my chest. "But she never did. And I kept waiting. My whole fucking life, I kept waiting for her to wake up one day and choose me. To choose us. To be someone she couldn't be. And now she's gone."

The room feels impossibly small, like the walls are closing in around me. My breath comes faster, shallower, as I force myself to keep going. "And I'll never hear her apologize, Val. Never. I'll never get to tell her how much she fucked me up, how much I hated her for making me grow up so damn fast. For making me feel like I had to be the adult when I was just a scared kid."

I pause, my chest heaving, and look down at our hands, my thumb brushing over the back of hers. "And now she's gone, and there's no closure. No resolution. Just... this endless fucking ache. Like a part of me is still that kid, standing in the doorway, watching her stumble through the house, praying she'd just look at me and see me. Really see me."

I glance up at Valarie, and her eyes are glossy, her lips pressed into a tight line like she's holding back her own emotions. "And the worst part," I say, my voice breaking, "is that I don't even know if I wanted her to change for me or just so I could stop feeling like a failure for not being enough to make her try."

Valarie doesn't say anything right away. She just reaches up and cups my face, her palm warm against my cheek. "Elias," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "You didn't fail. She did. And I'm so sorry she couldn't give you what you deserved."

Those words, soft-spoken, stir something deep inside me. I let myself feel the weight of it all. The grief, the anger, the loss. All of it.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats.

I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

"But it's not yours, either," she insists. "You couldn't fix her, Elias. That's not on you. It was never on you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I look away, staring at the sterile white walls of the hospital room. "I know that, logically. But it doesn't feel that way. I feel... angry. At her. At myself. At the whole fucking situation."

"And that's okay," she says, her voice steady. "It's okay to be angry, Elias. It's okay to feel all of it. But you can't keep it bottled up like this. It'll eat you alive."

I glance back at her, my chest tightening at the sight of her. Bruised, battered, but still so damn strong. "I don't deserve you."

She smiles faintly, her green eyes shining. "Maybe not. But you've got me anyway."

The weight in my chest shifts, just enough to let me breathe a little easier. "I'm going to make this right, Val. I swear."