Marcus

I've barely slept all night, my mind consumed by worry and anticipation. I was hoping Melanie would reach out to me after meeting Daniel's therapist, but there's been nothing. No messages, no calls—just an unsettling silence that gnaws at my insides.

Evie told me that Melanie didn't contact her either. She didn't pick up when Evie called. It's alarming, to say the least. But Evie brushed it off, insisting that Melanie was probably still with Daniel's therapist, sorting things out. I tried to push for more action, to have Evie reach out again last night, but she assured me she would call Melanie in the morning. "Stop worrying so much, Marcus," she said, her voice laced with exasperation. "Everything will be fine."

I glance at the clock on my bedside table. 7:15 am. The sun is slowly creeping into my room, casting a soft glow over the familiar surroundings. I sit up, groaning as exhaustion washes over me. My mind races with a million questions, each one more urgent than the last. What did the therapist say? How is Melanie holding up? What's her next move?

I comb a hand through my hair, and with a grunt, I push myself up from the bed, my muscles protesting the movement. Two weeks ago, I was waking up in Melanie's apartment, with her safely in my arms. Now, the memory feels like a distant dream. I shake my head, trying to push away the memories that threaten to overwhelm me. I have to have faith—what else is there to do right now?

With a heavy sigh, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. It's 7:15 am, and there are no messages from Melanie or Evie. I frown, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. I should text Evie, see if she finally got in touch with Melanie. But part of me hesitates—I know she's probably still asleep, and I'll only drive myself crazy if I send a message and she doesn't answer right away.

I walk out of my room, my footsteps echoing softly as I make my way downstairs. As I enter the kitchen, I find it empty, everyone still asleep. I sigh, a pang of loneliness tugging at my heart as I walk over to the coffee maker. With practiced movements, I fill the reservoir with water, add the coffee grounds, and hit the switch, the soft hum of the machine filling the silence.

Opening the fridge, I stare blankly at the array of ingredients, but the thought of food makes my stomach churn. I'm not hungry. I close the fridge and sink into a chair at the kitchen table, my fingers tapping restlessly on the smooth surface. I pull out my phone, hoping for a message from Melanie or Evie, but the screen remains stubbornly blank.

Finally, the coffee maker beeps, signaling that the coffee is ready. I rise from my seat, and walk over to the machine. I take a mug from the cupboard, the cool ceramic comforting in my hand, and pour myself some coffee. Just as I'm about to take a sip, Natalie's voice breaks the silence from behind me, her words pulling me from my thoughts. "You're up early."

I turn to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, a sleepy expression on her face. Turning back to the coffee maker, I ask, "Want some coffee?"

"Yes, please." Natalie replies, her footsteps filling the silence of the kitchen.

I grab another mug from the cupboard and pour her a cup, the warm aroma of coffee filling the air. With both mugs in hand, I turn around and make my way to the coffee table, taking a seat across from Natalie.

I place a mug in front of her, offering a small smile before taking a seat across from her. As I take a sip of my own coffee, I can feel Natalie's gaze on me. "What's wrong, big bro?" she asks gently. "Something going on with Melanie?"

I nod, still avoiding Natalie's gaze, and let out a small "Yep," popping the 'p'.

"What happened now?" she asks.

I take a deep breath before replying, "Melanie met Daniel's therapist last night, but I still don't know what happened."

Natalie furrows her brow, puzzled. "Daniel is seeing a therapist?" she questions.

I shrug, feeling a sense of frustration creeping in. "Apparently so," I mutter, taking another sip of my coffee.

Natalie's eyes widen in surprise. "And why is Melanie meeting his therapist? Isn't that against the rules or something?" she asks, her tone incredulous.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Melanie intended to ask for her help," I explain, feeling a sense of frustration creeping in. "To let down Daniel a bit more gently and effectively."

Natalie nods in understanding. "Smart," she remarks.

"Yeah," I agree, my voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "Smart."

"So what's the problem?" she asks, her tone gentle yet probing.

I meet her gaze, feeling a knot forming in my stomach. "Melanie didn't reach out to me or Evie last night," I admit, my voice laced with concern.

Natalie raises an eyebrow. "So?" she responds nonchalantly.

I sigh, frustration bubbling up inside me. "Why didn't she?" I ask, my tone tinged with frustration. "Shouldn't Melanie have at least talked to Evie about what happened?"

Natalie shrugs, her expression unreadable. "Don't get in your head so much, Marcus," she says soothingly. "Melanie is probably processing everything. I wouldn't blame her if she wanted some time to herself, not even talking to her best friend."

I shake my head, feeling a sense of unease settling over me. "No, something is up, I can feel it," I insist, my voice firm.

Natalie raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on her lips. "What, are you like a psychic now?" she mocks teasingly.

"That's not what I meant," I retort, my voice tinged with annoyance.

Before Natalie can answer, my phone rings, cutting through the tension in the room. I quickly grab it, glancing at the caller ID—it's Evie.

Natalie looks at me expectantly. "Who is it?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

"It's Evie," I reply, my voice tense with anticipation.

Natalie takes a sip of her coffee, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "See, you'll find out what happened after all," she says confidently.

I shoot her a mockingly annoyed look before standing up abruptly, my heart racing with worry. "I'll be right back," I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper, as I walk out of the kitchen to answer the call.

"Good morning, Evie," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Evie's voice comes through the phone, filled with worry. "Marcus, have you heard from Melanie?" she asks urgently.

I freeze in my tracks as I'm halfway up the stairs. "No, why? What's wrong?" I ask, my heart sinking with dread.

Evie takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "I haven't heard from Melanie either," she admits, her words heavy with concern. "I've been calling her, but her phone is off."

Panic grips me like a vice, and I struggle to keep my composure. "I'll go by Melanie's apartment to see if she's alright," I assure Evie, my voice urgent.

"Okay, thank you, hurry," Evie replies, her tone filled with desperation.

I hang up the phone and rush to my bedroom, my heart pounding in my chest. I quickly change into some jeans and a t-shirt, my hands shaking with nervous energy. Grabbing my jacket, I bolt down the stairs, barely registering Natalie's concerned voice asking what happened. I don't answer her, my mind solely focused on Melanie.

Rushing out the door, I make a beeline for my motorcycle parked on the curb. I waste no time in mounting it and revving the engine to life. With a sense of urgency driving me forward, I speed off towards Melanie's apartment building.

Arriving there in what feels like mere moments, each second filled with dread, I cut the engine and leap off my bike. Without hesitation, I rush to the entrance and hurry inside, my heart pounding so hard I fear it might burst from my chest.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity, the minutes dragging on agonizingly slow. With each passing floor, my anxiety mounts, until finally, the elevator dings and the doors slide open to Melanie's floor.

I practically sprint down the hallway, my footsteps echoing loudly against the walls. Standing outside Melanie's apartment door, I take a deep breath to steady myself before ringing the bell.

After a minute passes with no response, my heart sinks further. I ring the bell again. With no response to the doorbell, I start knocking, calling out desperately, "Melanie, it's Marcus. Please, open the door." My heart pounds in my chest as I wait, but there's still no answer.

Growing increasingly frantic, I continue to pound on the door, calling out Melanie's name louder this time. But still, there's no response. Panic begins to well up inside me, threatening to overwhelm my senses.

Fumbling with trembling hands, I pull out my phone and dial Evie's number. She picks up almost immediately, and before she can even greet me, I blurt out in a voice that breaks with worry, "Melanie isn't answering her door, Evie."