Apartment — Sunday 12:22 am

The numbers on the clock mock me. They know. And yet they still blink, they still go on.

One week ago, my world changed.

I changed.

What did I ever do to deserve this? Was it pre-destined? Had fate somehow decided I wasn't worthy?

I remember my philosophy professor talking about fate and free will once. He said there's an argument to be made for free will being an illusion. That it's just a figment of our imagination.

I don't believe that. I refuse to believe that. If we didn't have free will then no one would responsible for their actions.

He won't be responsible for his actions.

And he needs to be. He just needs to be. I won't accept another option.

He had the free will to let me go, but he didn't. He held on.

He's still holding on.

Why did I talk to him that night?

Why didn't I walk away?

I have free will too.

I didn't have to smile at him.

I didn't have to laugh at his jokes.

I didn't have to drink his drinks.

But I did.

My choice.

My choice.

The thought guts me. I can feel my stomach turning. The bile rising.

NO.

I will not do this.

Not now. Not today.

This is not my fault. I did nothing wrong.

I chant it over and over again, but deep down, I wonder.