The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long, thin shadows across the room. I woke with a start, the remnants of last night still heavy in the back of my mind. The satisfaction of creation, the blood still vivid in my thoughts. But the world didn't stop. It moved on, and today, so would I.
I grabbed my phone, the habitual check of messages and notifications, and then I saw it.
Cooper: Missing.
The headline was loud on the screen, almost mocking me as I tried to shake off the remnants of my recent actions. The news anchor's voice was a dull hum in the background, his words a blur as my eyes locked on the photo of Cooper. His smiling face, so full of life just a day ago, was now reduced to a headline. I leaned closer, scanning for any detail that could give me some satisfaction—some recognition of what I had done. But nothing. Just a disappearance. A tragedy. I didn't feel guilty. I didn't feel remorse. I felt... nothing.
The anchor went on, talking about how authorities were searching, how they hoped for a safe return. I stared at the screen for longer than I intended, the dull hum of the news almost like a lullaby. But I couldn't let it trap me. I had bigger things to do today.
I pushed myself off the couch, dragging myself to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee. My body felt heavy; my mind clouded. But as I drank, something stirred. Something familiar. The itch to create. To make something that would last beyond me. My art, my masterpiece. Maybe I had another idea in mind. Maybe this was the start of something bigger than just... that one painting.
By the time I finished my coffee, the thought of the event looming later that evening was pulling at me.
I hadn't seen most of my old schoolmates in years, and honestly, I wasn't sure why I was going. The whole idea of it felt distant, but something about reconnecting was enticing. Especially considering the one person I had always wanted to approach but never did—Becker. She was the one who had always kept to herself, never fully fitting in with the popular crowd. She had this energy about her, this calmness that drew me in without me even realizing it back then. She wasn't like the others. And yet, I had always been too shy to even say more than a few words to her.
I sighed, trying to shake off the hesitation. Maybe now was the time to change that.
I spent the next few hours preparing, dressing in something simple but sharp—just the right balance of casual and polished. The kind of thing that would keep people's eyes on me, but not enough to make me seem out of place. I needed to blend in, to observe before I dove into any conversation.
The preparation was almost therapeutic. I had become so accustomed to the art of planning my movements, even when it wasn't about creating. I brushed my hair back, ensuring everything was in place. A part of me still felt like I was preparing for something much more important than a reunion.
When I walked into the venue later that evening, the crowd was already buzzing, filled with laughter and chatter. The familiar faces, all of them older now, some changed, some the same. It was strange, seeing them all in one place after so many years. The weight of time seemed to rest heavily on everyone, and yet, some of them still clung to that high school version of themselves. It was almost painful to watch.
My eyes searched the room, scanning for her. Becker. I knew she'd be here. I didn't even have to look too hard. She was standing by the far wall, her posture the same as I remembered—confident, composed, yet detached. It was like she was in her own world, and I could never quite get in. But tonight felt different.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling that familiar wave of anxiety hit. It had been so long since I had interacted with people like this, especially someone I had always wanted to know better. But I couldn't turn back now.
I pushed through the crowd, my heart hammering in my chest, and made my way toward her. When I reached her, I paused for a moment, unsure of how to start.
"Becker," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
She turned, her face lighting up with recognition, though there was a faint edge of curiosity in her gaze. "Wow, I didn't expect to see you here. It's been forever. How have you been?"
For a second, I couldn't speak. The words felt like they were stuck in my throat. But then I remembered something—the same thing that had kept me from talking to her all those years ago: the fear of rejection. Of being an outsider. But now, I had nothing to lose. So, I just went for it.
"I've been... okay," I said. "Just keeping busy, I guess. I've been wanting to reconnect with some of the old crowd, you know?"
She smiled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, it's funny how time flies. I've been doing the same—keeping busy with work, life. But it's nice to see some familiar faces."
We talked for a while, the conversation flowing more easily than I expected. The tension between us had faded, replaced with the ease of two people who had shared a part of their lives but never really got to know each other. And as we spoke, I felt something inside me stir—a desire to learn more about her, to understand what she had been through, what made her so... different.
Becker had this quiet intensity about her, something that made her stand out even in a crowded room. She didn't try to impress anyone, didn't make herself the center of attention. Yet, somehow, people gravitated toward her. I watched her from across the room as she spoke, her voice soft but confident. She had a way of making people feel important, as if they mattered. And I wondered if she could ever see that in me—if she could ever see me as more than just a shadow.
But as the night wore on, I couldn't help but feel like something was missing. The buzz of the crowd, the music, the laughter—it all felt so empty. It wasn't enough. Nothing ever felt enough. I could sense that familiar pull again, that need to create, to leave a lasting impression, to have something truly mine in this world.
I glanced at Becker again, watching her as she exchanged words with some of the others. She was comfortable in her own skin, relaxed, while I felt like a stranger in a crowd of people I should've known. The difference was clear: she had a life, a future, a purpose, while I was still lost in the fog of my own desires.
It was only when I glanced at Becker, her eyes bright with excitement as she shared stories with some of the others, that I realized I had to make a choice.
Do I pursue this connection with her? Or do I let myself get lost in the madness again, where the only thing that matters is the next brushstroke—the next moment of creation?
I excused myself from the conversation, feeling my stomach tighten. As I moved away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on the edge of something. Something bigger than this reunion. Something dangerous. The itch was growing again, louder than before, demanding to be scratched.
The event continued on, but in the back of my mind, the thoughts were already spiraling. The darkness was never too far away, and neither was the hunger for something more.