Sometime in the mid-2010s,
September, Brăila, Romania

I was no corpse, yet I was rotting inside, living without purpose or direction like a hollow shell.

Simple-minded and ignorant—I longed to exist just like that, as many others did because living and feeling had become too painful to bear. But in my quiet surrender, you stormed in—a whirlwind, a shot of pure adrenaline, slicing through life and shaping it to match your desires, disrupting everything.

Had I been wiser, I might have recognized the tempest you carried within, heeded my friends' advice, and kept my distance. That way, we would have never met, and the story I'm about to tell would've never happened. But how could I have known that the day you'd storm into my life would find me at my most vulnerable?

Per my usual routine, I was supposed to skip the first period. Walk around the city and make my way to Kalloss, that excuse of a bar, once it opens—always far too early for even the most dedicated of alcoholics. They never asked for IDs, and I enjoyed the liminal feeling of spending my mornings in an empty bar.

To keep it healthy, I could have walked to a park, like I sometimes did. Honestly, I should have gone anywhere but to class—anywhere but to the building filled to the brim with hawk-eyed students thriving on gossip.

It wouldn't have been the first or last time I'd skip. My attendance was far from perfect. Hell, last year, the number of classes I missed reached triple digits. An accomplishment even for myself.

But when mamaie* handed me the backpack that morning and told me she was "so happy to have me back and send me off to school again," as I was about to leave the house, my legs moved on their own. Before I knew it, I was already in and out of the bus, heading to class. A stupid decision, really.

Shaking my leg, I stared at the old clock pinned above the blackboard as if that would make it speed up. Twenty minutes to go. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen... Fuck it, I wasn't able to take it anymore.

Lifting my hand, I chewed on the inside of my cheek, waiting for our math teacher, Mr. Ciumag, to take note of it. He has never been the most observant or the fastest to react, to say the least. Next to me, my deskmate, Becka, shot me a worried look.

"You okay?" she mouthed.

Unable to give her an explanation, I shook my head. I could only guess how I looked in her eyes. As I got ready in the morning, the paleness of my skin and drained eyes surrounded by purple circles in the mirror did not go unnoticed by me, either. The high-coverage foundation and all my makeup seemed unable to continue hiding the ghastly state I was reaching.

After a good minute or so, Mr. Ciumag lifted his head from his book, finally taking note of my raised hand and saving me from finding an explanation to give Becka.

"Yes, Achimescu?"

Having my last name called added a burning annoyance to my precarious state. It was one of the things the teachers here always did, addressing us by our surnames, that is. I always hated it—just as much as I hated the name and this whole shithole of a city.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I said.

Lifting his arm, Mr. Ciumag looked at his watch, taking his sweet time again before his attention returned to me.

"There're fifteen minutes before the class ends."

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I said, "Yes. I know."

Cold sweat made its way down the nape of my neck.

"Then it can wait. You're not in middle school anymore, Achimescu."

Ugh! I wanted to smack his head so that the few pieces of hair clinging to the sides would fly away and give him proper baldness.

"No, it can't."

Gripping the ends of my pullover, I willed my face to stay impassive. Getting Mr. Ciumag to see anything but compliance would only spite him and make him do anything but let me go. Even more so since our little skirmish last week when his attempt to put me into place got me throwing the chalk at him, and he threw a three in my grade list. Better than sending me to the principal. However, fixing my final grade for his class would be a hard mission to accomplish this semester.

My temper was getting worse by the day, I was painfully aware of it. The most minor things set me off, but I did not regret this one. The fucker deserved it for calling me to the blackboard, trying to embarrass me in front of everyone for dozing off.

His anger was completely unwarranted. Our class was not even part of the life science concentration. We focused on sociology and humanities and only had one hour of mathematics per week. No one cared.

Mr. Ciumag raised one of his faded eyebrows. He didn't like my tone. Well, I didn't like wasting more time on his bruised ego, either. My daily allotted politeness was running out fast. I just wanted to get the fuck out already. Fast. Before—No. There was no before. I let go of the pullover and dug my nails into my palm.

I am fine.

I will be fine.

If only this fucker would let me go already!

Willing my voice to stay steady, calm, and polite, I tried again.

"It's a girl emergency. It can't wait."

Truth be told, I was lying through my teeth. I wasn't getting my period for another week or so. But sometimes, a girl's got to do what she's got to do. There were only so many things the cursed thing was useful for.

Mr. Ciumag's round eyes grew the size of my mamaie's soup pots, and a rosy tinge reached his chubby cheeks, winning another wave of laughs from the class. Glad I could entertain you today as well, I thought.

Chances were, my fellow classmates expected a rematch. Can't blame them. In the two weeks since school started and I joined their class, my short fuse and big mouth got me in more trouble than necessary.

With the number of incidents I managed to, more or less, create since joining their class, I was guaranteed to win the Best Entertainer Award at the upcoming Balul Bobocilor* without even participating in the competition.

"Well—" Mr. Ciumag cleaned his throat. "Well, then, you may go then."

He barely finished his sentence, but I was already up on my feet, rushing to the door. I did not plan to return.

When I reached the bathroom, I didn't even get to close the stall's door when the contractions took over, and the bitter venom left my throat. A gift from my unhappy bile and empty stomach.

A complete mess, wasn't I? I've been one for a while, but lately, it has been getting worse and worse. It was just one of the reasons my mother shipped me back to our hometown to live with mamaie.

She hoped that this shithole of a city would help me "calm down and clean up my act." I told her to 'shove it up her ass' and go live there herself if she so wanted 'calmness.' Of course, that didn't happen. Instead, she packed my stuff and shoved me in the car before I could attempt to even think about fleeing.

As the last bits of venom left my body, turning me into nothing but a piece of putty on the cold, tiled floor, the dirty surface no longer bothered me. How's this for relaxation, now, mamă?

Tilting my head back, I wanted to laugh at my stupidity. This is what I get for trying to play the good granddaughter. Moving to rest my weakened arm on my knee, I closed my eyes, taking in the quietness of the empty bathroom for a couple of breaths.

I fucked up. How could I attempt to be someone that didn't even exist? The granddaughter my mamaie knew and loved so much vanished long before my mother decided to return me like the defective product she saw me as.

The phone buzzed at my feet, where I left it after checking the time. Then, a text from Becka asking if I was okay popped up on the screen. I didn't reply, giving myself a moment to calm down my breath and mind before I pocketed the phone, pushed myself up with shaking limbs, and flushed down the proof of my failure.

Holding onto the walls for support, I dragged myself out of the bathroom and down the empty corridors, glad that classes weren't over yet and no one could see me like this. I needed to leave. I needed to get out of there and get my hands on my pills. On anything, really. At this point, I couldn't care if it was my medication or something else. It was stupid of me to believe I could give it a go and get away with it, that I could live the life my mother wanted so desperately when I was so thoroughly broken.

The bell rang. Doors opened one after another, voices filled the corridors, and I dragged myself through the entrance. I walked fast, or as fast as I could, in that state, not really paying attention to my surroundings or the people making their way out of the building and into the courtyard behind me.

If only I could get a cab or contact Thirty and get him to come by, I could make it.

Yes. That's it. I would text him and ask. Something small would do. Though we didn't stay in touch, I knew he dabbled in dealing before I left. He wouldn't turn down an old friend in need now, would he?

Stumbling towards the parking lot, I took out my phone, my mind all made up. The sweat covering my body turned colder, and my fingers trembled over the screen as I typed.

"I just need to—"

—send it, I thought as the much too familiar blackness started taking over my sight and numbing my senses. Knowing what to expect, I put my hands on the nearest car and slowly slid down.

"Raisa!"

"Are you okay?"

Andrei and Dani's worried voices approached. They must have been having their morning cigarette by the corner shop instead of going to the first period.

No! Stay there! I wanted to shout but, in my writhing state, couldn't.

Focusing on the patch of asphalt before me, I could see a group of cars pulling up like rushed colored gems shining in the sun, with a black hole in the lead. The roars of their engines resonated deep within my bones.

"I think we need to call an ambulance," I heard Andrei say through the many voices of gathering students. My heartbeat picked up.

"No," my shout came out like a cat's strangled meowing. Wetting my lips, I begged again. I found myself avoiding eye contact with my friends, finding comfort in drilling more holes into the pavement even as I pleaded. "No, please don't..."

A pair of black leather boots closed in.

"N...no!" I cried. My voice was broken, lids fluttering, too heavy to stay open and see who picked me up. I pushed and hit their chest in futile revolt.

A doctor would quickly diagnose what was wrong. Worse, they would definitely call my family. Hell would break loose. I didn't need the whole school to be involved in my business, either.

My captor didn't move, and the iron chest that met my fists made me wince in pain.

"Calm. It'll be okay." His words vibrated in my ear, low and masculine. I didn't recognize it.

None of my classmates or friends had such a firm build, either. My breath quickened. I tried to open my eyes, but they fell closed again, the morning light too intense to bear the heaviness of my lids.

His voice was like the deepest of nights, caressing my eardrums when he said, "There'll be no doctor."

My urge to fight left me with his soft promise. I felt the stranger walk away with me in his arms. Then he stopped. I heard Dani. His voice was close again.

"Raisa! You know him?"

"Take your hand off me," the stranger warned with the growl of a vicious wolf.

"I asked you a question. Where're you taking Isa?"

"Mhmm..."

"And I told you to take your hand off me. Before I break it, Devinescu," he bit into each word.

Dani... I bet the rest of our little morning smoke group was caught on and gathered behind him by then. My throat was strangled by the idea of being seen like this. My jaw clenched, teeth grinding.

Since I moved back, Dani and his group have welcomed me with open arms. He was one of the few friends I'd made at this school, and although we'd grown closer over the past month, we rarely hung out outside of school hours.

We'd skipped classes and had drinks together, but they didn't know me as well as they thought. They didn't know the real me, the real reason behind my current state, and I planned to keep it that way. So, I did the best next thing. Turning, I buried my head deeper into the stranger's chest, my hands clutching the material of his shirt in hopes of turning it into curtains that I could close around my face. Being unable to see the betrayed look on Dani's face at my response was a blessing.

"Dani, man..." Andrei intervened. I could picture him shaking his head just from the sound of his voice.

A pause.

Dani sighed, probably doing what he was told.

"She needs a doctor, Hamza," he tried one last time, strained.

"I think I know what she needs better than anyone."

"What can you—"

The stranger, Hamza, my salvation from this shameful moment, was already walking away, calling for Scooby to help him with the car door before I could hear the rest of Dani's words. I chuckled weakly at the ridiculous nickname. It was a bad move. Pain split through my skull like a sharp blade, and I winced.

Securing the seatbelt, the air turned thick with a mixture of citrus, bergamot, and tobacco. With warm fingers, he checked my pulse before pulling away, leaving me in the passenger seat. Muffled voices swirled outside the car, their words indecipherable through the glass. The driver's door swung open, and the engine roared to life.

Over the noise, I heard Dani shouting my name. The car lurched forward, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Nothing good would come if I let Dani and the guys bring me to the doctor. Yes. It was better this way. But the more I realized that my way of handling this whole situation meant letting a random guy take me god-knows-where in such a precarious state, the faster my breath became. Maybe I had my reasons, but this could go so, so terribly wrong. 

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Glossary

Mamaie - the Romanian way of saying grandma/grannie

Balul Bobocilor - Organized by seniors, the Freshman Ball takes place yearly to welcome the 1st year intake. Besides the usual party, it has a talent competition and fun awards, which can vary per High School, but it mostly ends with choosing a King and Queen of the ball from the participating freshmen.