Michael wasn't a cheerful person.
I had never seen him surrounded by friends, never heard his voice in casual conversation, never noticed anyone trying to get close to him.
He existed… quietly. Distantly.
The only time I ever saw him smile—
really smile—
was when he looked at his English literature paper.
And even then, it felt like that smile wasn't meant for the world… but for something only he could see.
Whenever I tried to pull him into anything—games, conversations, anything at all—
he would simply… disappear.
Not refuse.
Not argue.
Just leave.
Then, one day… I saw him.
By chance.
On the street.
I don't know why I followed him.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe something else I didn't understand back then.
I kept my distance, careful not to be noticed, trailing him from a park… to a restaurant…
until he stopped in front of a bar.
And then—he went inside.
The guards didn't stop him.
I hesitated for only a second before trying to go in after him—
But they blocked my way.
I shouted his name as loudly as I could.
"Michael!"
No response.
No reaction.
Nothing.
The guards pushed me back, eventually throwing me out, no matter how many times I insisted that I knew him… that I was his friend.
Even though…
deep down, I already knew what kind of place that was.
I just chose to ignore it.
When I got home, I asked my mother.
I don't even know why I asked.
Was it curiosity?
Or was I just… looking for a reason to talk to her?
It had been a month since my father died.
And in that entire month…
we hadn't spoken.
Not about food.
Not about school.
Not about anything.
She looked at me, confused.
"What?!"
That was my first mistake.
At least…
that's what I call it now.
I didn't understand what I had done—
not until he hit me.
My mother had gone to a teacher.
She told him everything I told her.
The teacher called Michael in.
Then contacted his family.
When they arrived…
there was no "family."
Just an aunt.
She was only twenty-two years old.
Working as a waitress… in a bar.
Child welfare services got involved.
And when Michael found out…
He came to me.
It was the first time I saw him cry.
I still remember it clearly.
There was no anger in his eyes.
No shouting.
No accusations.
Just… tears.
Quiet.
Unforgiving.
That was the last time I saw him.
Until the day I graduated.
I saw him again…
standing near the university gate.
Leaning on a motorcycle.
Watching me.
I don't know how he found me.
I don't know how he recognized me after all those years.
But he did.
I didn't recognize him at first.
Not until he walked closer…
looked straight at me… and said—
"Damn you, shorty!"
And just like that—
I broke.
I cried like a child.
As if something buried deep inside me—something I had locked away for years—had suddenly been forced open.
Guilt.
Regret.
Relief.
All at once.
He stood there.
Waiting.
Silent… until I finished.
Then he said he only came to say hello… and leave.
But I couldn't let him go.
How could I?
When I believed I was the reason his life had fallen apart?
But he told me something I never expected.
Child services had contacted a wealthy family.
They took him in.
He continued his studies.
And now…
He was in university.
He didn't look like a typical university student.
There was still something distant about him.
But I didn't care.
I was just… happy.
Too happy to even ask which university he attended.
We talked.
For a long time.
It was… easy.
Comfortable, even.
He told me he worked at his adoptive father's company.
And he repeated, more than once—
"They're good people."
We laughed.
We ate together.
And for the first time in years…
it felt like something had been repaired.
I insisted on paying.
"Damn it! It's my graduation day—so it's definitely on me!"
We parted ways with smiles.
Simple.
Light.
I returned to my friends at the university.
We went out drinking at a place nearby.
I don't remember much after that.
Only that I drank… too much.
I was on the verge of collapsing.
The barmaid caught me before I hit the ground.
My so-called friends?
They left.
Just like that.
She took my phone.
Called the last number.
Michael.
After that…
Everything goes dark.I woke up in a bed.
Sunlight spilled across the room… soft, almost kind.
Too kind.
It didn't match the weight inside my head.
A sharp pain throbbed behind my eyes, spreading slowly, as if something inside my skull was trying to wake up before me.
I tried to move.
My body felt… wrong.
Heavy.
Distant.
The bed beneath me was damp.
Cold.
Clinging.
At first, I didn't question it.
The place I lived in always let the rain in.
Water on the sheets wasn't unusual.
But something felt off.
There was no sound of rain.
No dripping.
No wind.
Just silence.
I forced my eyes open.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Red.
For a moment… my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.
It wasn't water.
It was thicker.
Darker.
The bed was soaked in blood.
I stared at it.
Not moving.
I woke up in a bed.
Sunlight spilled across the room… soft, almost kind.
Too kind.
It didn't match the weight inside my head.
A sharp pain throbbed behind my eyes, spreading slowly, as if something inside my skull was trying to wake up before me.
I tried to move.
My body felt… wrong.
Heavy.
Distant.
The bed beneath me was damp.
Cold.
Clinging.
At first, I didn't question it.
The place I lived in always let the rain in.
Water on the sheets wasn't unusual.
But something felt off.
There was no sound of rain.
No dripping.
No wind.
Just silence.
I forced my eyes open.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Red.
For a moment… my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.
It wasn't water.
It was thicker.
Darker.
The bed was soaked in blood.
I stared at it.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
And then—
something strange happened.
I didn't feel afraid.
That realization came later.
Like a delayed echo.
I should have been terrified.
Anyone would be.
But I wasn't.
Instead…
I felt nothing.
My hands were resting on the sheets.
Covered.
Sticky.
I lifted them slowly, watching the way the light caught the dark red coating my skin.
It looked… almost unreal.
Like it didn't belong to me.
"…This isn't mine."
I don't know why I said it out loud.
There was no one there to hear me.
Or so I thought.
A faint sound echoed somewhere in the room.
Soft.
Wet.
I turned my head.
Slowly.
As if something inside me already knew what I would find—
and was trying to delay it.
This wasn't my room.
I knew that now.
Every detail felt unfamiliar.
Every corner… wrong.
I stood up.
My legs trembled, not from fear—
but from something closer to hesitation.
The door to the bathroom was slightly open.
And something inside me…
didn't want me to look.
But I did.
Step by step.
Closer.
Closer.
The smell reached me first.
Metallic.
Thick.
Then the silence.
The kind that presses against your ears until you hear your own heartbeat.
I pushed the door.
Just a little.
And saw her.
The barmaid.
Her body lay twisted on the floor.
Still.
Too still.
Blood pooled beneath her, spreading slowly, like it had been waiting for me to notice.
I stared.
Waiting.
For something.
A reaction.
A feeling.
A scream.
Nothing came.
Instead…
a thought surfaced.
Clear.
Calm.
Too calm.
"When did I kill her?"
I froze.
I didn't remember.
Not a second.
Not a moment.
Not even a fragment.
Only darkness.
And before that—
Michael.
My breath caught.
For the first time…
something cracked inside me.
Not fear.
Recognition.
I took a step back.
Then another.
My eyes never leaving the body.
My hands… still covered in blood.
And suddenly—
they didn't feel unfamiliar anymore.
They felt…
right.