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Shakky opened a window to let the crisp morning air in, the atmosphere in the room way too heavy to breathe. With an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, she picked up Rayleigh’s coat from the ground and gently wrapped it around his shoulders. She could tell that he had been drinking for a while now.
“Are you okay with not being there?”
It’s strange, knowing the exact date and time when someone you love will die. It’s not how it’s supposed to be. It should hit you out of the blue and punch the air out of your lungs, not strangle you this slowly, making you suffocate. This was wrong.
“I’d probably end up killing every single one of them with my bare hands,” Rayleigh replied, his voice hoarse, the syllables falling from his tongue heavily.
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