The rain had been falling steadily for hours, streaking the towering neon signs and pooling in the cracks of the pavement below. The city seemed alive in its misery, every drop of water carrying a whisper of sorrow as it splashed against the metallic surfaces of a world that had long since given up on dreams. The figure stood at the edge of a bustling intersection, though the crowds had thinned to mere shadows beneath the relentless storm. Alone and unmoving, they clutched a broken umbrella, its neon edges flickering like a dying heartbeat.
It was Jim.
His trench coat was soaked through, clinging to his frame as if to weigh him down further. He didn’t shiver, though the cold had long since seeped into his bones. He couldn’t feel it anymore. The ache in his chest, sharp and unyielding, consumed all else. Above him, holographic advertisements flickered and shifted, their vibrant colors promising a better tomorrow that never came. The city’s glow reflected in his tired eyes, but he didn’t see it. His gaze was fixed downward, staring at the shimmering puddles that distorted the lights into a chaotic kaleidoscope.
The letter still lingered in his thoughts, each word a shard of glass he’d swallowed willingly. He had poured everything into it, baring his soul in a way he never thought he could. It wasn’t the act of writing it that had hurt the most; it was the realization that came after, the understanding that he couldn’t take it back. Love, no matter how profound, wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for Audrey.
He had loved her—God, he had loved her. The memory of her laugh, her sharp wit, her fire, all of it was etched into him like scars. But he had also resented her in ways he couldn’t reconcile. Her indifference to the job he would have died for, her inability to see how much her mistrust had chipped away at him, her insistence on knowing every movement he made. He had stayed silent for so long, letting those feelings fester, until they had grown too big to contain.
The umbrella sparked again, briefly illuminating his face in the fractured light. A tear rolled down his cheek, indistinguishable from the rain except for the way it burned. It wasn’t fair to blame her for everything, he knew that. He had made mistakes too. He had buried his frustrations until they erupted in drunken arguments, had failed to communicate when it mattered most. And then there was the secret he had kept—the one about her body, about how it didn’t match some ideal he had no right to cling to. He hated himself for even thinking it, let alone for the way it had added to the distance between them.
The city groaned around him, the hum of machinery and the hiss of the rain blending into a mournful symphony. He felt small, a single thread in a vast, unraveling tapestry. He thought of Audrey again, wondered if she had read the letter yet. He imagined her sitting in their apartment—no, her apartment now—with the envelope in her lap. Would she cry? Would she curse his name? Would she feel relief?
He’d never know. He had made sure of that when he left the letter and walked out the door for the last time. It wasn’t a choice he made lightly, but it was the only one he could live with. Staying would have meant more fights, more hurt, more of the slow, agonizing unraveling that had brought them to this point. Leaving was a mercy—for both of them, he told himself. But the emptiness it left in him felt anything but merciful.
A low rumble of thunder rolled through the city, and Jim finally moved. He stepped out into the street, the puddles rippling around his boots. He didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t care. The city stretched endlessly in every direction, a labyrinth of steel and light and despair. Somewhere out there, he hoped, was a place where he could start again, where the weight of his choices wouldn’t crush him. But for now, all he could do was keep walking, the broken umbrella sputtering in his hand and the rain washing over him like absolution.
illphated