Run. One leg after the other, I force my feet to carry me forward — faster. I demand my body with strength unknown, yet not enough. No, please, no. I see the headlights rushing towards us, and everything is in slow motion, so why can’t I outrun what’s coming? I picture myself jumping, becoming a bulletproof vest against the moving vehicle — but I know it’s too late. I stumble, fall, scrape my knees. It doesn’t matter. I’m far too late. I must be screaming, yet I hear nothing. Nothing but the overwhelming silence of my best friend, my most faithful and loyal companion, of my little River, who lies with a vacant expression in a pool of blood in the middle of the street. It’s not real. It can’t be real. And as I cradle her to my chest, I ache for the softness of her gorgeous fur, the warmth of her tiny body, the steady beat of her heart. I’m sorry.
I don’t know how, but suddenly I’m at my doorstep. My friends are still desperately ringing the doorbell when it swings open, revealing the startled face of my mother. Her expression collapses into horror the second her eyes land on whom I so carefully hold on to. My light. My motivation. My responsibility. And just like that, I don’t feel 29 anymore — I’m a child who knows she fucked up, begging her mom to fix the unfixable. Please save her. She looks at me like she doesn’t know how to tell me she can’t.
I’m inconsolable; no — I feel nothing. Why can’t I stop crying? Why can’t I do one thing right, just for once in my life? My mom tries to calm me down unsuccessfully — and that’s when she appears. My protector. My constant. My other best friend. My soulmate. I should feel safe, but I can’t bring myself to look at her. I failed. She used to be the one who kept everything in check. River would’ve listened to her.
Why did I ever think it could be me?
Please don’t hate me.
I should’ve known better.
They’ll all hate me.
It’s my fault…
I hate me.
Panic rises again as the urge to explain what happened claws at me. I can feel myself losing focus, but she does not let me. She holds my arms, steady and firm, just like her gaze already locked on mine —
Oh.
Her eyes are telling me to breathe. I feel useless. She tells me, slowly but deliberately, that we’re going to the pet hospital. Her strong character and quiet authority make things easier. I may feel empty and lost now, maybe forever, but when she commands softly and shows me the way, I follow.
I don’t know what’s happening anymore. I just know my mother keeps looking at me like I’m a ticking bomb about to go off. My sister is silent as a tomb, and River’s body sticks to me — heavy, limp, coated in red grime that will never wash away.
As we arrive at the vet, I somehow let go. I see the pity in their eyes, but I refuse to process what it means. I feel myself being pulled away by that ever-confident presence my sister exudes. She takes me to the bathroom and closes the door.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.
It’s the only thing I know to say.
It’s the only thing that I’ll ever say.
The cold water shocks me back into the present as she tightly — yet ever so gently — washes the blood from my arms into the sink. I look deep into her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
And almost as soon as the words leave me, I see it — a slight crack in her stoic mask. Her eyes glisten, though tears would never see light.
For an ephemeral moment, she looks as miserable as I feel. Then she takes a breath. One breath.
“It’s not your fault.” It’s uttered with a kindness and certainty I feel undeserving of.
I don’t believe her. I can’t believe her.
“It’s not your fault,” she says again, with a compassion and courage I can only dream of possessing.
“It’s not your fault.” Because she knows. She knows I might never believe her.
“I’m sorry.”
And then I feel her embrace — warm, safe, and forgiving.
It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay. But will it?
“It will. I promise it will.”
