"Lisa!"
The name tore out of me as I jerked awake, my arm shot up, reaching for her.
My fingers closed around air.
Nothing.
Sweat glued my shirt to my skin. My heartbeat drummed wildly in my ears.
For a second, I didn't know where I was.
I lifted my head, eyes scanning the cell.
Empty bunk beds.
Grey walls.
Metal bars.
A table surrounded by empty chairs.
She wasn't here.
Or… was she ever here?
I didn't know.
I placed a hand over my chest.
The pulse beneath my palm was frantic. I pressed harder, as if I could force it to slow down through sheer will.
Haah.
I took a deep breath.
Held it.
Let it out.
Haaah.
Again.
In and out.
The air smelled of blood and sweat.
Not like her.
But my skin—
My skin still tingled where her hair had brushed my cheek.
I lowered my hand and stared at it.
Her fingers intertwined with mine, her warmth, her soft skin—I could still feel it.
Not just in my hand.
I felt it everywhere.
Her embrace, arms wrapped around my neck.
Her weight as she leaned into me.
Her hands cupping my cheeks.
And her perfume—that scent.
Yune flowers.
It clung stubbornly to my senses.
My eyes closed, and for a moment it felt like—
She was still here.
My eyelids fluttered open.
And it was gone.
The feeling she left behind vanished.
In its place came the sticky sensation of dried blood on my face and clothes.
The sharp iron stench filled my nose.
My limbs ached, exhaustion clung to me, and my empty stomach twisted painfully.
It was as if she had never been there at all.
Haah.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my gaze drifting across the empty cell.
Alone.
Realization crept in.
And—
Slowly—
Something wrapped itself around my heart.
It felt cold.
A slow tremor started in my fingers and spread through my body.
My body trembled, then shook.
My heart raced faster and faster, breath turning shallow and uneven.
I was alone.
Fear wrapped itself around me, tightening until it turned into terror.
I whispered, barely audible.
"No."
I shook my head, words spilling out one after another.
"No, no, no—"
I squeezed my eyes shut until it hurt, wishing—begging—for the feeling.
For her presence to return.
It didn't.
'It can't be.'
But—
It had felt real.
Her touch.
Her voice.
Her scent.
It felt too real.
My eyes snapped open, taking in the empty cell once again.
But the truth remained.
Was I losing my mind?
Lisa was dead.
She couldn't be here.
It was impossible.
So then—
What was that?
Did I hallucinate?
A dream?
An illusion?
I swallowed hard.
Was it just my imagination?
'It doesn't matter.'
The thought came from somewhere.
I didn't know why, or where it came from—but it settled.
'It doesn't matter.'
It anchored itself in my mind, firmly, as if to remind me.
And somehow—
I accepted it as if I had been the one to speak those words.
Yes.
It didn't matter.
It didn't matter how she appeared.
It didn't matter if it was real or just my imagination.
Because whatever it was—
It saved me.
No.
She saved me.
Haah.
I released the breath I'd been holding.
My heart slowed, my breathing steadied, the tremor in my body fading.
I whispered.
"Thank you."
There was no answer.
My throat tightened as I calmed down.
I—
I wanted to give up.
I wanted to stop.
To end everything.
But Lisa—real or not—had reminded me of something I couldn't let go of.
She was waiting.
For me.
My hand drifted back to my chest, pressing over my heart.
I knew.
I knew what I had to do.
To survive.
She had told me.
To survive until tomorrow.
A single day.
Just one.
That was all she asked for.
My lips moved, shaping the words as I whispered them.
"Survive until tomorrow."
And then—
Again.
Until my next tomorrow.
Just that one day.
She wanted me to give everything I had to survive for one day.
That was all.
Everything she asked for.
My fist clenched over my heart.
A whisper escaped me, sealing the thought.
"Survive."
My voice echoed through the cell.
"Until tomorrow."
I said it again, firmer this time.
"Survive. Until tomorrow."
And somehow—
It felt like a small weight lifted from my shoulders.
Breathing became easier.
Haah.
I exhaled and lowered my hand.
Clang.
The shackle struck the bedframe as my arm dropped.
My gaze followed the sound.
'At least one weight had been lifted.'
I sighed and raised my head again, letting my eyes wander across the cell.
The eight bunk beds were empty.
On the circular table were metal cups.
Fifteen of them.
Yesterday...
This room had been full.
Today—
It was empty.
My eyes lingered on the cups.
Sixteen teens.
Now, there was only me.
Silence enveloped the cell.
Then, without warning, a truth formed. It settled into me—heavy and unforgiving.
'I am alive because all of them died.'
My hands curled into fists.
The reason I was alive—
'Is because I killed one of you.'
The boy.
The one I killed.
I didn't even know his name.
Did I even remember what he looked like?
Was it blond?
Or brown hair?
Maybe even black?
I didn't know.
I couldn't remember.
What I did remember—
Was the last "No—" torn from his throat as he fought for a breath.
And—
Crack.
The sound of his neck snapping.
My stomach twisted at the memory.
That was all I remembered.
The rest?
A blur.
Then, suddenly, a memory resurfaced.
White stitching against black cloth.
A number.
His number.
[14]
The number flashed into my mind. Clear as if I had taken a picture.
My lips moved before I knew it, whispering.
"14."
I killed him.
The boy without a name.
Without a face.
The boy with the number 14.
I killed him to survive.
And—
I have to keep killing them...
If that's what it takes to reach my tomorrow.
My stomach churned again, nausea rising, but I held it in.
The thought was ugly.
But I didn't look away.
Because I had promised.
To her.
That I would survive.
Until tomorrow.
If I needed to kill—
My fists clenched harder, nails biting into skin.
I will kill.
My jaw tightened as I stared at the empty beds.
Don't forgive me.
I don't deserve it.
I don't want your forgiveness.
Your deaths—
They were something I had to do.
Something I chose.
And I will have to live with the consequences.
So instead of forgiveness—
I am asking you to hate me.
A face rose, but I pushed it away before it could settle.
Because—
He had asked the same of me.
Yes.
Hate me.
Curse me.
Because that will make me feel better.
Even if you beg—
I won't stop.
Not because I don't want to.
But because I can't.
I have a goal to reach.
A person who is waiting for me.
And a promise to keep.
So the only thing I can do for you—
My gaze shifted to the stone wall beside the bed.
A grey wall.
—is to remember.
The idea came out of nowhere, like a spark catching fire.
To write their numbers on the wall.
To remember them.
To not forget.
It felt simple.
I leaned closer to the wall, lifting my thumb to my mouth.
And—
I bit down.
Hard.
Pain flared up, sharp.
But it wasn't enough.
I forced my jaw tighter and bit down until I tasted iron.
My thumb throbbed violently, the skin torn and bleeding.
I ignored the pain and raised my hand to the wall.
Tap.
The wall was cold.
Crimson stood out on grey.
My hand moved, slowly, writing the first number.
[14]
My hand trembled as I wrote, but I made it clear enough to be read.
Then—
When I lifted my thumb to write the next number.
I froze.
The next number...
What was it again?
I could remember 14 clearly, but the others?
My hand hung uselessly in the air as I closed my eyes, searching through my memory.
I tried to picture them.
Their faces.
But—
I couldn't remember anything.
Then—
The fight.
It replayed in my head.
I remembered.
The first boy struck down.
The girl dragged screaming to the ground.
The boy beheaded by the guards.
But—
What did they look like?
What were their numbers?
Remembering them felt hard, too hard.
I felt guilty.
How could I forget something so simple?
Fifteen numbers.
That was all.
Then—
Another image surfaced.
A number stitched onto black fabric.
Once white.
Now soaked crimson.
My eyes opened.
My thumb moved again as I wrote the next number.
[12]
But—
When I moved to write the next.
I stopped.
Again.
Nothing.
Minutes passed.
It took some time for another picture to appear.
Another number surfaced.
My finger moved.
[20]
I stopped again and tried to remember the next number.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
Until—
[5]
The last number.
My hand dropped as I finished.
An ache spread through it, but I ignored it and kept my gaze fixated on the wall and shifted it to the side, following the line of numbers.
I counted silently.
Fifteen.
Fifteen numbers.
Fifteen lives.
Red written on grey.
A whisper left me before I knew it.
"I will remember."