The motorcycle engine died with a low metallic click.
For a moment the street was silent.
The house in front of them looked tired. The paint on the walls had faded years ago, and parts of the wooden frame looked slightly warped, as if the building itself had grown old from listening to too many arguments inside it.
Cristian stepped off the motorcycle first.
"Come on," he muttered.
Cri climbed down from the back seat quietly.
He stood there for a second, looking at the house.
Something about it always made his stomach feel tight.
Cristian pushed the door open without knocking.
Inside, the house smelled like cigarettes and cheap perfume.
A tall girl appeared from the hallway almost immediately.
She was older than Cri by several years. Her clothes were casual, loose, the kind someone throws on without thinking too much about it.
The moment she saw them, her face lit up.
"Hey!"
She walked straight toward them.
Before Cri could react, she wrapped her arms around him and lifted him slightly in a playful hug.
"There's my favorite little guy."
Cri froze.
His body stiffened immediately.
The warmth of the hug lasted only a second before he gently pushed himself away.
Not aggressively.
But clearly.
Like someone who had touched something that made him uncomfortable.
The girl blinked once, slightly surprised.
"Oh."
She laughed awkwardly.
"You're still like that, huh?"
Cri didn't answer.
His eyes had already drifted somewhere else.
The girl shrugged it off and turned toward Cristian.
Her entire energy shifted.
She moved closer to him, standing on her toes to kiss him quickly.
Cristian grinned.
"Miss me?"
"Maybe," she replied with a playful tone.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Did you bring it?"
Cristian smirked slightly.
"Relax."
He pulled something from his jacket pocket and held it up briefly.
The girl's smile widened.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the couch.
"Come here."
Their laughter faded into the other room.
Cri stayed where he was.
The house suddenly felt quieter again.
From the living room, muffled voices and laughter could be heard.
Then the couch creaked.
Cri walked slowly down the hallway.
He didn't look toward the living room.
He already knew what he would see.
Instead, he entered the small bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
For a while, he just stared at the wall.
The wall had small cracks running through the paint.
He followed them with his eyes like they were roads on a map.
In the other room, voices continued.
Cristian's voice.
The girl's voice.
Laughter.
Cri stood up quietly and walked toward the door.
He opened it slightly.
Just enough to see.
Cristian was leaning back on the couch.
The room was full of smoke.
The girl sat next to him, talking quickly about something.
Cristian laughed again.
Cri stared for a second.
Then he closed the door.
Slowly.
Without making a sound.
He walked back to the bed.
Climbed under the blanket.
And curled up facing the wall.
The voices in the other room continued, but they sounded far away now.
His eyes closed.
And the darkness behind them slowly filled with something else.
A memory.
A loud sound.
A hand grabbing his arm.
Someone shouting.
The sharp crack of something hitting skin.
Pain.
Another voice yelling.
The sound of breathing too fast.
The memory blurred together like broken pieces of glass.
He tried not to look at it.
But memories don't ask permission.
They just come back.
—
The sound of breathing returned first.
Slow.
Heavy.
Cri's eyes opened suddenly.
The ceiling above him looked unfamiliar for a moment.
Then reality slowly came back.
He was older now.
Much older.
His body lay on the floor.
His arm hurt.
He looked down.
There was blood on his sleeve.
Not a lot.
But enough to stain the fabric.
His head rested against the cold floor.
For a moment he simply stared at his arm.
Then he let out a quiet, tired breath.
"…So I couldn't even do that right."
He laughed softly.
But the sound had no humor in it.
Just exhaustion.
The room was silent.
Outside the window, the sky was beginning to turn orange with the early light of morning.
Cri looked at the ceiling again.
Still breathing.
Still here.