The Lie You Live By

The apartment door clicked shut behind me.

The sound echoed more than it should've.

Too quiet.

I half expected Lyra to be waiting, maybe arms crossed, maybe just sitting at the table like she hadn't been checking the door every ten minutes all night.

After the voicemails, after everything she said, some part of me thought she'd still be there.

But she wasn't.

She had responsibilities. Probably caught the monorail already. Off to another perfect day of speeches and scholarships and pretending everything's fine.

The drive back was a blur. My head was still spinning.

I needed to sleep. Or lie down. Or stop existing for just five minutes.

I climbed the stairs. Slowly.

Paused outside her door.

Same way I did last night.

I wanted to knock. Just say I was back. That I was fine.

But the light wasn't on. Her door was cracked just enough to tell me what I already knew.

She was gone.

I turned toward my room.

It was ajar.

I hadn't left it like that.

My stomach tightened, but not from fear. From something slower. Heavier. Like walking into a silence that already knows what you're about to find.

I pushed it open.

And stopped.

Lyra was there.

Sitting on the edge of my bed.

Slumped forward, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding her ribs together.

My notebook sat open beside her, pages crumpled like they'd been gripped too hard. The photo, my old photo of Anya, lay in her lap, creased from too much handling. Beside it, her tablet. The screen was dark now, but I knew she'd seen something.

Her eyes were red, lashes clumped with the kind of tears that dry too slow.

She wasn't crying anymore.

Just… shivering. Zoned out. Like she'd reached the end of something and couldn't decide if it broke her or left her hollow.

She didn't look up.

Didn't move.

I stepped inside. Quietly. The door clicked shut behind me.

Still nothing.

"…Lyra?"

Her breath hitched. Not like a sob. Like a heartbeat she didn't expect to feel.

When she finally looked up, it hit me harder than anything in the Gutter.

Not anger.

Not fear.

Just hurt.

"You didn't even tell me," she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely there.

I didn't answer. I didn't know how.

Her hand moved, slow, lifting the photo. She held it up between us, then let it fall to the bed like it burned.

"First I thought… maybe you two broke up," she said. Her voice was tight, like a thread about to snap. "That would've explained how you were acting. The silence. The way you stopped looking me in the eye."

She nodded toward the tablet. Didn't look at it.

"I found the footage. You and him. Talking."

Her jaw clenched.

"I watched the whole thing."

She paused. Her fingers curled slightly.

"You went to the Gutter, Dio."

Her voice dropped, brittle and cold.

"With him... You didn't even really hesitate."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Her hand hovered over the notebook.

"I thought maybe you were just… trying to get away. That Anya left and you couldn't handle it."

She shook her head.

"But watching you talk to him like that? It's worse. You weren't trying to get away."

"You were trying to turn it into a story. Something noble. Something tragic. Something where you're the one hurting the most."

She stood. Slowly. The bed creaked beneath her.

"What did you say?" Her voice sharpened. "That you wanted to save her?"

She looked at me like she was trying to decide if I was still sane.

But all I could see were the bags under her eyes. The dried salt on her cheeks.

"I kept thinking maybe I missed something. Some reason. Some truth. But there wasn't one. Not in your voice. Not in your silence."

She stepped toward me.

"I thought you were gone."

I swallowed. "I came back."

"No," she said. "You just returned to the place you left."

"I covered for you. Lied to Dad. Checked every angle of every hallway. Sent voicemails until I couldn't breathe."

Her fingers trembled on the doorknob.

"Next time you decide to disappear," she said, voice quieter now, "maybe tell someone who still cares."

She opened the door.

Paused.

Didn't turn.

Just muttered, like it physically pained her:

"And you smell like shit, by the way."

The door clicked shut behind her.

Soft.

Too soft.

I stood there like an idiot, still facing the spot she'd just been.

I wanted to say something.

Anything.

Tell her the truth. That Anya was Marked. That I saw the crack in her eye and knew it meant the end of everything. That I went into the Gutter not because I trusted Cayos, but because I didn't trust the world not to take her from me.

That I was scared.

That I still am.

But the words just... wouldn't come.

They jammed in my throat like glass. Sharp. Useless.

And now she was gone too.

I thought about following her. About saying her name. About making some shitty apology, or joke, or promise I couldn't keep.

But my legs didn't move.

My hands just hung there. Empty.

I was tired. Not the kind you sleep off.

The kind that wraps around your bones and whispers that it's too late now.

So I sat on the edge of the bed she'd just left. The blankets were still warm.

The photo lay between us. Bent. Familiar.

I didn't pick it up.

I just stared at the door.

And wished I hadn't let it close.

—

I sat there. Just breathing.

Not crying. Not yelling. Not thinking, really.

Just… sinking.

The room smelled like old sweat and rain-soaked concrete. Like rust and burned metal and something chemical I couldn't name.

Her voice echoed in the silence, too clear to forget.

"You smell like shit."

I hadn't realized how badly I reeked until the door clicked shut behind her.

Like smoke and wet metal and sweat left too long in the folds.

Like the part of me that went down there never really came back up.

I peeled off the hoodie. It clung to my skin, stiff with sweat and salt and something older. The sleeves stuck like they didn't want to let go.

I folded it slowly. Not because it mattered. Because doing it sloppily felt wrong.

Stuffed it into the laundry basket. Shut the lid like that would keep the truth from leaking out.

Then I picked up the photo from where she'd dropped it.

Her smile still looked like summer.

But the crease down the middle hadn't been there before.

I smoothed it flat with my thumb and set it gently on the dresser.

Then I walked to the bathroom.

Looked at my reflection in the cracked mirror.

Turned the shower on.

Sat on the edge of the tub.

The water steamed up the mirror almost instantly.

But I didn't move.

Didn't undress. Didn't get in.

Just sat there. Elbows on knees. Hands in my lap.

She was right. I did disappear.

I just kept coming home like the shadow of someone who didn't know he was gone.

The steam clung to my skin. The sound of the water felt miles away.

—

I didn't follow Cayos because I trusted him.

I followed him because I didn't trust myself not to ruin everything if I stood still.

Because if I kept waiting, I'd hear the door close and never know what I lost.

Because the Gutter was somewhere I could go and be someone else.

Someone reckless. Someone brave. Someone she might need.

And maybe…

Someone who could survive her leaving.

—

The water kept running.

Eventually, I shut it off.

The mirror was fogged over. The crack ran straight through the mist.

No reflection. No one left to answer to.

I returned to my room. Pulled off my shirt. Lay back on the sheets she'd wrinkled.

Held the ring she nearly dropped.

And told myself I wasn't disappearing.

Just… becoming harder to find.

Then I closed my eyes.

And the second I did…

—

I was standing in the meadow.

Not the one I knew.

This one was wrong.

The grass was silver, too tall, swaying in wind that didn't touch my skin. The sky pulsed in shades of dusk, but there was no sun. No source.

The forget-me-nots were blooming. Hundreds of them. Thousands. But they were all turned away from me.

Like they knew I didn't belong.

And at the centre of it all…

Her.

Anya.

Standing by the stone. Hair down. Coat pale against the swaying field.

She looked older.

Not in her face. In her posture. In the way she didn't turn right away.

Like she already knew I was there.

"You shouldn't be here," she said. Quiet.

I stepped closer.

The flowers didn't part for me. I had to push through.

"Anya... you don't have to go. I-I'm going to find a way to bring you back. I swear it."

She turned then.

Her eyes hadn't changed. Still deep brown. But in the left, the crack was wider. Spreading now. Like lightning frozen in glass.

"No," she said. "You're not."

"You don't understand. I found someone. He knows things. He said-"

"Cayos," she whispered.

And for the first time, I saw her shiver.

"You're following him, Dio."

She took a step back.

"Why?"

"Because I have to save you."

The words came too fast. Too certain.

Her expression didn't change.

"No. You need to save something in yourself. You just put my face on it."

I opened my mouth.

Closed it again.

The wind stopped.

The sky flickered… just once. Like a heartbeat skipping.

"Please… I promised."

She looked down at my hand.

The ring was gone.

I hadn't dropped it.

It had just… vanished.

"You think that promise makes you strong," she said. "But it's the chain that's breaking you."

"If you follow me…"

She stepped onto the rock.

"You will lose everything."

"Then I'll lose it."

"You already are."

Behind her, the Citadel shimmered into existence. Towering. Black. Hollow at the centre.

The Gate began to open. Light spilled through.

She walked toward it.

I ran.

But the flowers tangled around my legs. Tightened. Pulled.

"Don't follow," she whispered again.

She stepped into the Gate.

And turned to look at me.

Smiling.

But it wasn't kindness.

It was goodbye.

The Gate closed.

—

I woke up gasping.

My sheets were soaked.

The ring was still in my hand.

I sat up slowly, every part of me aching with something sleep couldn't fix.

Across the room, the mirror above my dresser caught the early light filtering through the blinds.

There… right down the middle, a thin, fresh crack.

It hadn't been there yesterday.

It didn't match the one in the bathroom.

This one was new.

Mine.