4- My wildest dreams

August 18th. World I. 2016.

My morning hasn't been pleasant since I left my house, and now I have to add to this the fact that this stranger apparently knows even my date of birth. Does she know my exact time and the position of my moon too? Because I don't know if she's trying to find out everything to do witchcraft on me.

Although I'm somewhat skeptical about those things, I usually take precautions. But today, I really don't care if someone wants, I don't know, to add something strange to my drink.

Earlier, I wanted to think, but now I hate the idea.

"Gossipmonger and stalker," I growl.

"Well, you do have a voice in public," that's what she says, but I snuggle up better against the window. "Hey, Eron Montjoy!"

"So noisy…" I mutter. "Go listen to the Jonas Brothers or something."

"Is it true about Faven Hope?"

Inevitably, my muscles proceed to tense up.

"I don't believe that someone so radiant could have…"

"Not everything that glitters is gold," I interrupt, as I straighten up. Now I actually look at the meddler. "Just get lost."

"They found no traces, nothing concrete enough to incriminate him," she continues, oblivious to my desire to never hear her again.

"I'm sorry to inform you that it did happen. Were you his stalker too? You're doing a bad job. Go bother some daycare center you came from, I want to sleep."

"Oh, Eron, I'm just seeking to confirm something that has no evidence," she winks. It sends shivers down my spine, in a negative way.

"I doubt they will publish such grotesque photos in the media," I turn my back on her again. "Please be quiet. You irritate me."

"As someone close to his family, didn't you see them?" She questions again as if nothing. "The photos after the incident, I mean."

It's not like I had been interested in seeing them (the photos), much less now. Yes, I am a masochist, but I don't reach such a level of stupidity where just by hearing the news I couldn't stand up for a long time. A part of me, a very large part of me, couldn't stop wishing to accompany him in that dark ending that offers no return.

I could understand if it had been my doing, but him? If I were to see those images of him there, covered by a white sheet and bloodstains, I might already be admitted to a psychiatric hospital for having fallen into the pits of dementia.

"We are in the same university, Eron Montjoy. You can talk to me with complete confidence," she takes a deep breath. "Are you coping well?"

Something in her tone changes from cunning to soft, understanding, doubtful, as if she seeks to console me with her voice, and… it makes me sick.

"Of course, after six months of so much garbage, people still talking about what my best friend, the coward, did, makes me feel like I'm in Walt Disney Park, you opportune girl. Cowards flee, and he did! He committed suicide, and that's it! Can you leave me alone!?"

It seems that my tone was abrupt, broken and loud because the passengers fell silent and focused on this abandoned area in the back, thirsty for more gossip that would serve as a new topic of conversation. My eyes, burning with the desire to release tears, focus again on the author of the untimely question. Before she can form a sentence, my body starts to tingle, and I feel every part of me like trembling jelly. I'm scared.

Various accusing voices make themselves heard in the form of echoes. They don't even give me time to feel prepared for the attack. "He is disrespectful" "He was never taught to be a gentleman" "He is loud" "He looks like a lazy person" "Why don't they kick him out of here?" "Human scum in this generation" "In my day, young people were kind" "Because of people like him, they say men are disgusting" "Who was he friends with?" "Stay away from him, misery is contagious."

And there's that voice that stands out from the murmurs around me. The one I haven't directly heard in six months: You are very direct and honest. But that's part of you and no one should change it.

No, please…

My pupils move frantically as so many strangers observe and judge me without knowing me or knowing my name. I am dissociating reality to the point where I don't know if I am crying or not.

I barely notice the girl starting to slap my cheek. I know she is hitting me, although my skin doesn't feel any contact. On the contrary, my chest hurts a lot because it keeps receiving blows in the form of words and that wears me down; it hurts.

What makes me aware that I haven't completely collapsed yet is the chill running through every inch of my arms.

"Mind your own business! Can't you see he is deteriorating?" The girl shouts into the distance. Wasn't she next to me? "Why don't you come and help? Someone, call for emergency help!"

"Just as rude as him."

My throat burns and I can even feel suffocation taking over me.

"Eron!" Her voice reaches my ears lost amidst all the noise. "Snap out of it! You are breathing, don't deceive yourself! Think… think… the music! Listen to it, get drunk on it. Don't close your eyes!"

Despite that, the surroundings move at a speed multiplied by a hundred, and it becomes increasingly difficult for me to bear the weight of my own body.

"I am…" The colors fade away along with my voice. "Coming… back…"

"Please, call for emergency help!" this girl pleads again, echoing.

When I close my eyes, I hear Faven Hope's loud, shrill, and worried voice scolding me for not eating anything and reminding me that I would lose even more weight if I kept going like this.

Then, I hear the sound of something breaking. It must be the shattering of the cracks forming in my heart.