All That's Left

Chapter 1 | Vania

Present
2023
Seventeen years old

''Miss? Are you all right?'' The cab driver's concerned voice pierced through the haze in my mind, a jarring reminder of the emotions I had tried to bury when it was clear that I had no right to feel them. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, brows furrowed. I felt the sting of tears welling up, their silent descent betraying the facade of composure I struggled to maintain.

As a tear traced a solitary path down my face, I quickly brushed it away.

I hadn't cried in two years, and now certainly wasn't the time.

''Yeah, I'm fine,'' I mumbled, fixating my gaze on the passing scenery outside the car window. ''Thank you,'' I added for good measure. The cab driver hadn't attempted to make small talk during the entire trip, sparing me from the need to unravel the web of emotions tangled in my chest which I had buried.

I didn't want to go back to Penasco.

A year ago, the mere thought of going back home would have held a glimmer of comfort, but that was before everything changed. Before Paisley decided she wanted nothing to do with me anymore.

I could have looked for opportunities elsewhere and created a new life for myself where no one knew about me or what I had done. I even promised myself that I would never come back to my hometown, but life has a cruel way of making liars out of us.

I had envisioned a future where I had buried the memories until I eventually forgot about them. Forgot about the pain.

But how could I forget when Penasco bore the scars of my mistakes? I carried the weight of a fractured community on my shoulders, a community I unwittingly tore apart.

A few residents left Penasco after what happened—people I had known my whole life—and their departure was an unspoken testament to the wreckage I left in my wake.

And then there was the unbearable burden of my father's absence—a void eternally accusing me. My sister's screams, haunting and accusing, painted me as the architect of our family's demise.

And I was.

I had killed my mother, and years later, I killed my father.

And they weren't the only ones.

Three other people—innocent people—had been killed alongside my father.

But even because of these reasons, I knew that no matter how badly I wanted to avoid Penasco for the rest of my life, I would always go back.

Because there was a guy named Dorian Lowe who lived in Penasco who had promised me that no matter what happened or what I did, he would never give up on me.

But even as his once-spoken words echoed through my mind, I wondered if he would be glad I was back. Or if he had grown to blame me for everything that happened as everyone else did.

As the distance to Penasco grew less, my thoughts became consumed by Dorian. What life had he built for himself in my absence, seeing as our lives used to revolve around each other?

Yet, amid my curiosity, a dark thread of doubt wove its way through my thoughts. Did he still regard me as his best friend, or had the silence between us eroded that title? During the two years I had been away, I hadn't called him or his family once, and the guilt weighed heavily on me.