One Last Dance

I’m sinking into my bed, as usual, on a morning like this. The sky is a dark grey, and thunder rumbles in the distance, growing closer. Two years into this, and I feel more lost than ever. Not a day goes by without questioning everything that led me here. And worse? I still haven’t found an answer.

It’s April 2nd, 2029. Seems like a weird day to note, but this is the day, years ago, I decided to do this. The day I lost the fight. The day the world ended. Right now, though, I need to head to my lecture. I need to make attending this place useful, so I’ll aim for a good grade. I’m out of clothes and should really go shopping. The same three black suits make me look more like an assassin than I intend. Although, maybe that’s the right image—I’m here to commit a kind of homicide.

Forever is a long time, yet people forget that when they talk about sticking to things. Nothing has been the same forever—or at least, that’s what my professor keeps droning on about. His nonsensical chatter about society numbs me more each day. There has to be some constant, right? The hatred I’ve felt for four years now feels like it’ll stay forever. I’ll never forgive Evelyn for what she did.

I’m turning 20 in a month. “The boy will finally turn into a man,” my parents say. I question it. “The boy”? That’s quite disrespectful. But really, I don’t feel ready to be seen as a man, as an adult. I need to finish what she started four years ago before I can even think of moving forward with my life.

“Woah, Isabelle’s finally back,” I hear a hushed whisper from the front of the hall. I look up from my laptop to see her walking towards me, her flowing black hair falling perfectly behind her with each confident step. I sigh. She’s always been a showboat. I can’t help but let out a small smile when she glances at me while she takes her seat next to mine.

“Finally deciding to show up, huh, Izzy?” I say quietly, smirking.

She glares but can’t hide her smile. “Still haven’t ironed that shirt, huh?”

I had, but it had been months since she last mentioned it. “It isn’t my fault you never show up. I actually ironed this one in January.”

She laughs, then notices the professor’s disapproving glance. Lowering her voice, she says, “Nice catch-up. Are you still planning your murder?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not going to murder anyone. It’s different. But for what it’s worth, I’m nearly ready,” I reply, exasperated. She knows full well what I’m up to—nobody will get hurt.

“Well, that’s why I’m here today. Meet up with me outside campus after this lecture. We need to talk.”

I knew she wasn’t here for the sociology lecture—she doesn’t care for the subject. While I pretend to be interested, Izzy’s my best friend, and she’s more invested in my plans than I am at this point. It’s admirable, really.

The last hour and a half of the lecture flies by, with our small talk and casual chit-chat occupying most of the time. I glance at my laptop while leaving, my notes page is blank. Our conversation had overtaken my mind. I guess I missed her—she’s been the only person I’ve talked to since what I call my “great purge.” Allies had plotted against me, and heads had to fall. I roll my eyes and sigh. What will I do if she keeps distracting me?

Swinging open the study hall doors, I make my way out. Those two glass doors won’t restrain me any longer. I step out of the university for the first time in what feels like months. Isabelle is standing there with another girl, deep in conversation. I send her a text to let her know I’m here. She quickly ends her chat and rushes up to me, her face slightly flushed.

“I have so much to tell you.”

“Who’s that then, Izzy? New girlfriend?” I joke, laughing lightly. But when I see her stone-faced expression, my laughter fades.

“This is no time for jokes, Ollie.” The use of my old nickname makes me flinch. It’s been years since anyone called me that, and I prefer it that way, being called that for years only to have my heart ripped out and my life ruined means that name leaves quite a bad taste in my mouth.

“I’ve been talking around. Everyone knows you hate her. You’re the prime suspect if she dies.” Does she really think I have it in me to kill? I just want to ruin her life, or something. I want to cause some damage, I need to cause some damage to make myself move on.

“I’m not going to kill her,” I protest, my voice low. “I’m not a murderer, Izzy.”

“Whatever you say, man. Anyway, she’s going to Brandon’s party this weekend.” Isabelle frowns slightly, knowing how much I hate Brandon. He helped ruin my life—tried to hit me with his car, spread so many false rumours about me. I can’t even begin to explain it all now.

“Really? She always has to make things difficult for me, doesn’t she? Can’t give me anything easily,” I reply, exasperated. Isabelle laughs at my frustration.

“What, you thought it’d be easy? Anyway, I was checking my locker earlier—you might want to see this.” She hands me a sealed envelope with ‘Ollie’ scrawled across it in pink ink, a small heart drawn next to my name. It’s Evelyn’s messy handwriting. Evelyn... It’s been a while since I even thought of her name, let alone saw it. The envelope feels heavy, like there’s more than just a letter inside.

We continued our chatter, the urgency of the conversation fading as we hung out for another hour before finally parting ways. But the weight of that letter seemed to press down on me with every step I took. A reminder of her was like driving nails into my heart, but I needed to know what was inside.

As soon as I got home, I swung the door open, sat at my desk, and tore the envelope apart, opening it to reveal a letter, and a small box.

“To my dearest Ollie,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Four years to the day when you get this—amazing how time flies. Now, I know you’re not big on parties, and neither am I, but this one? Oh, it’s going to be special. The boy will finally become a man, won’t he?

I’ve held onto something from our little escape from the world, our brief adventure away from everything. I’m sure you’ve been missing it all these years. Do you remember what you gave me on our first date? It’s in that box, along with something else I know you’ll find useful.

I’m sure my leaving hurt you deeply; it seems to have that effect on everyone. But you... you’ve always been different, haven’t you? You’re still on my mind, my little olive.

Come to the party, May 2nd. Just the four of us—you, me, Brandon, Isabelle. Consider it a birthday present from me.

With love,

Your Most Perfect Ex Girlfriend, Eve”

I reach for the tissue box, only to see I knocked it on the floor. God, I’m such a joke sometimes. Going to pick it up, I catch a glimpse of the front of a box—a camera. She and her boytoy Brandon get to watch my tears falling. How sweet. I grab the nearest blunt object and ready my arm to slam it into the camera hard, when, from the box, I hear a voice.

“Woah, woah. Ollie, stop, I know you’re upset, bro, but come on.”

Brandon. Why is he speaking through this box? What is this thing? “What do you want, huh?”

“We want you to open this box Ollie”

Evelyn. Her sweet voice cuts through me, melting my heart in a way that makes me sick. God. I can’t handle this—why is she talking? “Oh, don’t worry, Evelyn. I will.” I lace her name with extra scorn, making sure she hears the disdain I hold for her. I glance at what I’m holding—it’s the old crystal she gave me. “Knocked out by your own gift, how ironic.” I slam it into the camera with all the force I can muster. The sound of electric static fills the air as the box springs open. I smirk, but then cringe at my pathetic attempt at a closing line.

That camera… Smart move, really. Just like her to toy with me, really a good try to mess with my head. But still, what else could they be watching me on, my phone? Can they guess every single thing that I’m doing? Do I have to change my whole plan?

While the camera is broken now, I’ve given her exactly what she wants, she got a rise from me, she got the satisfaction from seeing my true feelings about her, or at least the intensity of them. But with Brandon? God. Why has that boy got to be everywhere?

I look into the heart-shaped box. Nice reference, Eve. Oh. It’s the O + E locket, how cute. I’m so glad she gave me that back. I pick it up, more out of irritation than anything else. There’s something inside the locket—of course there is. Evelyn is always one step ahead, it feels. I hate that woman.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I can’t bring myself to open it. Frustration bubbles up, and I throw it onto the floor. The locket snaps open, revealing a small sheet of metal with a number engraved on it. I stare at it, uncomprehending. I don’t recognize the number, but I make a note to text it later. For now, I need to call Izzy.

“Isabelle.”

“Ollie? What’s wrong? Your voice is shaking,” she says, her tone laced with concern.

Didn’t she know? Didn’t she understand what was in the letter? What the hell is wrong with her? “That envelope. Evelyn wrote it. Eve wrote it, and there was this bo-”

“Slow down, Oliver. Take a deep breath and talk to me. It’s 2 AM. What’s going on?” Her voice is a mix of tiredness and irritation.

“What? Oh my god, I didn’t realise the time. I’m so sorry. She wrote a letter. Here, let me show you.” I snap a picture of the letter, and send it off to her.

She takes what seems like forever to read the letter, punctuating her reading with several sharp intakes of breath. “With LOVE, Ollie?” she suddenly exclaims. “Love?? You’re here plotting her death, and she’s signing off with love?”

“I know. Once again, I’m not plotting her death. Stop saying that. You’re making me seem like the bad guy here.”

“Maybe you are, Oliver.”

“What do you mean?”

“She clearly doesn’t hold anything against you, while you’re plotting the most evil revenge against her. Have a good look at yourself. Just make sure you go to that party.” Her words are harsh, but her voice betrays her and shows her true reluctance. “I’m going to sleep now, okay, Ollie?”

Before I can respond, she’s hung up.

What was that all about? Izzy was acting so off. I quickly jot down a note to talk to her about it after class tomorrow. My gaze fixes on the engraved number. The digits are meticulously scraped into this razor blade, the engraving so precise it’s clear a lot of effort went into it. The least I can do for Eve is send a text. I’ll play along with her little game.

I sit down in bed, pondering what to send them. My eyes close and I daze off. I begin dreaming.