Chapter Three: The Day Before I leave
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Phyro's hand froze on the door handle.
He could hear them — wet footsteps scraping against the pavement. Snarls, gasps, the unsteady rhythm of broken things trying to move like people.
Lisa's voice was shaking. "Phyro. Go."
But he couldn't. Not yet.
His heart thudded in his ears, but the rest of the world muted — like he was underwater. Like it wasn't real.
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3 years ago.
There were flowers at the funeral, but no one brought her favorite ones.
Lisa wore black. Not a dress. A suit. She said dresses were stupid for funerals. That Mom would've laughed at everyone pretending to be polite when they never visited her in the hospital.
Phyro didn't cry. He just stood there, holding his sleeves, numb.
He was only thirteen.
Lisa was twenty-two. She didn't even hesitate — took one look at him after the service and said, "You're staying with me."
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Her apartment was small. She decorated it with stupid posters and plastic plants to make it feel less empty. She made breakfast every day even though she couldn't cook. She called him "kiddo," even though they both knew he wasn't a kid anymore.
And she smiled.
She always smiled.
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School was hell.
He wasn't loud. He wasn't weird. He just existed — and for some reason, that was enough.
People called him names, shoved him into lockers, carved words into his desk. Teachers ignored it. One even laughed.
Lisa saw the bruises once. He said it was from gym. She didn't believe him.
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The first time, he took a whole bottle of sleeping pills. He woke up in the hospital, dizzy and cold. Lisa was there when he opened his eyes — holding his hand so tight it hurt.
The second time, he tried to jump from the roof of the school. He didn't even remember climbing up. Just the wind. Just the ache.
The security guards pulled him back. Lisa came home that night with red eyes in silence.
She didn't yell.
She didn't cry.
She just sat on the floor next to him and said, "You don't get to leave me too."
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He thought about that moment a lot.
How quiet she looked when she said it. Like she'd already buried him.
How the loudest, brightest person he knew sounded like someone completely hollow when she thought he was gone.
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Now.
The woman in the red dress reached the front of the car and slammed her face against the windshield. Glass spiderwebbed.
Lisa screamed. "PHYRO!"
His hand gripped the bat. Tight.
He opened the door.
"Move!" she shouted.
They ran — Lisa in front, swinging the knife, Phyro right behind her.
The alley roared behind them.
The infected had found them.
And this time, Phyro didn't want to disappear.