Night shifts black

There are many other pictures also. Some are harmless. Red carpet shots, live performance photos, fan pics, but my gaze starts getting stuck on the less i

ocent ones. These come with headlines. Rumors. Drugs. Disturbances. Disputes. Arrests. I skim some of the articles themselves, but they don’t seem real for some reason. It’s his name, sure, but the person they’re describing isn’t the man who offered me a drawer in his guest room. The man who loses sleep over a chair.

It’s time. I’ve delayed long enough, and I add the name “Elena” to my query.

I slam my laptop shut.

I saw it. It was too big, on too many links. I couldn’t escape it in time. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. I close my eyes and clench my fists, wanting to run to him and hide from him at the same time. I shouldn’t have given in, but I did, and now I’ve sentenced myself to the truth. One word. One clue that changes everything. And now it belongs to me, too.

Suicide.