Soul Fulfiller

I noticed my mom bend over, then rise, tears streaming onto my dad’s shoulder. I needed to get in! But he just shook his head from side to side — no matter how badly I wanted to, I couldn’t go in.

He was momentarily distracted by another officer, and I realized these were my seconds. I slipped past the first officer, who lunged after me.

When I reached my parents, my mom screamed — my mom screamed:

“You’ll see everything from here!” Three bodies lay before me, covered head to toe in sheets. My heart sank, and my stomach began to churn. A buzzing in my head and a confusion of what was happening.

Were they dead? No — no! That can’t be true! NO! I screamed in pain and collapsed to my knees, sobbing. A police officer behind me grabbed me, trying to hold me back, but I tore free and rushed even closer.

They were unrecognizable — their bodies were in such terrible condition that I couldn’t even tell who was who. I only recognized my little nephew, smaller in stature than the two bodies lying before him. No. Just last night we had all been having dinner together, talking, laughing —and now they were gone.

I was staring at three blackened corpses, hardly bodies at all, so little was left of them. Everyone around us was watching, but I didn’t notice. I looked at my parents: my mother was sobbing uncontrollably, and my father had covered his face with his hands, unable to do anything.

I screamed with all the pain tearing through me from the inside.

His words echoed in my head: “You’ll regret this.”

None of this was an accident. It was him. My thoughts focused on only one person— the only one who could have been responsible.

Firefighters tried to pull me away, but I broke free and fell to my knees, slamming my hands into the wet ground a few times, screaming in pain again. Everything inside me was collapsing.

They finally sat me down on a wet bench beyond the tape, where a young woman in a white coat was saying something to me — but I wasn’t listening. I was lost in myself. “You’ll regret this,” his words echoed again.

I quickly wiped my tears and jumped up, heading for my car. Fumbling, I pulled the keys from my soaked jeans, now a gray-brown instead of their usual blue.

From behind, someone shouted:

“Grab her!”

That only made me run faster. I flung open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. But before I could close it, some stranger grabbed the door.

“Don’t do this,” he said.

“What? Let go of the door, I’m fine!”

“I doubt it.”

“Get off! I’m leaving whether you like it or not.”

“Alright, then I’ll go with you,” he said, hopping into the passenger seat in an instant.

I was stunned. I glanced back at the house, still burning, wiped my tears once more — and saw a man shouting: “Blaine, I said stop her, not go with her!”

“Blaine, so,” I said, feeling my indignation rise. “What the hell are you even doing?”

“Where are we headed?” he replied, ignoring my question as if we were following some predetermined plan.

I started the car and jerked forward. One thought consumed me — Colin. He was to blame for everything. I didn’t know what I was about to do, but I let instinct take over. My hands gripped the wheel tighter as I shot past three cars and, barely avoiding a truck, crossed the intersection on yellow. Speed had been my passion since childhood, ever since my father first put me behind the wheel. It was fun — but maybe those were the last warm memories I had with him.

Blaine stayed silent, not uttering a word about driving more cautiously. I knew he was enjoying my maneuvers just as much as I was. But unlike him, I was filled with a rage that just wanted to burst out.

I ran out of the car, slamming the door hard, and went to the front door, pounding my fists and kicking. I tensed when I heard him coming down the stairs. The door opened, and Colin stood before me with a smug grin. I immediately pounced on him, punching him in the face, leaving a cut that immediately began to bleed, and punched him in the chest a couple of times, making him make a sound like pain. He pushed me back onto the couch and stepped aside.

“Are you completely crazy?” he yelled.

“You freak, did you do all this? Admit it!” I advanced on him, waving my arms. I picked up a glass from the table and threw it at him, but Colin dodged, and the glass shattered across the room.

“Calm down! I told you you’d regret it! You should feel what I feel.” “You bastard! How could you?! You’re an insensitive degenerate!” I picked up the plate and threw it at him again. This time the shards shattered, and Colin stepped on one, screaming in pain. He looked at me with a sinister gaze and advanced on me. I remembered that look; it was the same as the night he raped and beat me.

At that moment, Blaine stepped in, positioning himself in front of me.

“Man, get out of the way!” Colin barked irritably, trying to move forward. He had already raised his hand, as if to grab me, but Blaine surged toward him with incredible speed, clutching him by the collar. A heartbeat later, with one sharp motion, he shoved Colin back, sending him staggering — clearly unprepared for that kind of resistance.

Before Colin could fully recover, he swung at Blaine, but Blaine slipped aside effortlessly and struck him across the ribs with an open palm, a whipping motion rather than a punch. The blow wasn’t about brute force, but it was so precise that the air was knocked out of Colin’s lungs. He froze for a second, folding over in pain.

“Don’t come near her,” Blaine said quietly and firmly. His gaze was icy, a clear warning that one more wrong move would have consequences.

Completely losing control, Colin made one final lunge at Blaine. But before he could reach him, Blaine landed a perfectly coordinated punch to his jaw. The strike was sharp and powerful, and before Colin could even register what had happened, he crashed to the floor, breathing heavily and clutching his face.

“Found yourself a protector, huh? You filthy bitch! I’ll make you pay! Get out of my house!” Colin tried to swing at Blaine again, but Blaine caught his arm and drove his fist into Colin’s jaw a second time, sending him down onto the shards of the glass I had shattered at the very beginning.

“Now let’s get out of here,” Blaine said, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the house, leaving Colin sprawled on the floor.

I jumped into the car and broke down, crying openly in front of Blaine, whom I was seeing for the first time — and probably would never see again. He didn’t say a word, just slid into the driver’s seat of my car and pressed the gas. After a while, he finally broke the silence:

“Over time, it gets easier. Believe me.”

My tears only flowed harder. He took my hand so gently, as if he instinctively knew what to do. I could never have imagined that someone who had known me for less than forty minutes, knowing nothing about me, could stand up for me, support me, and just be there in silence.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeated.

I didn’t know him, but I wanted to trust him. He was giving me the kind of support I so desperately needed. For a long time, no best friend could comfort me the way this stranger was.

“Stop. I’ll drive. We need to switch seats.”

“You’re not in any condition to drive. I’ll drive. Tell me where you live — your exact address.”

I looked into his eyes, and something inside me told me I could trust him. I gave him my address.

“Thank you,” I whispered. He nodded reflexively and returned his focus to the road. Unlike me, he drove calmly and confidently, without taking unnecessary risks.

“Now… can I know your name?”

“Ariel. Ariel Moore,” I said, and slowly began to drift off to sleep.

I turned over in bed, trying to shield myself from the bright sunlight flooding the bedroom. Rubbing my eyes, I glanced at the clock. It was still early. I love vacations, I thought. I should tell Emmy about this dream — she’ll be surprised by how wild my imagination is.

When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed my parents were in the middle of an intense discussion, but the moment I appeared, they fell abruptly silent. My father looked at me as if I had committed a crime. My mother silently poured me a cup of strong coffee.

“Aria, in two weeks we’re moving.”

“What? Why?”

“The funeral is in two days. We can’t stay in this city after what happened,” my mother said quietly. Turning away from us, she went back to making coffee. I heard her begin to cry softly.

It wasn’t a dream, I thought, staring at my parents with wide eyes, unable to gather my thoughts.

“Your behavior yesterday threw everyone off balance,” my father interjected without lifting his eyes from the newspaper. “I’m sorry, Aria, but we’re moving to Washington. Your mother and I were up all night discussing the future. The decision is final. It’s hard for all of us, but what we have now is something we can’t change,” he said coldly and bluntly.

I couldn’t understand how anyone could speak about death so calmly — especially my father.

“But what about school? My friends? What about me?” I asked through tears.

“Vacation ends in two weeks, and you can make friends anywhere,” my father replied tersely, finishing his cold coffee.

My mother looked at me.

“Aria, we’re exhausted. Go to your room, get something to eat, but please… just go to your room,” she repeated.

“You do realize it was arson! I know who did it! Why won’t you listen to me? Why do you always push me away and never discuss anything with me? How can you be so selfish and yet so calm?” I cried out in despair.

My father slammed his fist on the table.

“Aria, not another word about this! Go to your room and start packing!”

Tears filled my eyes. Grabbing my mug, I ran to my room and slammed the door loudly. Some coffee spilled onto the floor. Damn.

I noticed a photograph under the bed. Kneeling on the floor, I placed the mug on the nightstand and picked up the photo. It was a picture of me and Emmy, looking so happy when we found out she was pregnant. Tears poured down, and I pressed the photo against my face.

I miss you so much, Emmy, I cried bitterly. Forgive me!

I spent the entire day lying in bed, clutching the photograph. My mother came by a couple of times, asking if I would eat, but I didn’t want anything. I skipped both lunch and dinner. The next day, my parents left to make arrangements for the funeral. I was alone at home. I couldn’t believe it — we had just shared dinner together, and now… I would never see them again, never talk, never laugh…

When I went outside to get the morning paper, I saw Sam approaching the house. After tossing out the trash, I went back inside. The doorbell rang.

“Go away! I don’t want to see you! Tell your jerk of a brother to go to hell!” I hissed through gritted teeth, wanting to break something.

“Explain what’s going on!” Sam shouted through the door.

Tears filled my eyes. I opened the door and, unable to contain myself, blurted it all out in one breath:

“Your brother beat me, then raped me. I wanted to file a police report, but your uncle stopped me. Your vile brother set my sister’s house on fire, and her entire family died of carbon monoxide poisoning. I don’t want to see you; you’re just as guilty as he is. Get out of here! I hate you and your damn family. You’re dead to me, just like he was. Our friendship was a huge mistake.” I slammed my fist on the door, the rage overwhelming me.

“But, Aria, I… I didn’t know…”

“Get out!” I slammed the door and started throwing everything I could get my hands on. “I’m moving. I need to start a new life.”

I started packing. I threw everything that reminded me of Sam and Colin into the trash, one by one. I took out the trash bags several times throughout the day. By evening, I’d finished with half the items.

Later, I heard my parents return, but I didn’t go to greet them. My father came into my room:

“Wow, Aria, you’re great. You’re not wasting your time.”

“Thank you,” I replied dryly.

“Be ready by nine tomorrow.”

I looked away, saying nothing, and continued packing my things. My father left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. I could hear my mother packing her own things into boxes while my father carried them to the garage. Every couple of hours, he would come in to take another packed box.

When he came for the last one, he waited while I finished, sitting on my unmade bed.

“Aria, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to”

Before he could finish, I cut him off.

“I’ll come. Now take the box.”

There were only a couple of small boxes left to pack in my room, but I was completely drained for the day. I went to help my mom, just to somehow break the monotony of what this day had become. She was washing dishes, and the clatter echoed even outside the house. There was so much trash. Still, moving isn’t all bad — you end up getting rid of a lot of useless things.

It was three in the morning, and we were still cleaning the kitchen willingly, but Mom was already exhausted. She told me to go to bed, reminding me that tomorrow would be hard and I’d need my strength.

Six a.m. Seventh cup of coffee. I desperately want to sleep, but I can’t. There are three hours left until it begins. I won’t manage. I have to give a speech, and not a single word comes to mind — except kill Colin and die.

I can’t believe this is happening to me. I’m supposed to fight this pain, but it’s stronger than I am. Losing someone close — there’s nothing worse than that, especially losing someone you love so deeply. You can end it all, or you can start over — choose life. That’s what Mikhail Sholokhov wrote in The Fate of a Man.

I decided to leave behind that reckless life everyone talks about. I’ve changed.

Yesterday’s newspaper was lying on the floor. That treacherous night was splashed across every page. I have nothing left to lose. I’ll be someone entirely different — someone others don’t even know — and I will give that damn speech. We’re moving tomorrow morning. Not sleeping for a second night in a row sounds dangerous, but I’m used to this kind of life. Coffee is my best friend.

I pulled on my dark blue leggings, slipped into a pink T-shirt that clung to my attractive body, tied my hair into a high ponytail, and pulled my white sneakers out from under the bed. I need to gather my thoughts — and running is exactly what I need.

It was fairly chilly outside. I ran along the neighbors’ houses toward the forest I’d been running through since I was twelve. Melodic music played in my headphones. I’d always loved observing the world early in the morning: everyone still asleep in their warm beds, grandmothers walking their tiny dogs, which seemed to lead them across the street rather than the other way around.

Lonely and self-absorbed people read the latest newspaper on their porches, wondering why anyone would live such a wild life. My favorite sight was lovers showing off their blissful expressions, trying to sneak away before the husbands of the people they were cheating with noticed.

I had always stood out for noticing the smallest details, ones people didn’t even suspect. But I never liked this trait — it made normal life impossible. The forest, as always, was breathtaking: abundant greenery, even more flowers. The scent was exquisite. This place had always shared with me my pain, suffering, happiness, and loneliness.

When I got home, I ran straight into the shower. Afterward, I applied a light dark makeup, put on my dark pants, and a black shirt my cousin adored. Mom had draped a black dress over a chair for me, but I chose the pants.

When Mom got up, she brewed herself a cup of strong coffee and came to check on me. By then, I was sitting on the couch, staring at the sealed boxes. She realized I was completely ready. Quietly, she slipped away, and I heard Dad get up.

They were arguing heatedly about something, and I pretended not to hear, only letting out heavy sighs. We drove toward that incomprehensible, monstrous place I so desperately didn’t want to see. Dad was driving and constantly talking to someone. Mom sat silently, arms crossed, staring out the window; it was painful to watch the family falling apart.

I looked out the window, and the road reminded me of that nightmarish day — the path, the speed, that boy…

“Aria!”

“What?” I finally answered after a moment, as Mom had already opened the door for me.

“Aria! Don’t sleep! How many times do I have to call you?! We’re here — get out of the car.”

I noticed the small number of people, the priest talking to my father, and Sam.

“What’s she doing here?”

Mom turned to see whom I was asking about, but I had already stepped out and headed straight toward Sam. I heard my father shout my name.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I said, completely blunt and rude.

Sam looked at me, then shifted her gaze to my mother standing behind me, who clearly had no idea what was going on.

“I thought we needed to talk. You’re like a sister to me, Aria. We’ve been best friends since childhood, and now everything has been turned upside down. I don’t understand anything — most of all, I don’t understand what I did to deserve you talking to me like this, being angry with me, or even more than that… hating me.”

“Get out of here. You’re no sister of mine, and we have nothing to talk about. I already told you everything when you came to my house. I don’t want to see you.”

Several people turned to look at us — I must have said it quite loudly. My mother put an arm around my shoulders and said gently,

“Sam, I’m sorry. She’s not herself — you understand what we’re going through. Aria, may I have a word with you for a moment?”

Mom led me away from the crowd, turned me to face her, and spoke without giving me a chance to breathe:

“Aria, behave yourself. What’s going on with you? Don’t lose it in front of everyone — they’re trying to support you. Don’t make a scene! Your sister had a gas leak. We were informed about it today — no one here is to blame. Enough! You’re looking for someone to blame, but there is no one. Please, I’m begging you, for their sake… calm down, behave properly, and give a kind, beautiful speech for the first and last time. Now come on, it’s already starting.”

I didn’t have a chance to respond.

I was completely lost in my thoughts. I remember my father speaking from the small stage, then the priest, and then my mother, who wiped away tears from her face constantly, minute after minute. I realized it was my turn next. My eyes were already wet.

Mom waved at me, and I began walking toward the small, delicate stage, my palms sweating. When I reached where my mother had stood, I turned to face the crowd and looked at everyone. All eyes were on me, waiting for me to speak.

It felt as if someone had sewn my mouth shut — I couldn’t say a word. My hands went stiff, but I managed to get a few words out.

“Thank you all for taking the time to be here. Honestly, I didn’t really prepare a speech, because not a single word comes to mind.

Emmy, Jerrad, and their son Nate were wonderful — they always showed me what an exemplary family looks like, something I so desperately lack right now. It’s really hard for me to talk about everything that happened, and I still can’t fully process it. It feels as if it’s not even happening to me. Sometimes fate throws unexpected and very painful things our way, but I believe it’s not without reason. There’s some meaning in all of this, one I have yet to understand. I’m sure they can hear me, and I just want to say one thing: forgive me. I promise I will do everything so that you, Emmy, could be proud of me, and I ask for your forgiveness for everything I did and didn’t do for you and your family. I know you are always with me, and you will always be with me. We are one, and that will never be broken. I’m sure that one day we will meet again, and I hope that by then, you will have forgiven me. Everything should have been different… but alas, if I could only go back, I would try to change everything and not let you go home after our wonderful last dinner.

I love you, Emmy, Jerrad, and Nate. Be happy. Thank you for everything.

I looked around and saw ladies dabbing their tears with handkerchiefs. Mom buried her face in Dad’s shoulder and cried, and I stood there, watching them, trying to control myself and not break down. I noticed Sam in the distance, standing under a tree, wiping her eyes with her hands.

Heading downstairs, I walked up to the counter where a young man was working. He was pouring water for some, champagne for others, and vodka for a few.

“Champagne, please.”

The guy turned and stared at me.

“I don’t think you need that right now.”

I looked up and saw the same guy from the ambulance, the one who had climbed into my car that day.

“Then water,” I said.

He glanced at me, then quickly shifted his gaze to my wrist.

“It’s a gift from your cousin for your birthday, a silver bracelet engraved with ‘Forever,’” I explained before he could say a word.

I immediately asked him,

“How did you manage to get me into bed?”

Blaine looked at me and smiled.

“I wanted to sleep with you, so I dragged you into bed,” he said teasingly. “Is that the answer you were looking for?”

“This is not the place for your vulnerable, lewd jokes,” I snapped.

Blaine’s expression softened, growing slightly more serious.

“I just brought you here.”

I drank the glass of water in one go and said,

“Thank you. For that day, and for the water now.”

I went over to my mother. She was devastated. It hurt to see her wet eyes, the tears continuously streaming down her cheeks. In four minutes, the funeral service was supposed to start. Mentally, I wasn’t ready. I felt so broken it was as if my body had been beaten all night. My mind was foggy — I could barely grasp what was happening.

I realized I needed to take my place next to my parents and try to breathe evenly. But it was difficult. Everything passed rather quickly. There’s no point in recounting the boundless grief or its terrifying consequences. It’s said briefly. I want to forget everything. Once and for all.

“Aria, we’re leaving tonight.”

“Okay.”

I headed to my car and drove home. Later, I went to our local café. Ordering myself a juice, I opened the book I hadn’t finished reading and immersed myself in it. I managed to eat a Greek salad and drink the chilled juice.

After paying the bill, I stayed seated at table number seven. Emmy and I had always sat here.

“Don’t be sad. You’ll sour forever like that,” a male voice muttered.

I looked up and snapped my book shut.

“What are you doing here?”

“Your mom asked me to give you this photo,” he said, handing me a picture of Emmy and me as children.

I tried to hold back my tears.

“Thank you, Blaine. But I don’t think you should sit at this table, or even talk to me.”

“Are you always this nervous, or are you doing it on purpose? I want to assist you,” he said, genuinely enough.

“I have to go. Enjoy your time.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” I replied bluntly.

“Are you always this rude?”

“Consider it straightforwardness.”

“Then tell me, how do you feel about strangers… but fairly attractive guys?”

“I just adore them.”