Elina POV;
I woke up to silence, the kind that isn't peaceful, but hollow, like the air itself was holding its breath, as I blinked into the soft gold morning light streaming across the floor, warm against my skin, and stretched my arms with a small yawn, my fingers reached toward the couch behind me, expecting to find the shape of him, Marco, tangled in a blanket, maybe snoring softly, or maybe already awake and flipping through that book he picked up two days ago and never really read, but there was nothing, just the cushion still indented from where he'd slept, his pillow slightly askew, and the quiet, that strange, unnerving quiet.
As I sat up, brushing hair from my face,"Marco?" I called softly, my voice fragile against the stillness, but there was no answer.
My heart didn't race, not yet. I just told myself that he probably just went out, since the corner store was only two blocks away, since he liked walking early in the morning, maybe he wanted to surprise me with breakfast again, or maybe he needed a break from the apartment, or from me, God, was I suffocating him?
I slipped out of bed and padded barefoot toward the kitchen, there was no smell of coffee and no clatter of pans, just… stillness, i went to check the fridge, but nothing had moved, the eggs were still there, and the bread wasn't even touched, at that moment something inside me stirred, a flutter, or more likely a warning.
As I was moving around the apartment in slow motion, looking for the the slighest hint of relief, the bathroom door was creaked open, but empty, his shoes weren't by the door and his jacket was missing.
"Okay," I whispered to myself. "Okay. Breathe. He's just, he's just out. He didn't want to wake you." But why wouldn't he leave a note? He always left one when going out.
I sat down on the couch and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to shake the cold that suddenly settled on my skin, I suddenly glanced at the table absently, and that's when I saw it, an envelope, it wasn't mine, since its not addressed to me, he was just sitting there like it had been dropped by a ghost, but something about the way it sat, tilted, opened slightly, and those edges crinkled, made my stomach twist as I was reaching for it with trembling fingers.
only a few words inside, jagged, angry handwriting, that kind that burns into your brain like a scar.
You can't run forever, Marco. If you care about her, you'll leave. Or else, she'll pay the price.
My breath caught in my throat, as my fingers went numb while I kept rereading the words again and again, as if reading them differently would change what they meant.
No. No. No. No.
I stood so fast the chair scraped against the floor, and for the first timein a while the walls seemed to pulse around me, as i felt my heartbeat slamming into my ears. He didn't leave because he wanted to, but he left to protect me, or maybe… maybe he thought he was protecting me by disappearingm just like a ghost, like a wound you can't clean.
"Marco," I whispered, clutching the paper to my chest. "What did you do?" What should I do now? Who should I call?
I grabbed my phone with trembling hands, I dialed his number even though I knew he wouldn't answer, Mailbox, againm still nothing. I tried Liv, but she didn't pick up, just to realise that in this moment, I was alone, so utterly alone.
I pulled on my jeans, a hoodie, and the first shoes I found, my fingers were shaking so hard I could barely tie the laces. I didn't have any plan, just a name, a face and a heart breaking with every step.
Florence moved around me like a blur, bathed in late-morning light. I ran to the market first, hoping maybe he was there, I showed his photo to the old man who sold tomatoes, no, hadn't seen him, I checked the riverbank, I checked the alley near the library where he liked to sketch when he thought no one was watching.
Nothing.
Hours passed like minutes, or maybe it was the other way around my legs ached, my chest burned, and my throat was raw from calling his name, I stopped at every place I thought he might find peace, the old chapel, the bookstore, the steps of the cathedralbut there was no trace of him, not even a shadow. I think I must've looked insane, since some people were staring, while some were asking if I was okay, and I just kept walking, or running, or crying, I don't remember which.
As the sun sank lower, my hope did too, by evening, the sky had turned a bruised lavender, and Florence had lost its warmth. The city that once welcomed me now felt like a maze I was doomed to wander forever, I sat down on a bench near the river and let my head fall into my hands, I didn't even have tears left, just the kind of emptiness that settles into your bones.
He was gone, he left to save me and in doing so, he shattered something I didn't know was breakable, my heart. I sat there for what felt like years, watching the water move beneath the bridge, watching the world continue like nothing had happened, and then… "Elina!"
No, wait, that wasn't my name, that was me. I had screamed it because across the street, like an apparition pulled from the deepest fold of my imagination… there he was, Marco, my Marco, Carrying a plastic bag, his eyes tired, his jacket creased while his hair falling messily over his forehead, he looked like he hadn't slept, like the world had chewed him up and spit him out, and yet, he was there, alive, and for that one moment, nothing else mattered, not the envelope, not the threats, not the distance or the fear or the ache, just him.
"Marco!" I screamed again, stumbling to my feet. "Marco!"
He turned, just for his eyes to find mine, and in that instant, just one breath too long, one beat too late, I forgot everything else.
The street. The traffic. The lights.
"Elina…!"
His voice, broken and sharp, cut through the air just as I stepped forward. I didn't see the car, I didn't hear it, just a blinding flash of silver and the sound of tires screaming against pavement.
Then, impact.
Pain.
Air gone from my lungs.
The world spun.
Darkness.