He continued down the lane. The small details of his world, the numbers and textures of the falling leaves, had begun to fade as dusk dissolved into night. He wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. If only he would collapse in the street and be taken to a hospital far away from here, or officers would surround him and take him to a remote prison for a crime he didn't care that he hadn't committed. He ran nervous fingers through greasy hair, but it didn't stop the numbness. Each choking breath bore new shadows into the world: white and wispy anti-shadows from his mouth, ephemeral and spurious, like the vapor from Faye's vape. He breathed these shadows to life and watched them condensate before him, and just as quickly dissipate. But he didn't notice the cold on the outside.

Grayish leaves fell now and then, or rustled against the curbs. Their color was lost to the ghastly lights lining the street, painting the evening in neutral tones.

And then the door was in front of him. Heavy and unfamiliar under the shine of the stars. The porch light was off, but there was light inside. He hoped no one had seen him cross the yard. He hoped only his shadows knew he was there. He wished that the doorbell would work, preferring the impersonal press of a button to the intimacy of knocking on that door, but he knew it didn't. He wished he had brought his phone to just call and be done with this, but he hadn't brought it. He wished he didn't have to be here, but he was. He knocked.

“Oh! Cameron!” Eve had answered the door, a silhouette against the glow inside. “I'll get Emily. You're welcome to come in!” She held the door for him.

The warmth and familiarity of the house leached out and smothered him. The mulchy scent of the pots and jars of plants peaking over Eve's shoulders. The ambient blue lighting. The enveloping hammock that stood in for a couch, not visible from the door but here so easy to picture. And the walls—their smiles haunting each printed photo Emily had tacked up. The hours and days he'd spent inside this home flooded out and around him, drowning him. He couldn't breathe. A deathly wind gusted at his back, shoving him under the waves.

“No, it's okay. Sorry.” He could barely get the words out. “I can just—I'll just wait out here.” His words clouded before him and fell away as smoke.

“Oh, okay…” Eve's face was dark, but he could see the wide whites of her eyes, the concerned brows. “I'll get Emily.”

He stood on the porch and watched his stone hands fade into the dark concrete, dimly lit by the blue light from the open door. As he listened to the voices from the other room, he could feel himself slipping through the cracks in that concrete. He wanted to grasp something tangible. He wanted to reach up with his phantom hands and pull the strange, heavy door until it thudded shut forever. He almost did. But the porch light turned on, and his hands found definition.