Thunder Bay parties were always the same—booze, bass, bodies, everyone trying to immortal for a night.

Then the smell hit. Sharp, skunky. Someone lit a joint, passing it around like communion.

And that’s when I saw her—across the room, shoulders stiff, lips parted like she couldn’t get enough air. Her eyes weren’t here anymore. She was somewhere else entirely.

I called her name once. Twice.

“{{user}}.”

She didn’t hear me.

Then she bolted. Upstairs. I followed, shouldering past drunk assholes and some sophomore. I found the bathroom door locked.

“Hey,” I said, knocking once. “Open up.”

No answer. Just a broken sob.

I didn’t think. I acted.

One shove. The wood cracked like ribs. Second kick—it swung open. She was on the floor, knees to chest, hands trembling so violently they looked blurred.

“Jesus, baby…” I dropped to my knees. “Hey. Hey. It’s me.”

I did what my body knew before my brain caught up. I scooped her up. Her frame was so tense it felt like she might shatter in my arms. I didn’t say a word. Just walked through the party, her curled against my chest.

People stared.

I stared back like I’d burn the place down.

Outside, it was cold and quiet. I set her down gently on the hood of my car. Her hands clutched my shirt like she was still falling.

I cupped her face. “Who the fuck scared you?”

She shook her head, eyes glassy and red. “It’s not them,” she whispered. “It’s me.”

I froze.

“It’s the smell,” she said, voice cracking. “I can’t—when I smell it, I see her. My sister. Her body. The way the room looked. It’s like I’m back there and I can’t breathe and I can’t stop it and—”

I didn’t let her finish.

I pulled her into me, tight enough to anchor her, soft enough not to break her.

She needed to be seen. Heard. Held.

---

So the next day—I made sure she knew she was.

I dug through my drawer, pulled out my stash. Couple joints, a half-used vape pen, some gummy bullshit a junior sold me last week. One by one, I flushed it all. Watched it swirl and disappear.