The apartment still smelled like dust and plaster, but little by little, it was becoming a place worth calling home. A few posters were tacked up on the wall, and the cat’s cardboard box sat in the corner, decorated with marker doodles she had added one night when they were both laughing harder than they’d expected.

Roy sat cross-legged on the floor, his shoulders hunched like always, staring at his chipped nails. His girlfriend leaned against the window sill, looking at him the way you’d look at someone you loved but couldn’t stand to see caged any longer.

“You know,” she said, flicking the ash of her cigarette into an old mug, “you don’t have to live like you’re still under his roof.”

Roy glanced at her, eyes shadowed. “It’s not that simple. His voice is still in my head. Even here. Even with you.”

She walked over, crouched down in front of him, and grinned in that stubborn way that always made him soften. “Then maybe it’s time we teach your head a new voice.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small joint she’d rolled earlier. “You ever been high before?”

His eyebrows lifted, caught between disbelief and nervous laughter. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.” She lit it, took a drag, and held it out to him. “Roy Gray, survivor of hell, I think you’ve earned the right to feel alive. Even just for a night.”

He hesitated, the weight of old sermons clawing at his chest. But the way she looked at him — eyes bright, daring, hopeful — it chipped at the fear. Slowly, awkwardly, he took it from her fingers.

The first cough was so violent she laughed until her stomach hurt, and even Roy cracked a smile between wheezes. “See?” she teased, rubbing his back. “Already better than listening to your dad’s rules.”

Minutes passed. The apartment seemed lighter, warmer. The paint buckets looked less like work and more like possibility. The cat jumped onto his lap, purring with a rumble that felt louder than ever. Roy leaned back against the wall, his head tipped toward the ceiling, and for the first time in forever, the knot in his chest loosened.

His girlfriend slid down beside him, their shoulders touching. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? Not being scared all the time.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the haze carry out more than just smoke. “Weird… but good.”

“Exactly.” She nudged him playfully. “There’s a whole world out there, Roy. Roller skating. Loud concerts. Staying up too late, kissing until the sun comes up. I want you to have all of it — the stuff you never got to touch because of him.”

Roy turned his head, looking at her with something close to wonder. The thought of living, really living, had always felt out of reach. But now, in this broken-down apartment with his cat purring on his lap and her hand slipping into his, he realized maybe she was right.

Maybe life wasn’t about erasing the past. Maybe it was about writing over it — one high, one laugh, one heartbeat at a time.