His Soul In My Recovery System

The third spring since Edison left has arrived, uninvited.

Im standing on the balcony of the twenty-fourth floor. The wind whistles through my clothes, clawing at my skin like it wants to peel me apart. Outside, the world is aggressively coming back to lifebuds bursting, grass pushing through the thawbut Im just a piece of rotting timber, stagnant and moldy.

My therapist used to say that spring is the danger zone for people like me. Theres a violent disconnect between the vibrancy of the world and the stillness of a dead soul. That gap is usually wide enough to swallow the last bit of courage it takes to stay alive.

And now, theres no one left to grab my hand and tell me the world is worth the effort.

I close my eyes, imagining myself as one of those willow catkins drifting below. I just want to be light. I just want to fall.

As I lean into the void, a cold, synthesized voice explodes in my head.

[April Recovery Protocol activated. Binding to host in critical condition.]

[Starter Task: Take three steps back and drink a glass of lukewarm water.]

[Warning: Failure to comply will result in the permanent revocation of suicide privileges.]

I freeze. The wind tosses my hair into a tangled mess. Since when did dying require a prerequisite exam? What kind of glitchy hallucination is this?

...

The living room is a cacophony of forced cheer.

Today is the "Big Reveal" party for my younger brother, Tyler. Hes headed to an Ivy League school on a full ride, and my parents have invited every relative we share a bloodline with. The table is groaning under the weight of a catered feast.

Im huddled in a worn armchair in the corner, feeling like a patch of black mold in a pristine house.

Our Tyler has always been the star of the family, my Aunt Margaret says, spitting sunflower seed shells into a napkin while cutting her eyes at me. Not like some people. Always moping around with that funeral face, like the world owes her a living.

My mother emerges from the kitchen with a platter of glazed ribs. She looks at me, her expression darkening instantly.

Willa, for Gods sake, its your brothers big day. Can you stop looking like a corpse for five minutes?

I look down at my pale, trembling fingers.

Mom, just ignore her. Shes just being dramatic, Tyler says, shoving a rib into his mouth. He doesnt even look up from his phone. The doctor said its just a lack of structure. If she actually got a job instead of staring at walls, shed be fine.

My father takes a long pull of his beer and sighs. The money we wasted on those specialists... We could have put that toward Tylers housing in New Haven.

I listen to them, but I feel nothing. No anger, no sorrow. Just a vast, echoing hollow.

Ive been sick for three years. Ever since Edison.

Edison had ALS. He watched his body turn into stone, and then, rather than letting the bills bankrupt us or the disease turn him into a ghost while he was still breathing, he took a handful of pills right here in this house.

Im the one who found him. And Im the one who believes I killed him. If Id worked more hours, if Id sat with him longer, maybe he wouldn't have felt so alone.

But my parents? They saw Edisons death as a tragic release. And they see my depression as a fresh burden.

I stand up without a word and head for the balcony. I slide the glass door open. The air smells like magnolias. Its sickeningly sweet.

I climb onto the railing. Below, the city lights are a river of gold and red.

Just jump, I think. No more voices. No more pills that make me slow and heavy.

Edison, Im coming.

I close my eyes and lean forward.

[WARNING! Host attempting high-risk maneuver! Initiating emergency intervention!]

The voice is piercing now, a jagged blade of sound. Suddenly, a forceinvisible but absolutejerks me backward. I hit the balcony tiles with a bone-jarring thud.

The noise in the living room stops for a heartbeat.

Willa? What the hell are you doing out there? my mother screams through the glass. Are you trying to ruin this for everyone?

I lay there on the cold ceramic, gasping. The mechanical voice returns, but this time, theres a flicker of something... a glitch? A tremor?

[Host... please. Do not do this in the spring.]

I assume Im finally losing my mind. Auditory hallucinations are common when the darkness gets this heavy.

I push myself up, ignoring the voice, and look back at the railing.

[Task Reminder: Step back three paces and drink one glass of lukewarm water.]

[Countdown: Five minutes.]

Who are you? I ask in the silence of my mind.

[I am the April Recovery Protocol. Designation 001.]

[My objective is the total elimination of the hosts depressive index.]

"I don't want to be cured," I whisper. "I want to be gone."

[Passive resistance detected.]

[If the host refuses the task, the System will take manual control of the hosts motor functions. I will force you to enter the living room and perform a high-energy TikTok dance in front of your extended family.]

I freeze. For someone with crippling social anxiety and a soul made of lead, the idea of being a puppet for a viral dance trend in front of my judgmental relatives is a fate worse than death.

"You wouldn't."

[Countdown: Three minutes.]

[Downloading 'Savage' by Megan Thee Stallion...]

I grit my teeth and scramble up. I take three steps back, away from the ledge. I slide the door open and walk back into the suffocating heat of the party.

Every eye is on mejudging, annoyed, disgusted. I ignore them. I walk to the water cooler, take a paper cup, and mix hot and cold until its exactly lukewarm.

I tilt my head back and swallow. The water hits my parched throat, and a tiny, flickering spark of warmth settles in my stomach.

[Task complete.]

[Reward: Three hours of deep, restorative sleep.]

The moment the words fade, a wave of exhaustion hits me like a physical blow. For three years, Ive survived on two-hour snatches of drug-induced unconsciousness.

Without a word to anyone, I turn and walk into the tiny, windowless walk-in closet that my parents converted into my "bedroom" after Edison died. I collapse onto the mattress and sink into a black, velvet dream.

In my sleep, I think I smell him. That faint, clean scent of Ivory soap that Edison always used.

Outside the door, I hear my mother slam her silverware onto the table. Can you believe her? Walks in, drinks water, and goes back to bed. Like were her servants! God, why did I get stuck with such a broken child?

The voices fade. The "reward" is a fortress.

I sleep for exactly three hours. No nightmares. No jolting awake with a racing heart.

When I open my eyes, the house is silent. The party is over.

I walk into the dining room. Its a graveyard of half-eaten food and crumpled napkins. My stomach growls. Im actually hungry.

[Daily Task triggered: Eat a hot meal.]

[Requirement: Must include protein and greens.]

[Reward: 10% boost in dopamine production.]

I scan the table for leftover ribs.

What are you doing?

Tyler is standing there, wearing a new designer hoodie, car keys in hand.

Im hungry, I say.

Get a Lean Cuisine or something. Im packing the good stuff for a late-night hang with my friends. He heartlessly scrapes the remaining ribs into a Tupperware container.

My mother walks out of her bedroom, her face tightening the moment she sees me. Finally awake? Clean this mess up. Youve done nothing but sleep while the rest of us celebrated.

She pauses, her tone turning cold and clinical. Since youre up, lets get this over with. Tyler is heading to New Haven soon, and his tuition is astronomical. Were cutting back.

My heart sinks.

Your therapy sessions? Were stopping them. Two hundred an hour to talk about your feelings is a luxury we cant afford. And that imported medication? Were switching you to the generic brand.

I stand frozen. My therapy is the only place I can breathe. And the medication... the withdrawal from the brand name is notorious for causing tremors and suicidal ideation.

Mom, the doctor said I cant just switch...

Oh, stop it! she snaps. Youve been 'sick' for three years, Willa. Look at you. Youre a ghost. Edison had a real disease, a physical one, and he had the decency not to drain us dry. He knew when to stop being a burden. Why cant you?

The words are a rusted blade, twisting in my chest.

Edison.

My vision blurs. My breathing hitches. I want to scream, to break every plate on this table, to rip my own hair out.

[System alert: Host approaching emotional collapse.]

[Initiating Mental Shield.]

A rush of cool, mountain-spring water seems to pour through my brain. The white-hot panic is muffled, pushed down by a strange, steady force.

[Host, breathe.]

[Do not let their words define your worth.]

[Your life is yours. You are not a blood bag for their expectations.]

The voice is still mechanical, but I swear I hear a note of... fury?

I look at my mother, then at my brother. They look like strangers.

Fine, I say, my voice eerily calm. No more therapy. No more pills.

My mother blinks, surprised by my lack of a fight. Good. At least youre being sensible for once, she mutters, turning back to her room.

I walk into the kitchen. I pull out a pan, some pasta, two eggs, and a handful of spinach.

[Host, what are you doing?]

Making dinner, I whisper as I light the stove. Protein and greens. Im completing your task.

The flame flickers, reflecting in my hollow eyes. If I cant die, I have to change. Starting tonight, Im done waiting for them to love me.

The pasta is bland, but I eat it mechanically.

[Dopamine levels rising. Good work, host.]

I don't answer. I wash my dish and go back to my closet. Half the space is taken up by Edisons old boxes. Books, clothes, things my parents couldn't be bothered to sort through.

The next morning, Im jolted awake by a heavy pounding on the door.

Willa! Get up and clear this junk out! my mother barks. Tylers treadmill is arriving this afternoon. I need this space for his home gym.

I sit up, my heart hammering. No! These are Edisons things!

Hes been dead for three years, Willa! Keeping his trash is just morbid. Either you clear it out by noon, or Im calling the junk haulers to take it to the landfill.

Silence follows her heavy footsteps. I stare at the boxes. This is all thats left of him. And they want to erase that, too.

Suddenly, the voice returns. Its slower today.

[Special Task Triggered: Within two hours, pack Edisons belongings and move themand yourselfout of this house.]

Im stunned. Move? To where?

[Reward: Unlock 'Independent Living' storyline.]

[Penalty: Electric shock...]

The system glitches. A loud, static hum fills my ears.

Bzzzt

And then, in the silence of my mind, I hear a sound. Not a computer. Not a machine. Its a soft, wet, ragged sound.

Cough... cough...

Its the sound of someone with atrophied throat muscles trying to clear their airway. A sound I heard a thousand times during Edisons final months.

My blood turns to ice.

What... what was that? I ask, my fingers digging into the mattress.

The system is silent. For a full minute, nothing. Then:

[System interference detected. Rebooting audio module.]

[Proceed with the task, host.]

I dont move. My heart is beating so hard it hurts. A ridiculous, impossible thought begins to bloom in the wreckage of my mind.

Youre lying, I whisper, tears streaming down my face. You aren't a system. That sound... was that you?