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I wave and he waves and then I'm gone, and so is he. I can't help but feel he's taken my old life with him.

The time that passes between last catching sight of him and getting on the airplane is entirely immaterial. It happens at me, not to me, nor through me. I'm active, I'm thinking, I'm moving, I'm doing, but... it's not real. It's all other. It's all Ryan, yes, but, no, it's not me.

I made a decision, I sent a text, agonized over its wording, agonized over its reality. You'd think that would make me feel alive but, no. None of it felt real. It's as if it didn't happen at all, at least not to me. It was part of somebody else's life. Somebody else's drama.

Or, more accurately, I wish it was.

I'm a soup of self-hatred, yearning, anxiety and ever-present uncertainty. I am Ryan: lazy, chubby husky. I am Ryan: liar, manipulator, murderer. I am Ryan: actor, lover, living. I am Ryan: traumatized, damaged, dying.

One of the flight attendants is an otter in his early twenties. He says something to me but I don't hear it. My paws close into fists and I do my best to ignore him. He doesn't bother me again. His fur is a dark brown, reminiscent of, but not quite identical to... Yeah.

I don't like him. I don't want to see him. I don't want to be anywhere near him.

Great, I'm a bigot now. I'll put that on my résumé right next to 'murderer'.

I want to blame myself for it all, so I do.

Thankfully I only half take me seriously. Marty fucked me up. If I've gone psycho I can at least pin the blame on him, regardless of how much truth that accusation holds.

No. None of this is right. It all seems so utterly outside of myself, as if I'm examining somebody else's life. Like, Ryan is over there, doing what he does, feeling how he feels, thinking what he thinks and I'm over here, separate. An observer, nothing more. It just so happens that 'here' and 'there' are the exact same place.

It's not a new feeling. This is something I've been living with off-and-on for weeks now. I dismissed it at first, but it came back. I beat it away again and again - I resolved to overcome it - then, today...

I kissed him. And he kissed me. And he pushed me away.

Who is he to me but a lay? Yet, somehow, he sunk his claws into me without ever even meaning to. He saved my life. I fucked his up. There's something to it... Or there's not. I don't know, I've never known. But when I was with him I felt that I might. He convinced me that I have a life left to live after all of this, and, well, maybe he's right. But he's wrong at the same time.

Takeoff. I'm leaving the ground behind, and the States with it. And my job, and my friends, and my acting career and... him. Kale. I'm leaving my whole life behind.

Okay, okay.

Enough foreplay.

Ryan dies today.

This is his final flight, these are his final hours, his final thoughts.

Ryan dies today. But, don't mourn, he was a fuckhead anyway.

I made the decision recently. I was mulling it over in the cab this morning, it's been wandering through my mind every night for the past week but, really, it was made when Kale put his paws on my shoulders and pushed me back and our muzzles came apart and the look on his face told me everything I didn't want to know. In that moment Ryan was as good as dead.

He was nothing more than a reanimated corpse, roaming the earth in search of something to consume. A zombie, good for nothing but eliminating. A rotten reminder of what once was. He had to go; his head must be lopped off to pave the way for something new.

I think, perhaps, I am losing my mind. But, no, it's nothing so grandiose as that. I have found myself at odds with me, with Ryan. We are no longer compatible.

So, he dies.

Is this what it feels like to be certain of something?

It's kind of comforting.

I should enjoy it while it lasts; it's not like I'll get used to it. Uncertainty will be with me always. Ryan's death is no escape.

Still, it's not all gloom. First class flying is nice. Better than nice. I have space and quiet, which suits me perfectly. I don't want to deal with other people right now - Ryan is enough of a hassle - so I'm glad for the privilege, even if the money that enabled it came from spilled blood.

I check my phone and find the inevitable response from Adrian.

He's glad I told him and he doesn't hate me, or Kale. My god, he's a golden boy. No wonder Kale likes him more than he likes me. The only chance I ever would've had is if Adrian's half-baked suicide attempt had actually succeeded.

Christ, I'm sick to even think that.

Who the fuck do I think I am?

Funny. I don't have an answer.

Not Ryan though, that's for sure. Not any more. Not for long.

As much as I hate to admit it, I like Adrian. He almost certainly hates me now. He absolutely certainly should. He says he doesn't, but, I mean, why wouldn't he?

No matter. Ryan dies today. The connections he made in life may be immaterial. We'll see, I guess. I'm not quite crystal on the details.

At least by telling Adrian the truth I can pretend I maintained a shred of honor throughout all this. But, no. Part of me hoped the truth would tear a rift between him and Kale. Part of me still hopes it will, as ridiculous as it feels to admit that. I wouldn't even be there to make use of the opportunity. It's nothing more than spiteful, jealous desire. A fiction in my head. Who is Kale to me anyway? Just a wolf.

Just a wolf who saved my life and cares about me, and for me, and I for him and, fuck me, I can still taste his tongue.

He's Ryan's problem. If I'm going through with this then that attachment, that drama, shouldn't matter to me anymore. Ryan's dying.

I'll be back in Canada soon. Back home.

It doesn't feel like home. It never did. Nevertheless, I return.

I'm going right back to my family and all those quote-unquote friends I left behind. I never meant shit to them. I haven't heard a thing from any of those 'friends' since I left for the States - nothing meaningful, anyway - with the exception of Mint, and Charlie. But Charlie followed, so here I go, leaving him behind in the States, and as for Mint? Seeing him again? That's a straight up no-go. It's a non-starter.

We were too close. He knows me too well. He cares too much.

He wouldn't accept Ryan's death, he wouldn't understand. He would want to know why Ryan felt how he felt, why he couldn't go on any longer, and I can't tell him. I can't tell anyone.

The idea of opening my muzzle and telling anyone about... about...

Marty.

What he did to me.

What I did to him.

It's unthinkable. To voluntarily conjure those images in my head, those memories? I won't do that to myself. Death is easier. Far easier. Trust me. That Mint knew me before meeting Marty, and during, only makes it worse.

Even if I wanted to tell him, I couldn't. I signed my right to that away for a large number and an easier life. As it turns out, 'easier' doesn't mean easy. In fact it doesn't even come close.

My old life - Ryan's life - is in shreds. There's nothing left to do with it but throw it out. Burn it down.

God damn I'm dramatic.

Look, it's like this: Ryan dies today. But I don't.

He will drown in flames to make way for a new me.

Truth is I've been thinking up names.

I haven't made my decision, but I have some ideas. And I have some time. The new me doesn't have to be fully formed before I burn away the old one. All I need for that is fire.

I'll see my parents. I'll tell them what I can - I'll have to - but they won't understand. I'll move, somewhere new. I'll restart. Reset. It won't be possible to cut all ties, at least not without losing any last shred of sanity and self-respect I still have, so most will have to do.

It's funny that for all the people I have known throughout my life, those who are foremost on my mind right now are the ones I have only known for a couple of months.

Eve, Adrian... Kale. Kale.

As it turns out, trauma binds tightly.

I was an idiot, and in reflection, above the clouds, it's all so obvious. That last ditch attempt to hold onto a life that was already lost - by coming on to Kale - was doomed from the start, and may have doomed whatever future I could've had with him, and with Adrian. But, hey, maybe that's for the best.

Ryan really was a bastard.

It's time for him to burn away. It's time for me to rise from the ashes.

I close my eyes for a very long time.

I get off the plane and walk through the airport and collect my luggage and leave and it's all on autopilot.

I'm in Canada.

And I'm not me anymore.

No. I'm not him.

I left Ryan up there, above the clouds and, oh my god, I'm glad I did. The change is instant and immense. I've never felt so utterly free. At once it's both terrifying and invigorating.

I have a good feeling; the notion courses through me that this may be the best decision I've made in a long time. I exhale a breath that I'm certain had been held in for months. A smile sneaks its way across my muzzle and I set off toward a row of taxis.

It strikes me that I don't have to lose everything I had to be somebody new. If Kale was serious about keeping up with me, I'll welcome it. Adrian too. Eve, absolutely. Even Charlie, or Mint, just... not yet. It's all too fresh and raw. The other three went through it with me, it's different with them, but I hope one day I'll feel steady enough to face my old friends. Not as Ryan though. Never as Ryan. He's dead.

There's so much I don't know - there's so much uncertainty inside me - but not about that. The life I lived is over; a new one has begun. And I know that not all of my baggage has just gone and disappeared, but some of it_has_, and more will. It's more than I could've hoped for.

I call my mom before boarding a cab.

She says: hi Ryan.

I say: I'm back in Canada.

She's ecstatic and confused. She didn't even know I was coming.

I tell her it's a long story.

I tell her I'm coming to visit.

She's delighted.

I tell her my name isn't Ryan anymore.

She doesn't get it. Maybe she never will.

She asks me what my name is.

I tell her.

At some point the decision made itself.

I can't say that's ever happened before.