I look down. “I think I needed a place to put all the things I couldn’t say out loud.”
The words fall from my mouth before I can think through them, but once they’re in the air, I feel how true they are.
His brow furrows, like he's seeing more depth to me now.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asks quietly.
My mouth goes dry. I nod, even though I’ve never talked to anyone about this besides Sal.
He waits.
“My ex,” I say. “He was older, too. Not by much, just enough. I thought he loved me. He told me I was everything. And then he… changed.”
The next words tumble from my mouth, desperate to be setfree. “He didn’t hit me or anything. Not like that. But he broke me in other ways. Controlled me. Made me feel small—crazy. Like I was lucky he even noticed me.”
I swallow hard.
“He cheated. Repeatedly. Lied about it until he didn’t even bother lying anymore. And by then, I didn’t even recognize myself.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then Theo says, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
His voice is quiet, but laced with fury. Like if he ever met the guy, he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened next.
I glance at him. “Have you ever been through something like that?”
He hesitates. Then nods. “Different shape, maybe. But… yeah. I know what it’s like. To trust someone who makes you feel like you’re too much and not enough all at once. Makes you question your own instincts.”
Our eyes meet and hold.
He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t try to fix it. Just sits with it. With me.
And that… god, that’s what makes me want to cry.
“You see me,” I whisper, almost without meaning to.
“I have since the first night we met.”
13
SOPHIE
The drive home is quiet, but comfortably so. Being in his presence is calming, a steady undercurrent of peace wrapping around me like a weighted blanket. I could sit beside him for hours, saying nothing, just existing. He's like the escape I find in smoking weed, only better.
But the urge to reach over and touch him? It's strong. And the way his fingers twitch every so often on the steering wheel makes me think he feels it too. I keep telling myself I'm probably just imagining things, but it can't be just me that feels the chemistry between us.
It's in the air, electric and thick, every breath filled with it. The very molecules of our cells seem to reach for each other, drawn by something primal, something inevitable.
He knows the area well, somehow. When I gave him my address, he didn’t hesitate or ask for directions. He just drove. I haven't spoken since.
As we enter my neighborhood, he slows before the turn to my street, pulling off to the side and shifting the gear into park. A quiet tension lingers in the air between us.
“I, uh… I think it's best I don't take you to the front door.” His voice is rough and low. His eyes flick to mine, guarded, searching. Questions swirl between us, unspoken but understood. Neither of us will mention this to anyone, just like the bar. Another secret shared between us.
“Yeah, that’s probably smart. Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.” I smirk, trying to lighten the mood, to cool the burn of whatever this is. But the tension lingers, simmering, the kind that makes my skin prickle and my pulse race. Something has shifted between us, as minute as it may be.
God, if only he wasn't my teacher. Everything about him, his presence, his restraint, his quiet strength, it’s just,ugh. I can’t explain it. Can’t even begin to make sense of what I’m feeling.
