Not just the big stuff, the kisses, the late-night texts, the thrill of being wanted. But the small things. The quiet moments I never told anyone about.
Like the way brought me treats without me asking. The way he’d notice when I was cold and wordlessly pull a blanket overmy legs. The way he’d lean in when I spoke, eyes locked on mine like nothing else existed in the world.
Or how he’d keep me on the phone talking long after he should be asleep, just to make me laugh one more time.
The way his hand would twitch toward mine like he couldn’t help it, like it was just instinct.
God, it's those little things that kill you.
Not the betrayal.
Not even the heartbreak.
It’s the absence of being seen.
I climb out of the car, legs shaky, stomach rolling, and force myself to walk inside like nothing's wrong. I grab my phone on my way, but don’t turn the screen on. I can’t.
My parents are seated in the living room, the glow from the TV painting their faces pale and flickering. They barely glance at me.
“You're home early,” my dad says without looking up.
“I was tired,” I answer, my voice flat, foreign even to my own ears.
He grunts, turning back to the screen. Good. I don't have the energy for anything else.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, my hands numb and clumsy, and head upstairs. Every step feels like dragging a body twice my size up the wooden stairs. When I finally make it intomy room, I close the door, lock it, and crawl onto the bed.
For a moment, I just lie there, trying to catch my breath. My body aches in a way that has nothing to do with physical exhaustion. I feel like my heart cracked open at the seams, something ugly and raw pouring out.
I want to call Sal. I want to hear her voice tell me it's okay, that I didn't imagine it, that I'm not crazy. But she's out tonight, living her life. I don't want to be the sad, broken girl who drags everyone else down.
Instead, I yank the comforter over my body and grab the remote, queuing upGrey’s Anatomy. Season one, episode one. I don’t need to pay much attention. I know every line, every scene. I don’t want to see something new, I want to watch something familiar when everything around me feels like it's crumbling.
The first few minutes blur past as my chest tightens and my throat burns. Tears spill over, silent and endless, soaking into my pillow. I let them fall. Fighting them would take strength I don't have.
I grieve the relationship I thought I had. Grieve the future I let myself imagine. One where Theo stood beside me, proud and certain, where I didn’t have to hide my heart anymore.
The show continues to play, the background noise filling the space that Theo usually occupies inside my head.
It’s so stupid, really. I should’ve known better. Should’ve known fairy tales aren’t real. Love is just a game men play when they want something from you. They build you up, fill you with hopes and dreams, then tear the ground out from under your feet the moment you trust them enough to stand.
I don’t know how long I cry before the exhaustion drags me under. I fall asleep that way, crumpled under my blanket, the flicker of the TV washing over my tear-streaked face.
I wakethe next morning to the stiff ache of muscles curled too tightly for too long. For a moment, I lay still, floating in that hazy space between sleep and waking where everything is numb.
Then it all comes crashing back. Theo. Evelyn. The wine glasses. The expression on his face. I roll over, squeezing my eyes shut, willing it all to disappear.
My phone sits on the nightstand, silent and dark. I know if Iturn it on, I’ll see a dozen missed calls, a hundred texts. Maybe even apologies. Explanations. Or, even worse, maybe nothing at all.
I don't care. I can't care.
Because caring means opening the door to being hurt again. And I can't survive that. Not again. Not from him.
Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffle toward the bathroom. I look like hell. Puffy eyes, tangled hair, T-shirt hanging off one shoulder. I splash cold water on my face until the sting wakes me up enough to move.
Downstairs, Bells is already in the kitchen, humming under her breath as she makes a bagel. She looks up when I enter, her eyes narrowing.
“Morning, zombie.”
