It’s not about saving people.
It’s not about purpose.
It’s not even about courage.
It’s about punishment because somewhere along the line, I stopped believing I was allowed to be happy. I let myself fall in love with a boy already bleeding from a thousand invisible wounds. I didn’t stop him when he saidgoodbye, butterflylike I was already a fading photograph. I still see my father dying every time I close my eyes — the way I froze, helpless, silent, useless. I made myself a promise that I’d never freeze again and then I did.
The night Dax walked away, syrup drying on my skin like a brand of shame, and I didn’t run after him. I didn’t fight for him. I didn’t say I love you even though it was lodged in my throat so violently it hurt to breathe.
So yes.
I’m going.
Not because I’m brave.
Not because I’m strong but because maybe if I walk straight into hell, I’ll finally feel something that hurts worse than losing him.
Maybe then, the ache will quiet.
Maybe then, I’ll stop waking up wondering why I wasn’t worth staying for.
Maybe then, I’ll stop writing letters he’ll never read.
Lola’s silence stretches, long and brittle.
Then she exhales — one of those breaths that sounds like it’s carrying its own history. “You know,” she says gently, “it’s okay to say it.”
“Say what?”
She tilts her head. “That you didn’t just fall for him. You fell into him. Like a fucking open wound.”
My throat cinches tight. “I didn’t?—”
“You did.” It’s not cruel. It’s tired. It’s honest. “You did, Cass. And now you’re running headfirst into a war zone because you think it’ll hurt less than staying.”
I flinch because she’s too right.
I laugh — a sharp, broken sound. “Want to add that to my psych eval? Might help them pack the meds.”
She doesn’t even smile.
She just studies me like she’s already bracing for the goodbye.
“Cass…” Her voice wavers. “You could still call him. You could?—”
“No.”
She blinks. “Why not?”
“Because he chose to leave me in that kitchen.” My voice curdles, bitter and electric. “He said goodbye like I was a mistake he had to amputate.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Don’t I?” My breath shudders. “He didn’t say goodbye. Not really. He walked out like trying to stay would’ve destroyed him.”
I stare at my duffel.
Folded so neatly.
