Seeing him with Jessica brought all those insecurities rushing back. It made little sense, especially after his last text saying he still wanted to talk. Had that been just a fleeting thought, easily dismissed now that Jessica was in the picture? He hadn’t reached out since that last message, and the realization stung. The last time I called, he didn’t return it, or even text to see what I wanted. Had he really just moved on like that? Were the last four years we spent together not worth anything to him?
My mother’s words echoed in my head—Someone like Sebastian wouldn’t stay single for long.It was a cruel reminder that maybe everyone had expected this but me, and the heartbreak I thought I was finally moving past suddenly felt as raw as ever. Despite my efforts to embrace a new life, and chase my dreams in Hallow’s End, doubts now crept in. Had I been too quick to leave everything behind? The breakup seemed so final, yet now, it feltlike an open wound.
And then there was Ethan.
Had I jumped into something too quickly? Seeing Sebastian move on so easily, with someone like Jessica, made me doubt whether I was truly ready for anything new. Maybe I was rushing things, trying to fill a void that was still very much present. I wanted to be over Sebastian, to move forward and find something real, but clearly, I wasn’t there yet.
A wave of emotions hit me as I considered sending a text. I thought back to my conversation with Ivy, where she encouraged me to give Ethan a chance. But seeing Sebastian with someone else stirred up a storm of conflicting feelings. The jealousy and loneliness bubbled up inside me, along with a desperate need for validation.
Part of me didn’t want to see him happy without me. It was selfish and unfair, but there it was, that raw truth. Sending a text felt like a way to reclaim some of that lost connection, to remind him—and maybe myself—that I still mattered.
I picked up my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. The urge to reach out was overwhelming. But what could I possibly say that wouldn’t sound petty or desperate?
I typed out a text, my fingers moving almost on their own.
I tried to justify the message to myself, thinking it made sense to keep things friendly, given how involved Sebastian had been in my life, and with my family. Maybe staying in touch could be normal. Mature, even. It felt like a reasonable way to bridge the distance, a way to feel connected to somethingfamiliar in the midst of so much uncertainty.
To my surprise, Sebastian responded almost immediately.
His flirty and upbeat tone sent a confusing rush of emotions through me. I questioned whether I’d blown the photo with Jessica out of proportion. Maybe it was nothing—just a moment caught on camera, not a sign of something deeper. But then, I mentally stopped myself. I shouldn’t care either way. If I wanted to stay friends, I should be happy for him, regardless of who he was with.
Yet, a part of me still missed him. Missed the easy way we used to talk, and the comfort of being together. It was a struggle to balance those feelings, knowing that moving on was the right thing to do, but still feeling the tug of our past. Falling into old habits, I replied without much hesitation.
His words made me pause. The hint of jealousy in his message suggested he wasn’t thrilled about me meeting new people, but it felt superficial; more about control than actual concern. It seemed like he missed the physical comfort and presence I provided, rather than missing me as a person. It was a sobering and painful realization,highlighting the gap between the connection I was craving, and what he seemed to want. I decided to steer the conversation away from his insinuations.
I glanced at the clock. It was just before midnight on a Monday, and it crossed my mind that the post might have been from the weekend. Then again, knowing Sebastian, the fact that he had work in the morning never stopped him from going out for drinks and partying. I hit send, trying to keep my tone neutral, while curiosity and a touch of old concern nagged at me.
I waited for a response, but it didn’t come. Feeling restless, I got up and headed to the bathroom. As I stood there brushing my teeth, a specific memory of Sebastian flashed in my mind, clearer than the rest. It was one of those nights I couldn’t forget, no matter how hard I tried.
Sebastian had stumbled back to his flat late, well past midnight. We had made plans for me to stay over and have dinner together, something simple and intimate—a rare break from our usual social whirlwind. But when he finally walked through the door, it was clear that things hadn’t gone according to plan. His usually sharp green eyes were glazed over, and he reeked of whiskey. He had dishevelled clothes, messy hair, and a reckless, carefree grin that masked so much.
He had clearly been out with his friends, celebrating a big deal they had just signed. Instead of our night in, he’d let himself get swept away by the excitement, the lure of drinks and congratulations too tempting to resist. It was a familiar scenario, one that left me feeling both frustrated and sidelined.Whilst I’d been looking forward to our evening, he’d been caught up in the buzz of his success, leaving me waiting and worried.
“Sebastian,” I had said, my voice full of concern. “Are you okay? You didn’t answer your phone.”
He waved me off, staggering slightly as he kicked off his shoes. “I’m fine, V. Just needed to blow off some steam,” he slurred, attempting to appear nonchalant. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was avoiding my eyes.
I reached out, touching his arm gently. “You scared me. You can’t just disappear like that.”
He pulled me close, his grip firm but not comforting. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he murmured, leaning in, his breath hot against my neck. His words were dismissive, brushing off my worry as if it were nothing.
I wanted to talk, to understand what had driven him to this state, but he wasn’t interested in discussing it. Instead, he kissed me hungrily, almost desperately. His hands were all over me, pulling me closer, and I felt the familiar conflict rise within me. I wanted to take care of him, to be there for him, but he wasn’t letting me in. He was using the physical connection as a distraction, a way to avoid whatever was bothering him.
We ended up having sex, not because I particularly wanted to, but because I could tell it was what he needed at the moment. It was a way to soothe his frayed edges, to give him some semblance of comfort. As we lay togetherafterward, the room heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol, he was already asleep, the stress lines on his face softened. I, on the other hand, stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of unspoken words and unresolved issues.
It was a pattern that had played out more than once—me trying to care for him, to reach the parts of him that were always just out of reach, and him shutting me out, opting for the simplicity of physical closeness over the vulnerability of emotional intimacy. I sighed, the memory a bitter reminder of the emotional distance that had always existed between us, even in our most intimate moments.
Once I was settled back in bed, snuggled under the covers, my phone buzzed with a new message.
His words carried the familiar tone of someone who’d had a few too many drinks. There was a raw honesty in his message, a mix of wistfulness and drunken vulnerability. It was clear he was grappling with our new reality, just as I was, but in his own way.
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to respond, to keep the connection alive, even if it was just a sliver of what we once had. But another part of me knew better. It was late, and nothing good ever came from texting after midnight, especially when alcohol was involved. His message only confirmed what I had been trying to convince myself of all along—that we weren’t ready to have these conversations. Not like this, not now.
It was tempting to fall back into familiar patterns, to let his words pull me back into the emotional whirlpool of our past. But I needed to focus on myself. Engaging with him now, in this state, would only muddy the waters further and make it harderfor me to move on.
I sighed and put my phone down, deciding not to reply. As much as it hurt, it was the right choice. I turned off the light and told myself that sometimes, the best response is no response at all.
In the middle of the night, the sound of my phone ringing jolted me awake. I groggily reached for it, squinting at the screen to see Sebastian’s name flashing. The clock read 3:33 A.M. Without much thought, I declined the call. A moment later, it rang again, and I declined once more, knowing that nothing productive would come from talking to him in this state.
