“Jackson!”
I stand too, but he’s already at the door. He opens it and disappears into the hall while I force my feet to stay in place. As much as I want to go after him, to tell him Idowant him, I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to break the rules, to give him hope when I’m not sure if I have any myself.
The silence that follows is deafening. I stand there for a long time, staring at the open door, unable to move. The office feels colder now. Emptier.
Once again, it’s not him I was protecting when I should’ve been.
It was myself.
And I’m not sure there’s a version of this where either of us makes it out unscathed.
By the time I makeit back to my car, I hate myself a little for the way I handled things.
I’ll admit I overreacted. But when he hesitated at the possibility of us being together after the semester ends…well, it hurt.
The exhaustion of pretending like I don’t care hit me all at once, heavy and dull, like it had been waiting for the right moment to flatten me.
Because the truth is, I’m tired. Tired of fighting with everyone, of pretending it doesn’t get to me when people pull away. It feels as though that’s all anyone ever does. My dad. My girlfriend. Now Isaac.
I keep telling myself that I don’t care. That I’m used to it. But it stings, and the more I try to ignore it, the sharper it gets. That familiar feeling of beingunwanted.
This time, I got angry.
That’s why I lashed out. For once, I wanted to hurt back.
But the look on his face when I threw Dylan’s name at him?
That wasn’t anger.
That was pain.
And now I feel guilty for it.
Leaning back against the headrest, I close my eyes and let out a long breath, trying to keep the weight of everything from crushing me even more.
I stay there until the windshield fogs over, my own breath ghosting across the glass. Finally, I start the car and head home. The drive takes about ten minutes, but it feels longer before I’m finally making the turn onto the small, quiet road that winds its way toward the house.
When I pull into the driveway, I spot my dad’s car already parked. I was hoping he’d still be at work.
The two-story brick home looms at the end of the long, gravel drive. It was built by my dad’s grandfather, and my dad has spent the money to keep it in decent shape. New roof, freshly painted trim. But there’s still a history here, the red brick darkened over the years, weathered by storms and winters. The black shutters are a little faded, and ivy snakes up one corner near the porch like it’s trying to reclaim the place.
Off to the right, the guesthouse sits at the edge of the property, tucked near the tree line. It’s smaller and newer, the siding painted a muted gray that almost blends with the woods behind it.
From here, it looks like a different world entirely. Quiet. Detached. A space where I can breathe without feeling like I’m being measured against someone else’s expectations.
Ishouldgo straight there, skip the main house entirely and avoid the risk of running into my dad. After the day I’ve had, I’m not sure if I could stop any slight interaction between us from turning into a confrontation.
I don’t know if I can stomach the feeling of beingunwantedeven more today.
However, I’m fucking starving, and once again, there’s no food in the guesthouse. I skipped lunch because I was too excited and nervous to return to Isaac’s office at the end of the day.
Isaac.
When did I start thinking of him as Isaac instead of Professor Kendall?
Getting out of my car, I reluctantly walk up the steps of the front porch to the main house, using my key to unlock the door as my stomach rumbles. The first floor is quiet, so hopefully that means my dad is upstairs in his study, buried in work like he always is.
The scent of coffee hits me as I turn the corner toward the kitchen, not fresh but not stale either. Somewhere in between.
