The real one.
The woman who shows up for her sister without needing applause. Who shows up for her family and her teammates but doesn’t ask for help when she needs it. Sound familiar?
She never needed me. She could have rocked that social media campaign and won the donor over all on her own. But she chose me anyway.
Until I gave her a hundred reasons not to. I should’ve called her. And when she didn’t answer the phone, I should have showed up at her door. Should’ve told her the truth when it still had time to mean something.
Instead, I froze. I told myself I was waiting for the right time, for the right way, for her to make the first move.
But all I really did was hide.
I let my dad win. Gave in to all those fears that have been building up inside me since I was little. That I’m not goodenough. I don’t deserve happiness. I haven’t done anything to earn it. I let everything I’ve always been terrified of call the shots while I sat back and convinced myself I was being strategic.
And now?
Now, all I have is an empty apartment, a pissed-off athletic department, and a cat curled up on a hoodie that doesn’t belong to me anymore. Not to mention the list of things I should’ve said that won’t stop repeating like a broken record in my head.
I scrub a hand down my face, press the heels of my palms into my eyes until stars burst behind my eyelids.
My throat is tight, but my chest is tighter. I look down at Bluebeard, who lifts his head and blinks at me slowly, like he already knows.
“You miss her too, huh?”
His only response is a louder purr. I reach down, press a hand gently to his back, fingers brushing the folds of her hoodie.
My voice is low. Barely a whisper.
“I want her back.”
And this time, I don’t just want it.
I need it.
Chapter 33
Remember Your Why
Luna
Thesilencestartedoutas a refuge. A buffer between me and the noise of other people’s opinions, other people’s eyes. The ones I welcomed into my life when I exposed it to the public on social media. But nobody deserves to be treated like this. For one perceived wrong. Something deeply personal that doesn’t impact anyone else.
In the last few days, the silence grew teeth. Sharp ones. With nothing but my own thoughts to obsess over, I’ve let it eat away at my confidence. Then, my self-worth. Then whatever scraps of certainty I had left about who I was and what I’ve been doing with my life.
I haven’t left my room since Monday except to shower, refill my water bottle, and heat microwave mac and cheese that I never ate. The bowl’s still sitting on my desk. Half-covered with plastic wrap. Untouched.
Maisie knocked twice yesterday. Once with a smoothie, once with the promise of hot fries and half a joint if I’d come out and sit on the balcony with her.
I didn’t answer either time.
She stopped knocking after that.
I know she’s just giving me space, the way good friends do. But every hour that ticks by makes it harder to cross the gap I’ve built between myself and the people who care about me.
I burrow deeper under my blanket, scroll through my camera roll until my thumb cramps, then toss my phone to the far side of the mattress and flip onto my back. The ceiling is dull white, a little cracked in one corner from a leaky pipe last fall. I fixate on that crack, hoping that if I stare at it long enough, maybe it’ll start making sense.
Maybe it wouldn’t feel so awful if I didn’t keep thinking maybe they’re right. Was I too fake? Am I actually the person Beau took me for when we first met? A vapid influencer on a never-ending quest for likes and subscribers. Too polished and curated. Maybe I stopped being a person the moment I became a brand.
My chest tightens. I press the edge of the pillow into my ribs in an attempt to ease the pain.
