His hands ball into fists at his sides, and when he speaks, his voice cracks with frustration. “I want you to stop lying to yourself. To me. To Calum. You’re tearing yourself apart, and you’re dragging us all down with you.”
I take a step back, the wind whipping my hair into my face. His words strike something raw in me, something I can’t name, and it only makes me angrier. “And what about you, Jonathan? You think you’re so different from Calum? You’re not. You want to own me just as much as he does.”
“That’s not true.” His voice softens, but his eyes blaze with something desperate. “I don’t want to own you, Annabel. I want to love you.”
“No.” I shake my head, the word cutting like a blade. “You want me to be some version of myself that fits neatly into your life. You want me to need you, to depend on you. That’s not love. That’s control.”
“Control?” Jonathan’s laugh is humorless, bitter. “You think love is about freedom? Then why does every choice you make look like a prison?”
The words hit me like a wave, cold and unyielding. I don’t answer right away, the truth of his accusation coiling around my throat. Instead, I turn toward the edge of the cliff, staring out at the endless sea. The water churns violently, frothing against the jagged rocks below.
“Love should feel like freedom,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “So why does it always feel so suffocating?”
Jonathan doesn’t answer right away, but I can feel his presence behind me, a shadow just out of reach. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “Maybe because you don’t know what you want. Or maybe because you’re too afraid to admit it.”
I whirl around, my fists clenching at my sides. “And you think you do? You think you have me all figured out?”
“I think you’re scared,” he says simply. “Of Calum. Of me. Of yourself.”
The words strip me bare, exposing every fragile, ugly part of me I’ve tried so hard to bury. My vision blurs with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall. “You don’t know me, Jonathan.”
“I know enough,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “I know you hate being tied down, but you’re terrified of being alone. I know you love Calum’s ambition, but it makes you feel small. I know you’re drawn to me, but you hate yourself for it.”
“Stop it,” I whisper, the words shaking with emotion. “Just stop.”
But he doesn’t. He steps closer, his voice softening. “Iknow you feel trapped, Annabel. But you don’t have to be. You can let go.”
“Let go of what?” I scream, the sound tearing from my throat. “Of Calum? Of you? Of this whole goddamn mess? Tell me, Jonathan, what do I let go of first?”
“Of the lies,” he says, his voice steady. “Of the idea that you have to choose between us. Of the fear that if you stop running, you’ll lose yourself.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, the wind dies down, the world holding its breath. I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest, and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.
“I don’t know how,” I admit finally, my voice barely audible.
Jonathan’s face softens, and he reaches for me, his hand brushing against mine. “You start by being honest. With yourself. With us.”
I pull my hand away, shaking my head. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he insists, his voice firm. “You just don’t want to.”
The truth of his words slices through me, leaving me raw and exposed. I take a step back, the edge of the cliff looming closer, and for a moment, I wonder what it would feel like to fall. To let the waves take me, to let it all go.
But then Jonathan grabs my arm, pulling me back. His grip is firm, grounding, and for a moment, I hate him for it. For keeping me tethered when all I want is to drift away.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice breaking. “Don’t you dare.”
I look up at him, my vision blurred with tears. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Jonathan.”
“You’re Annabel,” he says, his voice steady. “You’re messy and beautiful and infuriating. And you’re worth fighting for.”
The words are a balm and a curse, filling me with both hope and despair. I want to believe him, but the weight ofeverything I’ve done—everything I’ve left undone—feels too heavy to bear.
“I don’t know if I can fix this,” I whisper, hands cradling my twisting stomach.
“Then don’t,” he says simply. “Just stop running. Stop hiding. Be here. Be real.”
The simplicity of his words is staggering, and for a moment, I feel like I can breathe again. I nod slowly, the tears spilling over, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself feel the weight of it all.
