What’s wrong? You don’t trust her with your heart?
I don’t trust myself.
I rest my head against the headboard, closing my eyes as the confession hits the air.
But you want to be with her?
My jaw clenches. Because, yeah. That’s exactly the problem.
It’s too soon.
Too soon for what?
For anything. I should be dating. Exploring. Rebounding.
Not falling headfirst into someone who makes my brain glitch every time she looks at me like I’m not a mess.
No reply. Not yet. Then?—
So… you want her. But you’re pushing her away. Because it’s inconvenient?
Because it’s a disaster waiting to happen.
You’re just scared.
That one doesn’t land soft. It knocks the breath right out of me. She’s not wrong. Before Chloe, I wasn’t like this. I didn’t second-guess every good thing. I didn’t weigh every choice like it might be the one that sends the whole thing crashing down.
But now, I don’t trust the pull. Not even when it feels… true, or right.
So, why is my first instinct to treat it like a threat?
Oh, I know why!
Because finger fucking someone in a public bathroom weeks after having your heart ripped out doesn’t exactly scream stable mental health.
I’m terrified.
I don’t know if I can tell the difference between something fleeting and something worth persuing.
And if it is worth pursuing? I’m afraid I’ll ruin it.
That’s a heavy thing to carry alone.
I read her message again.
And again.
For what it’s worth, you’re being way too hard on yourself.
But if you ever need someone to talk to... I’m here.
No pressure. Just—here.
That simple reassurance hits like a balm. She doesn’t offer solutions. She just offers herself.
Thanks, Trouble.
Anytime, Problem.
