Alex stares at me for a second too long. I can tell he’s trying to figure out what’s happening in my head—what changed, why I’m pulling away again.
Then he sighs, a quiet, worn-out kind of sigh.
“Is this you closing off again?” His voice is low, still calm, but there’s something in there too, “just like when I kissed you for the first time, or the second time, where you decide not to talk to me for days and only write, or yesterday when you went all silent after what we did and not wanting to look at me.”
His words aren’t angry, they aren’t even accusing, they’re just honest. And that’s what makes it feel worse.
“We can’t…” I say, tiredly trying to find my voice.
“We can’t what?” Alex asks gently
“We can’t get serious,” I say, finally trying to stop my panic from rising. “I can’t be yours, Alex, I won’t be good enough for you.”
“What do you mean?” He asks, looking confused, “Is it because of the age difference?”
“What?” I say, perplexed, “No, of course not.”
I blink at him in confusion.
“Why would you even think that?”
He searches my face for a while, then steps closer.
“So what is it?”He asks.
But I hold a hand up, stopping him from getting close to me. If he touches me, I’ll break.
“I’m not like you, Alex,” I say, more breath than sound. “You have this perfect life and a family that wants you around and… and a future. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. I’mbroken in ways I can’t explain, and I don’t want you to try fixing it. You’ll just hate me when you see what’s underneath.”
“I know something is going on with you, that’s why I’ve been trying to hold back,” he says softly, “but if you just let me—”
“No,” I snap, then flinch at my tone.
My vision blurs. Not tears. Just pressure behind my eyes, I refuse to let it fall.
“I feel it too,” I say calmly this time, “whatever this is between us, I hate that I like it, but I can’t give you what you want, not the way you deserve.”
His face is unreadable as usual, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s hurt, but I don’t think he’s hurt from the fact that I don’t want to be with him, I think he’s hurt… for me. For whatever messed me up to be like this.
“I want to go home, please,” I whisper, my voice thin and frayed, worn down by everything— this place, him.
Alex’s eyes fix on me. There’s a storm there, a thousand unsaid things pulling at his lips, straining against his restraint. For a moment, I think he’ll fight me. But then, with a long, heavy sigh, he lets it go.
“Alright,” he murmurs, low and rough. “I’ll take you home.”
The thought of being alone with him right now makes my chest tighten, makes my resolve tremble. I can’t. If he drives me, if it’s just the two of us, I’ll crumble. I’ll reach for him, and I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll beg him to hold me, and I can’t—God, I can’t.
“I’d prefer if… Ashley or Mike dropped me off instead,” I say, my voice breaking on the words, pleading more than I want to.
His jaw locks, sharp and dangerous. He looks away, shoulders taut, as though he’s holding himself back from something reckless. Seconds stretch before he exhales, slow and heavy, and when he looks at me again, his expression is carved from the patience he clearly doesn’t have.
“Alright,” he says again, clipped, resigned.
The walk back to the mansion is suffocatingly quiet. When we arrive, Alex doesn’t linger. He leads me upstairs to his room, but doesn’t follow me in. He just stops at the doorway, as if deciding for me that space is what I need. I should be grateful—and I am—but it aches.
Inside, I pull on my jacket and shoes with shaky hands, eyes drifting over the room I’m leaving behind. My gaze catches on the table, and heat floods my chest. That’s where his mouth had been on me, where his hands had held me down, where I came undone beneath him.
The memory tears a low, frustrated sigh from me. I shove it down and force myself out of the room.
