I told him I wasn’t good enough for someone like him. And maybe, deep down, I believed it. But the moment those words left my mouth, my chest ached with regret. Because, as much as I told him not to want me that way… a part of me wanted to be enough. For him. Just him.
After Ashley dropped me off that day, I went straight to my room and collapsed onto my bed, eyes burning but dry. Tyler only had to look at me once to know something had happened. When I told him I’d basically pushed Alex away, he pulled me into his arms without a word.
I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I just stood there, motionless, wrapped in his warmth, and wishing it were Alex.
On Monday, I didn’t get out of bed.
I stayed cocooned under my blanket, eyes open, mind blank, until Tyler came home from work and practically dragged me to the kitchen to eat something. I didn’t even taste the food, I just chewed because he looked worried.
On Tuesday, he pulled me out of the house entirely. Took me thrifting, like he was on a mission to resuscitate me. Then he dragged me into a salon where I received a manicure, a pedicure, and a wax treatment, even though I barely have any body hair to begin with. I moved through it all like a zombie, numb and disconnected. But I guess it helped—a little.
Now today, I’m on the mat stretching and pretending I’m okay. Trying to trick my mind into clarity, but it’s no use; my thoughts keep spiraling, smoke I can’t wave away.
If the ASL job with Alex is over, then what happens next?
There’s still some money in my account—from the past week’s payments, but it won’t last. Not with my mom’s debt still coiled around my neck like a noose. Not if I want to stick to my promise of transferring out of community college and getting a fresh start next year. The future looks like a blurred, crumbling road. And the weight of it sits heavy in my chest.
Mike keeps showing up at my apartment, and I keep telling him that I won’t be coming. I wonder when he will get tired.
I flinch when a hand touches my shoulder. Tyler. I blink up at him, startled, coming back to reality.
He signs, “Someone’s knocking. Are you expecting anyone today?”
I shake my head and shrug, lips parting for a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I hadn’t heard the knock. Of course, I hadn’t—I took my hearing aids off to focus.
“I’ll check,” He signs back before heading toward the door.
I nod and close my eyes again, falling back into the rhythm. Inhale. Exhale. Sink deeper.
A few minutes pass.
Then I feel it—
His scent hits me first. Sandalwood, Amber, a trace of lavender. It’s subtle, but consuming. Familiar. Like muscle memory. Like something that’s made a home in the back of my mind and refuses to leave. It wraps around me like a second skin, like a shield.
I inhale, and it’s all I can do not to collapse into it.
When I open my eyes, he’s there.
Alexander.
Standing in the middle of my living room, still and silent, like he’s always belonged there. His eyes are on me, unreadable as always, but heavy with something, one I don’t know how to name.
I blink. Once. Twice.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me with that quiet intensity, like he’s trying to commit me to memory.
My chest tightens.
His gaze drags over me, where I’m still on the mat, flushed, damp, and breathless. I must look a mess.
But the way he looks at me—it isn’t disgust. It isn’t judgment.
It’s something like longing.
And I swear, for a second, I forget how to breathe at all.
My fingers twitch against the mat. My pulse hammers behind my ribs like it’s begging to be let out. He hasn’t even said a word, and yet I feel like I’m unraveling, thread by thread, under the weight of his silence.
