The dock creaksunder my feet as I watch the sun bleed orange across the water.Everything's too quiet—no wind, no birds, just the gentle lap of waves against the pilings like the dock.
I fucked up, again.
Coming home to see those fucking flowers sitting on the kitchen counter like a declaration of war.Flowers were one thing, but the fucking card, with its casual mention of"that kiss"like it was nothing, like it didn't tear a hole straight through my chest.
I snapped and just completely fucking lost it.
The rational part of my brain knew it wasn't Nora's fault, obviously.She did nothing wrong, it's not like she asked for some guy to send her flowers.She doesn't even like flowers, at least not those flowers.She's more of a wildflower kind of girl—daisies or sunflowers, something simple and honest that doesn't wilt after three days.
But like always, I shut down every time someone gets too close, and I snapped at her like she was the enemy.Like she hadn't spent god knows how many years proving she wasn't going anywhere.
The thing is, I'm not fucking naive.I know she had every right to build a life in London that didn't include me after last summer.After the way I left things.But knowing something logically and feeling it in your gut are two different beasts entirely.
The thought of her world existing without me in it—of her being happy, fulfilled, loved by someone else—it feels like drowning with my eyes wide open.
And then there’s the whole thing with Jake, which already had my nerves scraped raw.The flowers from Liam were just the match that lit the whole fucking powder keg.
My hands are still shaking.
Not from anger anymore—that burned out the moment I saw her face crumple.
Now it's something else.
Something that feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing the ground beneath your feet was never solid to begin with.I run my palm over my jaw.
Fuck, I'm an idiot.
How could a heart like hers ever love a heart like mine?That's the thought that fucks with me the most.
It's the one that keeps me awake at night, the one I try to drown out with anything that makes enough noise to quiet the voice that tells me I'm fighting a losing battle.
There was a time when I would have reached for something stronger to silence that voice.Pills stolen from Mom’s medicine cabinets, whatever I could find at parties, anything that would blur the edges of thoughts too sharp to live with.
Not because I wanted to get high to feel good.I just wanted to feel less.Less angry, less afraid, less like I was drowning in my own head every time someone got close enough to matter.The twisted psychology of it wasn't lost on me—I'd learned early that if I hurt myself first, really went deep with the self-destruction, it somehow made everyone else's abandonment hurt less.Like building up an immunity to pain by injecting yourself with small doses of poison.
The irony wasn't lost on me even then: using substances to numb the pain of watching my mom destroy herself with alcohol or sleeping pills.But when you're fifteen and everything inside you feels like broken glass, logic doesn't factor into survival.You just do whatever it takes to make it through another day without bleeding out.
The thoughts lead back to the original question:How could a heart like Nora's ever love a heart like mine?
Hers is all soft edges and open doors.
She gives pieces of herself away like she has an endless supply, like she doesn't know how rare that kind of generosity is.How dangerous it can be.
Mine came with deadbolts and warning signs.
Scarred over from too many people who took what they wanted and left.I learned to love with my fists clenched, ready to fight or flee.
But I guess some hearts understand each other even in silence.She never asks me to explain those kinds of feelings.Just sits beside them like they're not weapons aimed at anyone who gets too close.
Talks to me like I'm not dangerous, like the sharp edges weren't designed to cut.And I never ask her to dim that light of hers.Even when it hurts to look at.
Even when it shows me everything I'm not.
Of course she should go back to London.
Of course she should follow her heart, her dreams.
Even if none of them include me.
