It felt cruel. Didn’t they realize that? Didn’t they see how cruel it was? It was the only thing I had left. The only thing in my life that made sense to me. They wanted to strip that understanding away, to rip control from my hands and from my mind. They didn’t understand. They never would.
So I wasn’t surprised when I began to recognize the empty stretch of road ahead of me. I guess even when I could barelyrecognize myself, I was still predictable. I barely took the time to make sure the car was completely off the road before slamming it into park. I threw the door open and launched myself into the night air without stopping to breathe. My breaths came faster and faster as my feet carried me forward again. This time, instead of hard pavement, damp blades of grass brushed against my bare feet as I ran across the empty field. The cold tickled my skin, grounding and stinging all at once. Desperation pooled inside me again, rising higher with every step. My thighs burned too quickly, the ache blooming deep in my muscles in a way that didn’t match how fast I was moving. My vision narrowed at the edges, dark spots flickering in and out like faulty lights. I forced my legs to keep going anyway. I told myself they were just tired. I told myself it meant nothing. I needed to reach my destination. I didn’t know why, only that I did. So I ran faster.
My chest began to tighten, my breath fighting to stay inside my lungs, when I finally reached it. I forced myself up the hill with the last scraps of energy left in my body. The ground tilted beneath me, just enough to make my stomach drop. I grabbed at the grass with one hand, my fingers slipping through the damp blades as my breath stuttered uselessly in my chest. My body felt hollow and heavy at the same time, like it couldn’t decide whether to float or fall. My legs gave out without warning. I didn’t lower myself to the ground. I hit it.
A small, fleeting sense of calm washed over me as I stared up at the stars. It didn’t last long, but it was enough. Enough for my body to loosen for a second as thousands of distant lights stared back at me. I wasn’t sure why I always ended up here when my mind became too heavy to carry. Usually, it was because the stars brought comfort. They felt like a substitute for the mountains I carried in my memory. I couldn’t go to the mountains anymore, but I could come here. Tonight, though, Iwasn’t sure what I was looking for. I didn’t want perspective. I didn’t want clarity. I didn’t want anything to get better.
I didn’t care that the grass was soaking wet as I let myself fall back completely. The cold seeped through my shirt, pressing against my skin until I could feel my body again. It dragged me out of my head and back into something physical, something real. Even lying still, my heart wouldn’t slow. It fluttered erratically in my chest, skipping in a way that made me press a hand over it, as if I could steady it through skin alone. My adrenaline drained all at once. My stomach turned. My lips pulled into a frown before I even registered the shift inside me. They trembled, and then my mouth broke open in a sob. Tears spilled freely down my face, hot and relentless, soaking into my skin. I tried to breathe. I couldn’t. I only cried.
“Blair.”
I’m sure the only reason I hadn’t heard his footsteps was because my own sobs were too loud to hear anything else. Anything except his voice, which sliced clean through the night air. My heart dropped. I turned toward the sound, half-convinced it had to be my imagination. But the moment my eyes landed on him, I knew it wasn’t.
At this point in our tangled, fractured relationship, I thought I’d seen every version of Austin that existed. I’d seen him confident and smug. Vulnerable. Angry. Jealous. Surprised. I’d seen his pain, his pleasure, his love. I had never seen him like this. He looked as dark as a starless night. His eyes were glassy—not sharp or bright, not crystalline the way people’s eyes sometimes turn—but empty. Hollow. He looked at me like something inside him had cracked wide open. Like I had broken him.
I shook my head as our eyes met, panic flooding me all over again. My hands flew to my face in a desperate attempt to stopthe tears. They didn’t stop. They didn’t even slow. They felt unstoppable. I moved to stand, whipping my head around as I searched for somewhere else to run. Anywhere. I wanted to fly again. I wanted to escape this moment, this confrontation, because I didn’t think I could survive it.
Austin spoke before I could push myself off the ground. “Please don’t. Please, Blair.” I turned back toward him, startled by the sound of his voice. It was thin with desperation. Almost identical to the way I felt. “Please,” he whispered, lowering himself to the ground beside me. “Just… don’t run.” My body stilled. I didn’t know why, but something in me wanted to listen.
“We don’t have to talk,” he said quickly, carefully, like he was afraid of spooking me. “We don’t have to say anything at all. You don’t have to explain yourself. I won’t ask anything of you. Just—” His voice caught. “Just stay, okay? Stay so you’re safe.”
I hesitated, taking one last glance at the empty stretch of darkness around us. A part of me knew he was right. I wasn’t safe on my own. I was a danger to myself. So I sank back into the ground, folding in on myself. I wrapped my arms around my legs and pressed my forehead into my knees, trying to disappear. My emotions surged again, my chest shuddering as I struggled to breathe. I tried to quiet my sobs, but I wasn’t sure it worked.
How did I get here? The thought looped relentlessly, over and over. How did I get here again? How did I let this happen? I felt like I was spinning in place, dizzy from the repetition. My life. My thoughts. Everything circled faster and faster until my stomach twisted. Nothing felt familiar. Not the night. Not my body. Not myself. I had been staring into mirrors lately, desperate to recognize the girl looking back at me. I never could. She felt unfamiliar. Wrong. A stranger. A stranger drowning inher own misery. And that wasn’t even the worst part. I had dragged everyone else down with me.
Everything I had resented Holden for—every selfish act, every ripple of damage—I was doing the same thing. I was hurting people because I was hurt. I was terrifying them because I was terrified. I wasn’t just destroying myself. I was destroying everyone who loved me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. The words surprised me as much as anyone. My voice was muffled against my legs, barely audible.
“Blair,” Austin sighed softly. I didn’t know how he even heard it. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I lifted my head at that, needing to see his face. Surely he was lying. But when our eyes met again, I knew he wasn’t. His expression was open. Earnest. Almost painfully sincere.
“You don’t mean that,” I choked, the words scraping past the lump in my throat.
“Of course I do,” he said gently, tilting his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re—” He hesitated. “You’re sick right now. This isn’t your fault.”
My face collapsed again, tears spilling faster. “I was so mean to you,” I said, shaking my head. “I was mean to everyone. I was mean to Holden. I was mean to Cherry. I don’t want to be mean, but it’s like I can’t stop. I feel like I’m drowning.” Another sob tore out of me. “I feel like I’m drowning,” I repeated, my voice breaking. “And I don’t know how to swim.”
Austin’s expression crumpled at my words, his mouth pulling down sharply as if he were holding back something unbearable. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know, Blair.” He swallowed. “Itdoesn’t matter that you were mean. Holden will forgive you. Cherry will forgive you.”
I nodded, wiping my face again. “What about you?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said immediately. Too quickly. “There’s nothing to forgive, Blair. You didn’t do anything to me.”
“You didn’t do anything to me either,” I said, the words tasting familiar. Cherry’s voice echoed faintly in my head as I said them.
Austin pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I should have told you.”
“I didn’t want to listen,” I argued softly. We both knew it was true.
“I should have made you listen,” he said, still frowning. He looked like he was carrying the same weight I was. Maybe not the same shape, but just as heavy.
“Why didn’t you?” I asked. The question surprised us both. Austin let out a slow breath and closed his eyes for a moment, like he needed the darkness to find the right words. When he spoke again, his voice was raw.
“I wanted your love so badly, Blair,” he said. “I don’t think you understand how badly. You were the first person in a long time who made me feel alive.” His throat bobbed. “When I was with you, I felt like someone new. Like someone who hadn’t lived through everything I have. And I held onto that.” He opened his eyes again, looking straight at me. “I was selfish. I was so selfish. And I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you.”
“I’m not the person you fell in love with,” I whispered. “I’m not Yellow.”
