“That’s not love,” Thomas said. “That’s dependency.”
My chest ached. “That’s not fair. He’s so much mor?—”
“It’s accurate,” he shut me down. “And if you care about him at all, you’ll leave.”
Leave. The word felt like a death sentence. “Leaving might kill him,” I whispered. “And me.”
“And staying will ruin him,” Thomas shot back. “Which do you want on your conscience?”
I dragged my hand through my hair, pacing. “I crossed the line months ago. Emotionally," I said quietly. “I just… didn’t name it.”
The pause was gentler this time. Like Thomas knew how much this conversation was hurting me. “That’s obsession.”
I didn’t argue. Because some part of me agreed. “I didn’t ruin him,” I said faintly. “I just couldn’t fix him. That’s worse.”
Thomas sat with that for a moment then said softly, “You have to go. For both of you.”
My stomach hollowed out. “I’ll call you later. Let you know when I’m back.” I hung up before he could answer.
I leaned against the back of the wall, shaking. My hands felt wrong as I desperately lit another cigarette. Needing something to ground me because it felt like the ground had opened up below my feet.
My chest hurt. Every instinct in me screamed to go back upstairs, to gather Elliot into my arms and undo the damage I’d just done.
Instead, when I finished my smoke I turned back to the house. And started packing. Because fear was louder than love when love felt dangerous.
CHAPTER 17
ELLIOT
Ihadn’t meant to listen. I only meant to understand. I’d been halfway down the stairs before I realized I was moving, my body pulled by something I couldn’t name. A pressure in my chest that felt like it needed air. The wood was cold under my bare feet. I held the railing like it might keep me upright if my knees decided to stop working.
Anthony’s voice floated up from the kitchen. I stayed where I was, my stomach twisted in knots as I strained to hear whoever was on the other line. But Anthony had been careful when he’d taken calls and always left the space we’d shared.
On silent feet I crept into the kitchen and crouched by the window so I could hear more clearly. Whoever he was talking to was loud. So loud I could catch parts of their conversation.
“…that’s not love. That’s obsession.”
The word hit me before I knew it was coming. Obsession. It landed in my body like something hard and final — like a door being slammed inside me.
My stomach lurched. Heat rushed up my throat. My fingers curled into the banister without me telling them to.
“…you need to get out before you ruin him.”
Ruin. The room tilted. I swallowed, but my mouth stayed dry. My pulse started hammering so hard I could feel it in my ears.
“I didn’t ruin him,” Anthony said.
My breath caught on that word. Didn’t. Past tense.
“I just couldn’t fix him.”
Not love. Not care. Just obsession. Just ruin. I was just too much. Too broken for him.
I tried to rearrange the words into something softer. Something survivable.He didn’t mean it like that. He was tired. He was scared.
But every version I offered myself fell apart the moment I touched it. The words stayed exactly like what they were—heavy, blunt. Final. They didn’t leave room for love. They didn’t leave room for me. They were already closing the door while I was still standing in the frame.
I backed up slowly, every step deliberate so the stairs wouldn’t creak. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it from the kitchen. When I reached my room, I pushed the door open without sound and slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.
