The lights are on in the second-floor window. Christina must be home. She’s probably watching one of those cheesy holiday movies we used to laugh at together. It’s something we always did this time of year, cozy under a blanket with a bowl of popcorn between us. But right now, I don’t even know if I can walk through that door. I don’t know if I can face her questions or the way she’ll look at me when she sees the wreck I’ve become.
I take a shaky breath, but it feels hollow, echoing in the emptiness inside me. I manage to drag myself up the stairs, each step heavier than the last, until I’m at the door. My hand trembles as I unlock it, and the familiar warmth of the apartment greets me, scented with pine from the little tree Christina set up in the corner. I look around, everything exactly as I left it, every cozy, ordinary detail feeling like a betrayal.
Christina stands there, her eyes wide, her face pale, her mouth moving as if she’s trying to say something, but no sound comes out at first. Then, her arms are around me, pulling me into a tight hug that I don’t even know if I deserve.
“Dove!” Her voice cracks as she holds me, her grip so desperate it almost feels like she’s afraid I’ll disappear again. “Where have you been? I—I thought I lost you.”
I let out a shaky breath, tears slipping down my face before I can even stop them. Christina pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes scanning my face like she’s searching for answers, her hands trembling as they grip my shoulders. I don’t know where to start, how to explain what happened, how to make sense of the mess inside my chest.
“I’m sorry…” I whisper, the words barely coming out through the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know what to do.”
Christina’s eyes well up, and she shakes her head, as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “Dove, what happened? Where did you go? You just disappeared. You were gone for months and no one knew. I—I thought…” She breaks off, choking on the words. “I thought you were?—”
“I didn’t have a choice.” My voice cracks as I speak, and I hate how weak I sound. But what else can I say? How do I explain that I was there because of him, because I was his? Because Ashton made me feel things I never thought I could feel, made me believe I was worth something—just to tear it all away?
Christina’s eyes search mine, a flicker of realization flashing across her face. She pulls me close again, this time more gently, as if afraid that if she holds me too tightly, I might shatter into pieces.
“I was so scared for you, Dove. You have to tell me what happened. You can’t just leave like that and not say anything—why didn’t you—?” She stops herself, biting her lip, holding back the flood of questions.
“I… I didn’t know how,” I admit, my voice breaking again as I try to explain the storm inside me. “I didn’t know how to get out. I couldn’t. I thought I’d lost myself.”
Christina’s hands are warm on my back, but the pain in her eyes makes the weight in my chest feel heavier. She doesn’t press me for more details—she knows I’ll tell her when I’m ready. But at this moment, with her arms around me, I feel like I might finally break down completely. Maybe it’s just too much to carry anymore.
“I don’t know what to do, Christina,” I whisper, almost to myself. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to walk away from him.”
Christina pulls back again, her face soft with understanding, though her eyes are still full of worry. “You don’t have to do it alone,” she says quietly. “You’ve never had to do it alone.”
For the first time since he broke every piece of me with his words, I let out a breath, a small but real breath of relief. I don’t have to be alone. Not anymore.
The darknessof the room surrounds me, the quiet of the apartment pressing in on my ears like a thick fog. I’m lying in my bed, the covers twisted around my legs, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. My chest is tight, every breath like a struggle, and the tears, they just won’t stop.
I curl into myself, hugging the pillow to my face, but it’s not enough. The ache in my heart won’t go away, no matter how I try to block it out. Every time I close my eyes, it’s him. Ashton. His face, his touch, his voice. They haunt me like ghosts, and I can’t escape them. I don’t even want to.
I remember the first time he kissed me, how it felt like the world had stopped, like time had slowed down just for us. His lips were so gentle, so careful, as if he wasn’t sure if I would break under his touch. And then there were the moments after, the softness in his eyes that made me believe—no, feel—that I was important to him.
There was the way he cooked for me, the meals he made that were more than just food. He put pieces of himself into everything. I remember the mornings when he’d pull me close to him in the kitchen, a quiet moment of comfort as I’d tease him, make him laugh in spite of the darkness that always seemed to cling to him.
The way he’d lean in close to whisper things in my ear, the heat of his breath against my skin sending shivers down my spine. I could hear his heart pounding in his chest when we’d be alone together, and I’d find myself lost in the rhythm of it, in the way he made me feel seen. Wanted.
He wasn’t always the monster he let the world see. I know he wasn’t. There was warmth in him, a side of him I thought was just for me. And I believed it. I believed in him.
But now? Now I only see the wreckage of it all.
He said I was leaving. That I had to go. That he had no use for me anymore, that I meant nothing to him. Those words… I can’t forget them. I won’t.
The pain is unbearable. It presses down on my chest like I can’t breathe. It’s as if he pulled every piece of myself out of me, twisted it, and left it behind when he told me to walk away. He made me believe in us. And now, he’s made me believe that I was nothing more than a game to him, a fleeting moment of his obsession.
I can still feel the way he touched me, the intensity of his hands as they explored my skin, the softness in his voice when he told me things that made my heart flutter. He made me feel loved in a way that was raw, real. But that was a lie, wasn’t it?
The last memory plays in my mind like a broken record—him standing in front of me, cold, distant. The way he told me to leave, the way he made sure I knew that I wasn’t worth fighting for. That the love I thought I felt was nothing more than a temporary indulgence to him.
You’re nothing, Dove.
The words hit me like a slap in the face. I can still feel the sting of them. I thought he cared. I thought he wanted me to stay. But it was just another game, wasn’t it? One where I was the pawn, and he was the one pulling the strings, controlling every move, every breath.
Tears pour from my eyes, each one a reminder of how I was broken. Not by him physically, but emotionally. I was shattered by the very person I let in.
And I hate myself for it.
