“So that’s it,” he says coldly. “You tricked me.”
“What? No, Zane, no, that’s not—”
“You planned this.” His voice rises with each word, heavy with accusation. “You waited. You wanted to see me like this.”
“I didn’t—” I step toward him without thinking, my hands lifting instinctively, like I can reach him through the air. “Please, listen to me.”
But he recoils from my touch, then stands, turning his back to me as he grabs his clothes. He dresses quickly and awkwardly, never fully stepping into the light. He keeps himself angled away, like even the suggestion of my gaze is too much. Panic claws up my chest.
“Zane, stop. Please. It was an accident. I didn’t do this on purpose.”
He doesn’t answer.
I follow him one step, then another. “I didn’t plan it. I forgot about all of that. Tonight wasn’t about that at all. You were distant, and I just wanted—”
He yanks on his shirt, movements rough now. “Don’t.”
I swallow hard, my throat burning. “You’re beautiful,” I blurt out. “I mean it. I don’t see your scars. I see you. The man I…” the word slips out before I can stop it, “love.”
The room goes still.
He freezes, one hand halfway through pulling on his jacket. Slowly, he turns his head, just enough that I know he’s looking at me. I can’t see his expression, but I feel the shift in him…the way the anger wavers, giving way to something raw and intense.
For one fragile moment, I think I’ve reached him, but then, he shakes his head.
“You can’t love me,” he says quietly. Too quietly. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do,” I insist, my voice breaking. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”
He lets out a tired exhale, like the weight of this has finally settled fully on him. “I’m not worthy of that,” he says. “I never was.”
I shake my head again, helpless. “That’s not for you to decide.”
“I knew this couldn’t last,” he continues, like he hasn’t heard me. “I knew it from the beginning. I just…let myself pretend otherwise. I thought maybe…maybe it would be enough. What we had in the dark. I was selfish.”
“No,” I say desperately. “Please don’t do this. Don’t leave like this.”
He doesn’t respond. He moves toward the door, still careful to stay in shadow, like the light itself is something he needs to escape.
“Zane–”
But he heads straight for the door. Despite everything I say, despite the way my voice cracks as I beg him to stay, he doesn’t turn back.
And just like that, he’s gone.
The moment the door clicks shut behind him, the apartment feels cavernous.
Too quiet. Too empty.
My legs give out before I can stop them. I sink to the floor right there in the hallway, my back sliding down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold tile, knees pulled to my chest. The sound that comes out of me doesn’t feel like it belongs to a grown woman; it’s raw and broken and ugly. I press my palm over my mouth, but it doesn’t help. The tears come anyway, fast and relentless, blurring everything.
I don’t know how long I cry, but long enough for my throat to ache. Long enough for my chest to feel bruised from the inside. Long enough that the weight of his absence starts to settle into places I didn’t even know could hurt.
He didn’t believe me.
He left.
At some point, the tears slow. My breathing evens out, though my body still trembles. I drag the back of my hand across my face and stare at the wall in front of me, unfocused.
