“That’s great, Gabe. You look good,” Abbie says. “Last time we saw you, you looked like you hadn’t slept in a week. Tonight, you look…” She tilts her head. “Brighter.”
I shrug, uncomfortable with the compliment.
Ciarán tilts his head. “And yet, you still have that little wrinkle between your eyebrows. The one that says you’re overthinking everything.”
He’s not wrong.
I pick at my food, then sigh. “I dunno, I notice the way he moves around here. He closes doors softly, sets things down gently. Even his footsteps are quiet.”
“And?” Abbie prompts.
“And… I appreciate it,” I admit. “But I hate that he feels like he has to. Like I’m something fragile he has to work around.”
Abbie’s eyes soften. She reaches across slowly and squeezes my hand. “Maybe he’s not doing it because he thinks you’refragile. Maybe he’s doing it because he cares enough to notice what makes you comfortable.”
Ciarán agrees, surprisingly serious. “He’s adapting because he wants to. Not because you’re a burden.”
I swallow hard and look down at my lap. The wordburdenis one I’ve carried too long. A burden on Kyle, on my brother, on my friends. Always needing someone to look out for me. Hearing them dismiss it so simply is difficult; Iama burden.
We eat in companionable quiet for a while, the clink of forks filling the space. Then, as always, Ciarán strikes.
“Boozy brunch this weekend?” He asks it casually, but I hear the caution in his tone.
I freeze.
Abbie perks up. “Yes! Lou and Bria already have the bar cart stocked. You should come, Gabe. It’s been forever since you joined us.”
“Brunch?” My throat tightens around the word. The room feels smaller, louder. I rub my palms over my jeans.
“Don’t act like you don’t remember,” Ciarán says, grinning softly. “Drinks, pancakes, gossip so spicy it belongs on an episode ofHot Ones. You used to love coming.”
Yeah, Iusedto.
“I dunno… it’s been so long.”
I loved a lot of things before. Brunch, sure. But also crammed book events where you could barely hear yourself over the buzz, dancing until my legs ached, laughing with Ciarán and Abbie until my stomach hurt. I used to thrive on those things—noise, crowds, light, being in the middle of it all. I was always shy, but I wanted to be part of everything.
Now the thought of it makes my chest lock up. I still ache for it, deep down, but wanting and being able to do it feel like two completely different things.
Abbie’s voice is gentle. “Not that long.”
But it feels like another life. I loved all those things before Kyle, even when things got bad, I still forced myself out the door, even when he glared, even when his sulks hung over us like a storm brewing. I still sat with them, still laughed sometimes. It was one of the few things I didn’t give up completely.
And then afterward—after I finally left—I thought I’d step into freedom, into something bigger. But I retreated further. Smaller and smaller, until my world shrank to a handful of streets and rooms. Home. The store. A run through the same paths. Groceries at the same shop. Visits to Aiden or Ciarán’s places, where I felt safe. I won’t even go to Abbie’s place because she has roommates I don’t know.
I need predictability now, I need to know what to expect.
I wasn’t always this bad. Somehow, time only made it worse. You’d think distance would loosen his grip, but it’s the opposite. The longer I’m free, the more I hide. As if the outside world grew sharper in his absence, as if I lost the ability to live in it.
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I got out more when I was still with him, and now I…” I trail off, unable to force the truth all the way out.
“Cling to what feels safe,” Ciarán finishes for me.
I nod, throat thick.
The truth is uglier than that. I despise this loop I’ve trapped myself in, hate how small it is, how it makes me feel like I’m vanishing.
I want more. I want to live my life.
