“And just… stayed in.” I teased, pulling away from his grasp. “Watched a movie. Or maybe did a workout.” I shrugged, and he chuckled, low and raspy.
“Oh, I have a workout for you.”
“Yeah?” I was moving backward slowly, tempting him. Taunting.
“Come here,” he said with a loud groan, and I yelped, giggling as I ran away. He chased me through the house, zigzagging through each room, until I landed on his bed. He slowly climbed on top of me.
“Where you goin’, pretty lady?” he said in a deep rasp as he hovered above me, and I smiled as I pressed my lips to his.
He swallowed me up in a passionate exchange, and in that sweet moment, I was happy.
That was how things were with Jake—sweet, with tiny moments of playful passion. We didn’t fight or argue. We rarely disagreed. Our time was easy, like floating on calmwater or the warmth of the sun on your skin. There were no storms in sight.
But I think that was the problem.
It was so easy, I never stopped to question if it was real. If he saw me, really loved me, or just liked how well I fit into his life. And vice versa.
Love isn’t always about comfort. Sometimes, it’s about fire. About friction. About feeling everything, even when it hurts. And with Jake… I never burned. I barely even flickered. And like the sick, twisted girl that I was, I missed my burn. Deeply.
I missed the punishment that lived in the yearning for what I could never have. I missed the excitement that came with the stolen glances and the electric shock that stung from the moments we barely touched. I missed the gravitational pull that nearly tore my clothes off in anticipation. I missed the pain that lingered and drowned me when I realized I’d never have what I needed.
I wanted it all back. I wantedhimback. And I didn’t care who we belonged to. Because the truth was we belonged to each other—long before the Emma’s and Jake’s of our lives. And we’d belong to each other long after them.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, my moral compass wouldn’t let me act on those feelings. Too noble to do wrong, I guess you could say. So I buried them deep. Every want and desire. Every burning need for a man I never had, and probably never would.
For a while, it worked. But like everything else, it only works until it doesn’t. And the moment it stopped felt like a break in time I could never fix, no matter how I tried.
It was a night like any other when I was sleeping over at Jake’s, and he asked me something important, something I wasn’t ready to hear. We were half asleep, still buzzed from our time out in town. He was playing with my hair in that relaxing way that makes your eyes roll back and puts you in a daze. It was delicate and satisfying, and I loved the way it felt to have his warmth near me.
“Move in with me,” he said in a whisper. And my heart dropped ten stories. I forced my eyes to remain closed and pretended to be asleep, praying he’d forget the request in the morning.
I spent the whole night tossing and turning. Guilt and truth were wrestling inside me like two wild animals battling to claw their way out.
Jake was kind. He was steady. He was the safest bet in the world—the one you were supposed to want. And I did want him. Or at least, I wanted to want him. But the harder I tried, the more hollow it all began to feel. Like I was playing house in someone else’s dream.
I kept thinking about E. About the way he made my heart race just by entering a room. The way his voice sang in my head long after he stopped speaking. The way he saw me, even when I wished he wouldn’t. Even when I didn’t want to be seen at all.
Jake offered me a life I could build on. But E… he made me feelalive. And no matter how hard I tried to forget, I missed feeling alive and the danger that came with it.
In the morning, Jake didn’t mention it again. He kissed me on the forehead and made coffee like usual, his adorable downward smile still in place. Maybe he forgot about it.Maybe he didn’t mean it at all. Or maybe he knew I wasn’t ready and accepted it just the same.
I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. I wanted to take back the words he had spoken—because something shifted in me that night when things became too serious between us. I think he knew. Or maybe he didn’t—but I did. And I lied to myself anyway.
You can pretend all you want that love goes on, but when your heart is already given to someone else, the pretending turns into poison. It seeps into every kiss, every touch, every quiet moment meant to feel full, and makes it empty and cold.
You smile, but it never reaches your eyes. You say “I love you,” but the words fall flat, without promise. When you hold their hand, your fingers ache for another’s, and eventually, the lie that they don’t becomes unbearable. Not just for you, but for them. Because no matter how carefully you hide it, people feel when they’re being loved out of force. They feel the absence of something they can’t name. If they’re smart enough, they’ll look for the signs to tell them what’s coming.
But neither of us looked. Neither of us dared to. We both just pretended we were happy in the lie—mylie—and we kept moving forward as if it would just go away, like children closing their eyes to make their parents disappear.
I know now that lies don’t go away. They don’t fade—they fester. Lies grow like ivy on a tree: beautiful on the outside, while choking the life underneath. They grow roots in the space where the truth should live, then strangle it like a weed until the truth becomes unrecognizable.
That’s what happened to me. I told one lie—one small betrayal of my own heart—and it grew into something I couldn’t hold onto. Couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. And eventually, the weight of that pretending—it crushed
everything and everyone underneath it.
Track 13
“Change Your Mind”
