Me: Not feeling good. Heading home.
Three dots appear, then vanish.
Emma: You okay?
I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back.
Me: Yeah. Just need to go rest.
It’s not a lie. Just not the truth she deserves.
The memory of that night fades, but the ache it left behind never does.
I blink hard, forcing the image of rain and alley light out of my head, but it clings, stubborn as ever. My house hums quietly around me, the radiator ticking, the low thrum of city traffic outside, the faint drip of a leaky faucet in the kitchen. Everything feels muted after that kind of storm. Like my body came backto the present, but the rest of me’s still standing in that alley, shivering under the weight of what I did.
I never told anyone about that night. Not a word. Not even when Emma asked why I got quiet whenever it rained, or why I always tried to suggest somewhere else instead of The Bar. I just smiled and said I’d outgrown the place. But how do you explain something like that? How do you admit you let yourself fall back into someone you should’ve stayed miles away from, and that for one selfish heartbeat, it felt right?
I told myself I could separate it. That it was just a weakness. A lapse. That the guilt burning through me afterward would be enough to make sure it never happened again. But even now, years later, I can still feel it, his hands, his voice, the way he said my name like it meant something. That night didn’t stay in the past. It lives in me, quiet but constant, a bruise that never fully fades.
I’ve spent so long pretending I learned from it. I dated men who were easy, safe. Men who didn’t make my pulse skip or my chest ache. I told myself that was what healing looked like, choosing someone who couldn’t hurt me the same way he did. But every time one of them brushed my hair from my face or said something kind, it felt hollow. Because they weren’t him. They couldn’t be.
And then I saw him at The Brew House. Just a normal Tuesday, nothing remarkable, until I looked up and there he was. Same steady posture. Same restless hands. Same damn eyes that have been haunting me for years.
All it took was one look and every wall I’d built around myself cracked. Every promise I’d made to stay away disintegrated like it never existed. He said my name, and it hit me, the part of me that swore I was over him had just been sleeping, waiting for an excuse to wake up.
I tell myself I learned my lesson that night.
That I finally understood what it meant to let go.
But the truth is, I never stopped waiting for him to prove me wrong.
My phone buzzes from somewhere under the throw blanket, dragging me fully out of the memory before it swallows me whole. I blink at the screen, the glow too bright in the dark room.
Ellie:You alive? Or still hiding from the world like a hermit?
A small laugh slips out before I can stop it. Leave it to her to sound like sunshine even over text.
Me:Hermit status confirmed.
Ellie:It’s Friday. Come to trivia night. You could use something that isn’t caffeine and regret.
Me:Pass.
Ellie:Liar. You love trivia.
Me:Only when I win.
Ellie:Then come win, loser.
I roll my eyes, but my fingers hover over the keyboard longer than they should. The truth is, I could use a distraction. Anything to stop replaying the same what-ifs that never end the way I want them to.
Me:Fine. One round. And you’re buying the first drink.
Ellie:Deal. I’ll save you a seat.
The message lingers on the screen after I set my phone down. For a second, I just stare at it, the tiny sliver of normalcy in a day that’s felt anything but.
Maybe that’s what I need. A night that doesn’t end in old memories and aching hearts. A reminder that there’s still life beyond what broke me.
