I love him, and I know this situation isn’t his fault, but if I had to listen to him apologize one more time, I might have punched him. Or worse, I might have gone ahead and deleted Jamie, after all.
Worst idea I’ve ever had, but I felt betrayed by him.
Betrayed by my own creation.
Instead, I left the apartment I’d shared with my two best friends for five years without even a wave of goodbye. I shouldhave gone to Morgan and Grandpa Donovan and talked it out with them. She texted and called me a few times, probably having heard what happened.
The question is from who, but that’s the least of my worries.
I’m too ashamed.
This is my own fault.
Whether I want to admit it or not, it is. My insecurities and inability to act on my feelings brought us all into this mess.
When I finally return, the apartment is dark and silent. I head toward the home office, where a dim light still glows. Misha is there, fast asleep in his chair, slumped over and looking uncomfortable. Normally, I’d try to get him to move a little, but tonight I’ll let him sleep like that.
Petty? Probably, but I don’t care.
The screen shows that Amelia’s apartment is dark, too, except for a dim light coming from her bedroom. She probably fell asleep reading.
I turn, about to head to my room, desperate for sleep, when I hear it—a sob that makes me stop in my tracks and turn back to the screens.
There it is again.
We have an unspoken rule never to switch to the cameras in her bedroom.
It feels wrong.
Watching her at all is wrong, but at least we’ve never invaded the most private part of her home. But now, I can’t resist. I change the camera feed, and there it is.
Her bedroom.
The room is a soft haven of yellow and white with delicate fairy lights strung along the walls. Shelves hold an array of cute knick-knacks, small potted plants, and books. Her bed is in the center, adorned with a yellow comforter and an avocado plushie.
In the middle of it all lies Amelia, curled up on her side, crying.
She’s crying.
But then I notice her hand moving rhythmically and realize with a jolt that she’s pulling her hair again. Her fingers twist and yank at the strands while tears stream down her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red.
I freeze, feeling utterly helpless. I’ve seen her in agony, choking, almost passing out, numb, and angry.
Over the last few weeks, I saw so much of her.
But I’ve never seen her cry.
She’s so damn strong, and watching her fall apart right in front of my eyes shatters me. Her sobs are gut-wrenching, each one tearing through me like a knife. The way she clutches her hair is as if she is trying to pull the pain out by the roots.
I should leave her alone.
If I act, she’ll probably find out. How would I know she needs me now? How could I justify being here at this moment? But I can’t just stand by and do nothing any longer. We’re all in this mess because I was too scared to act for too long.
If I had just asked her out two years ago, when I first saw her and fell for her, she would’ve had two years free from loneliness. And I would have been free from this longing.
And she would have never fallen in love with my best friends.
I can’t change the past, but I can change the situation for her right now. Earlier in the log, I noticed that someone, probably Grey, unlocked her door before he went down to get her. Following his example, I do the same. After switching the cameras back to the living room, I walk out of the apartment as quietly as I came and make my way down to her.
