“No,” he repeats, firmer this time.
I flinch, not from him, but from the force of it, because it cuts through everything else.
“Don’t do that,” he says.
“Do what?”
“Blame yourself for someone else’s obsession.”
I shake my head, but it’s weak, unconvincing. “You didn’t see him before. The way he looked at me…like he already decided something.”
“I saw enough.”
My breath stutters, because I know exactly what he means, because I felt it too, and it terrifies me in a way I can’t push down anymore.
“I thought if I left…” I trail off, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “If I just got far enough away…”
“He followed you.”
“Yes.”
The word breaks on the way out, because it’s the truth I can’t escape.
Because no matter how far I ran, it didn’t matter.
He found me anyway.
“I made it worse,” I whisper.
Ethan’s expression hardens, something sharp flashing in his eyes.
“You didn’t make anything worse.”
“I ran,” I snap, frustration finally spilling over. “I left you a note and ran like an idiot and walked straight into him. That’s on me.”
His hand tightens slightly, steadying me.
“Stop.”
“I almost let him get close again,” I say, my voice catching, the words scraping on the way out. “I almost didn’t see him in time.”
“But you did.”
“Because you showed up.”
“Yeah.”
The word lands heavy, simple and certain, and something inside me gives way.
Because that’s the part I can’t ignore.
No matter how much I try to hold onto control, to independence, to not needing anyone, he was there. He got to me. He stopped it.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I say, quieter now. “I can’t keep running and pretending I have it handled when I clearly don’t.”
The admission sits between us, raw and exposed.
I hate how it feels.
