Just those three words were enough. Enough to know that she was being honest, open, that she was finally breaking. But she continued anyway.
I keep telling everyone I am, but I'm not. You've been gone a week and I miss you so much I can barely breathe. I see Jamie sitting alone on that bench and my heart breaks because you made him so happy, and now he's lost that, and I can't fix it. I can't fix any of this.
I spent so long trying to be perfect for you. Bringing you biscuits and giving you space and never asking for too much because I was terrified that if I needed anything, you'd realize I wasn't worth staying for. But all I did was make it easy for you to leave.
I should have told you I was scared. I should have told you that when the press showed up, I didn't know what to do and I panicked. I should have asked you what you needed instead of assuming I could fix it. I should have told you that I didn't want you to go.
I don't think we're over. I don't think what we had was just temporary, even though you said it was. I think we could have been something real.
But I can't make you stay. I can't fix this for you. All I can do is tell you the truth: losing you hurts, and I'm not going to pretend it doesn't anymore.
I love you. And I needed to tell you that, even if it doesn't change anything.
Annabelle
She stared at the letter for a long time. Every instinct screamed at her to rewrite it, to soften it, to add something at the end about understanding Raven's career or wishing her well.
But she didn't.
Instead, she pressed the send icon. One click and it was done.
She'd done it. She'd been honest. Messy. Vulnerable.
And now all she could do was wait.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The studio smelled like stale air conditioning and the particular kind of creative anxiety that came from spending too many hours in a windowless room. But mostly it smelled like sweat.
Raven sat on the worn leather sofa in the control room, guitar across her lap, while Jem, the sound engineer, fiddled with levels on the board. They'd been at it for three hours, laying down tracks for what would hopefully become the backbone of her first solo album.
It should have felt triumphant. Exciting. Like everything she'd worked toward since leaving Bankton a week ago.
Instead, it just felt… hollow.
"That last take was solid," Jem said, not looking up from the glowing screens. "Want to do another pass on the bridge, or should we move on?"
"Whatever you think." Raven's phone buzzed on the table beside her. She ignored it.
"Your call. You're the artist."
The artist. Right. That's what she was now. Not one quarter of Krimson Khaos. Not Alissa's girlfriend or writing partner or any of the other things she'd been for five years. Just Raven. Solo.
Terrifying, that.
Her phone buzzed again. And again.
"You need to get that?" Jem asked.
"Probably Claire checking in. She's called twice already today."
"Manager?"
"Unfortunately."
Jem laughed. "They're all like that. Mine texts me at two in the morning with 'brilliant ideas' that are never actually brilliant."
Raven picked up her phone, intending to silence it, when she saw the notification wasn't from Claire at all.
