The truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing. Going backward doesn't feel right. Moving forward feels impossible. So I'm just... here. In limbo. Pretending I know how to be the old Troy again.
But as we walk toward the lights and noise of campus, one thought keeps circling in my head:
The old Troy never felt like this—like he was missing a vital organ. Like someone had carved out a Delilah-shaped hole in his chest and left him to figure out how to breathe around it.
The old Troy never cared enough to hurt this much.
The party'sdoing what parties do—giving me just enough noise and chaos to drown out the shit in my head. For about five minutes at a time.
I'm at the kitchen counter, flirting with a girl from my Fluid Dynamics class—Katie? Kathy?—who's been laughing at everything I say for the past twenty minutes. She's beautiful. Long blonde hair. Great smile. Smart, too.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
“So then Professor Yates just completely lost it,” she's saying, leaning in closer than necessary. “Like, full meltdown over a derivative.”
I laugh automatically, nodding like I'm invested. “That sounds exactly like him.”
Her fingers brush against my arm, lingering. “I missed you in the study group last week.”
“Yeah, I was...” I trail off, not even sure how to finish that sentence. Busy having my heart carved out by a girl who can't decide if she wants me or not? “Caught up with the Future Innovators project.”
“You got into that? I thought that was for nerds or super smart people.”
I shrug. She twirls her hair, smiling up at me. “How's that going?”
“Fine.” I take a long swig of my beer. “Actually, I think we're nearly finished with it.”
“Really? Is it loud in here?” Her eyes light up in a way that would have had me suggesting we find somewhere quieter a few months ago. “I feel like itssuperloud in here.”
It's an opening. A clear invitation. Old Troy would've already had his arm around her waist, asking if she wanted to get some air.
Instead, I'm looking past her at the front door, where?—
Fuck.
Paige just walked in. With some guy—tall, bearded, older-looking. Her hand is tucked in her back pocket.
I scan the room desperately for Ethan, hoping he's in the bathroom or out back. No luck. He's across the room, frozen mid-conversation, staring at Paige like he's seen a ghost.
Our eyes meet for a split second, and the raw pain on his face hits me like a punch to the gut.
“I need to—” I gesture vaguely, already stepping away from Kaitlyn/Katherine/whoever. “Sorry. Friend emergency.”
I'm across the room in seconds, grabbing Ethan's arm. He's gone completely rigid, knuckles white around his cup.
“Let's get some air,” I say, steering him toward the back door.
He doesn't resist, doesn't even seem to register I'm there until we're outside with the smokers. The cold air hits us both, but he doesn't flinch.
“Out back,” I mutter, guiding him further away from the house, past the clusters of people huddled around lighters and conversations.
We end up sitting on some random garden wall, far enough from everyone else that we can't be overheard. Ethan's breathing is too controlled, too even. Like he's counting each inhale and exhale.
I don't know what to say. I've never been good at this part—the real shit. Usually, I'd crack a joke, offer a distraction, suggest we find a different party. Anything to avoid the actual feelings part.
But looking at him now, I know that's not what he needs.
Freddie's words from the gym weeks ago echo in my head.If you expect Ethan to open up, maybe you should try it sometime.
