Page 137 of The Ache That Stayed

“That’s exactly the problem.”

My voice felt tight. “If you’re here—I can’t—”

I stopped. Because I couldn’t say it. Because saying it made it real.

“I can’t think,” I finished anyway.

“My head says one thing and my body—” I stopped, jaw tightening. “—doesn’t listen.”

I saw the flicker in his eyes. The quiet shift in his expression.

“Then let me help you think,” he said, stepping closer.

“Just talk to me,” he added, voice lower now. Gentler.

“Whatever this is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

That almost broke me. For a second—a dangerous, fragile second—I wanted to. To tell him everything. To let him take over like he always did. Handle it. Fix it. Walk into the fire for me and tear it apart before it could touch me.

And I knew he would. He’d walk straight into it smiling. And then he’d burn the world down around it, making himself the bigger monster. And I couldn’t survive being the reason he became one. The thought alone made a cold blade twist inside me.

“My mess is mine,” I said instead. “Not yours.”

His hands fisted to his side.

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I already have.”

His jaw tightened slowly, a muscle ticking once, twice.

“You really think I can just stand there and watch you fall apart and do nothing?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. Because yes. That was exactly what I needed him to do.

“I don’t know why I let this happen,” I said suddenly, the words spilling out sharper than I meant. “I don’t know why I react to you like this. I shouldn’t want this.” I looked at him then. “I shouldn’t want you.”

He let out a short breath, dragging a hand through his hair, turning away for a second like he needed distance from the frustration building under his skin. When he looked at me again, it was sharper. More certain.

“You think I don’t know that?” he said, his voice strained, like he was holding back and failing. “You think I haven’t been fighting this?”

He laughed, only it wasn’t humour.

“I walked away from you,” he continued, stepping closer now. “Two years. I stayed away. I did everything right.

And it still didn’t go away.” His voice cracked. “I’ve been living in hell without you, and I’m not doing that again.”

My chest tightened painfully. “I’m with Marcello.”

I drove the blade right where it hurt.

“Then why…,” he said, his voice rough, breaking at the edges, “why do you look at me like that?”

I flinched.

“Why?”

“Because I’m messed up, okay?” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Maybe I just want things I shouldn’t. Maybe I always have.”