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"Get it together, Greg." It's a whisper to myself, but it echoes like a shout in the silence of my room. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the floor with a dull thud. Each step feels like wading through molasses as I pace, back and forth, a caged animal in a too-small enclosure.
"Can't do this to her. Can't risk it," I mutter under my breath. Every instinct screams to pull her close, to feel her warmth, her pulse beneath my fingertips. But memories are cruel masters. They whip and lash, painting every touch with shades of fear.
I stop by the window, hands pressed against the cool glass. The moon's a voyeur, its pale light casting long shadows across the room, across my body.
"Damn it!" The words tear from me, raw and ragged. I clench my fists until my nails bite into my palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the chaos inside my head. Kelly deserves better than a broken man with a head full of nightmares.
"I'll keep you safe, even if it means staying the hell away." The vow tastes like ash. It's a promise drenched in sorrow, a sentence self-imposed. But I'll bear it. For her, I'll shoulder this loneliness, this ache that carves hollows in my chest.
"Fuck," I groan, running a hand through my hair. It's not what I want. It's the last damn thing I want. But it's the only play I've got. Because I won't be the monster in her story. Not ever.
So, I slip out while she’s asleep.
I’ve got to do the right thing even if it tears my heart in two.
I tap the screen of my phone, a quick slide to refresh. Her profile pops up—the same one I've been lurking on for days. The soft glow illuminates the dark room, casting shadows that flicker like the doubts in my head. She's smiling in her latest post, looking radiant as ever, and my chest tightens. It's just an image, but it feels like a punch straight to the gut.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, thumb hovering over the heart icon. I want to reach out, to tell her everything, but there's this beast inside me, clawing at my insides, whispering that I'm no good for her. I can't press it. I can't let her know I’m here, watching, wanting. So, I just look, the images a silent film of her life without me.
She tried to contact me, but I refused to answer my phone. She got the hint, and I can imagine the hurt on her beautiful face, but she has to understand I’m doing this for her own good, and if I see her now, I’ll cave.
And then I might accidentally hurt her.
And I can’t have that. Won’t have that.
A photo of her at our favorite café pops up, and the memory of her laugh, bright and genuine, hits me. My finger twitches, and there it is—an accidental like. Shit. Panic rises like bile. I quickly undo it, hoping she doesn't notice. But what if she does? What if she thinks I'm some kind of creep?
"Get a grip, Greg," I chide myself, locking the phone before I make another mistake.
The room feels too small suddenly, trapping me with the echo of my own thoughts. I stand, muscles stiff from tension, and start pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. The worn carpet under my bare feet is a path to nowhere.
Avoid—must avoid. The mantra plays over in my head. Don't go where she might be. Don’t risk seeing her face, those eyes that see too much. I skip the morning run we used to do together, dodge the park where she sketches. Even the damn grocery store feels off-limits now. I choose loneliness over the ghost of her presence, haunting every corner of this godforsaken town.
"Pathetic," I scoff at my reflection in the window, nothing but a shadow against the night. "You're a fucking coward."
The bar down the street buzzes with life, laughter spilling into the night air. Once, I would've been there, maybe with her, sharing jokes and stealing kisses. Now, the idea of being around people, their questions, their pitying looks—it's too much. So, I turn away, retreat back into the darkness of my apartment, my cell.
"Better alone," I whisper, sinking into the couch, letting silence swallow the space. "Better for everyone."
My phone sits there. One more peek, one last glimpse before I shut it all out. But I know that road, where it leads—to more pain, more regret. So, I leave it be, a small act of defiance against my own twisted desires.
"Tomorrow," I tell myself, "maybe tomorrow I'll be stronger." But as sleep comes to claim me, dragging me down into dreams I don't want to face, I know it's just another lie. Tomorrow is just another day without her, another day fighting this war within.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Kelly
I stalk the length of my room, back and forth, like some caged animal. The walls close in, taunting me with memories. Enough is enough. I need to see him, need to hear it from his lips—why he's shut me out, why he's left me alone in this confusion that cuts deeper than any knife.
"Greg?" I call out, knocking on his door, my heart thrashing against my ribs. "We need to talk."
I can almost hear the grit of his teeth grinding on the other side. The door swings open, and there he stands, a brooding statue framed by the doorway. His eyes, those intense pools of torment, don't quite meet mine.
"Kelly." His voice is a low rumble, a storm brewing on the horizon. He doesn't step aside, doesn't welcome me in. "Now's not a good time."
"Like hell it isn't," I shoot back, pushing past him into the dimly lit space that smells of him, of us. "You've been avoiding me, Greg. Ghosting me like I'm some one-night stand. What did I do? Tell me."
