Page 104 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

I didn’t say anything.

“But that’s a trap,” she said. “You’re not stuck because you don’t know the truth. You’re stuck because you felt something real… and you don’t know how to accept that something real can still end up being wrong for you.”

Silence.

Because that… that landed.

And I felt it… all of it.

“Hypothetical question,” Honey cut in. “If he returns—Victor—would you ever welcome him back?”

That question didn’t strike hard.

Because, at my state where there were more questions than closures, the answer was simple.

“If he returns with an apology and a grand gesture, I might,” I replied, trying to make it sound complicated.

Honey looked at me—this time with pity in her eyes. Not the condescending kind, but the kind that was worried for her friend.

I hated it.

Suddenly, I was tired. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix, but the kind that sits in your chest. I held all the hurt inside me, nursing it like a baby, feeling everything too much for too long.

I let out a slow breath, staring down at my drink.

“I don’t think I can make it to midnight,” I said softly.

Honey didn’t argue.

She just studied me for a second, like she was measuring how deep it went.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “I think I just need to be alone.”

She nodded, understanding.

“Text me when you get home,” she said.

“I will.”

“And don’t go MIA for five months again,” she warned jokingly.

I scoffed. “I’ll be alright, Honey.”

The taxi ride was quiet.

Too quiet.

The city blurred past the window, lights stretching into lines I didn’t bother to focus on.

Honey’s words kept replaying in my head.

“You don’t know how to accept that something real can still end up being wrong for you.”

I leaned my head slightly against the window, looking outside where Christmas was happening.