Because Joel was always at our house.Always around.
When Ethan was busy, he hung out with me.Not because he had to, but because it was better than being at his own house, dealing with his parents’ divorce, pretending it wasn’t breaking him in half.
I was his backup person.His in-between.His safe place.
And I—stupid, stupid me—let myself believe I was something more.
But after that night?I snapped my shell shut.I was colder.Sharper.Shorter.I had to be.
I cut him off with sarcastic jabs and thinly veiled irritation.I stopped writing.I stopped singing.
I stopped being the girl he knew.
And when he looked at me—really looked at me—he saw the difference.
I’ll never forget the way his face fell the last time he asked if I wanted to work on a new song.The way he stared at me like I was a stranger.Like he couldn’t figure out what he’d done to make me hate him.
And I never told him.
Never told him that he was the song.
Never told him that he was the heartbreak.
Never told him that every time he smiled at me like nothing was wrong, it felt like a knife to the ribs.
So he stopped asking.
And I stopped caring.
Or at least, I tried.
I drag my hands through my hair, exhaling slowly.Years.It’s been years.
I should be over this.Iamover this.
And yet?—
The stupid envelope comes to mind through the tiny crack in my already vulnerable shield.
No.
I will not go digging up the past.
Instead, I close my eyes as tight as I can.
Deep breath in.Deep breath out.
I can sleep.I can move on.I can?—
I don’t realize I’ve gotten out of bed until I’m already standing in the doorway.
My office is dark, except for the faint glow of my monitor in sleep mode, pulsing like a quiet heartbeat.My chair is tucked in, my desk neat—except for the drawer.
The drawer.
The one I shoved shut the last time I let myself get too close to this mess.
But suddenly, my fingers itch.My breath is still uneven.My body is still running too hot, the ghosts of old memories simmering under my skin.