I nodded.
That night, I sat alone with my phone and wrote one final message to December. A message I didn't even know if she'd read. But I had to say it.
December,
I don't expect a reply. Maybe I don't even deserve one.
You are beautiful. Not just the kind the world notices, but the kind that seeps into the soul—the way you move, quiet and unassuming yet undeniable; the way your voice softens even when others shout; the way you carry light as if it were a part of your body.
I tried to tell you in every glance, every brush of a hand, every moment I let you rest your head against my chest. I never spoke the words aloud—not because I didn't feel them, but because I was afraid. Afraid that if I did, you would see all the broken pieces I carry and turn away. Afraid that my shame would make my love seem unworthy, insufficient. I thought if I could just endure, if I could just survive long enough to becomesomeone worthy, then maybe... maybe I could finally speak them freely.
But I failed.
I didn't protect you. I shattered you in ways I can't undo. And that guilt, that relentless weight of knowing I hurt the one person I loved most, will follow me until the end of my days. I will never forgive myself for it.
One day, maybe, I will tell you everything. The full, ugly truth of what I am and what I failed to be. Perhaps you'll see me for what I am—pathetic, selfish, cruel, or simply weak. Perhaps you'll look at me and no longer see a man at all.
But even then, please believe this:
In the long, suffocating darkness of my life, you were the brightest flame. You were the only warmth that ever truly reached me. The only love I have ever known that felt pure and whole. The only peace I have ever been granted. Even now, even after everything, that truth burns quietly, fiercely, and eternally.
I'm sorry I dimmed your light.Please... never stop shining.
I hit send.
The words had already cut me open, but sending them was the final bleed.
I didn't wait for the dots. Didn't wait to see if she'd respond with anger or silence or love. I didn't give myself the chance to second-guess it. Instead, I blocked her.
The final kindness. The final cruelty. Like closing a door because youmust.Because the longer it stays open, the more likely you are to wander back through it barefoot and bleeding.
I stared at her name one last time. Whispered it like a prayer. A goodbye and a blessing wrapped in the same breath.
I hoped she healed.
I hoped she soared.
I hoped she danced in a world where I never touched her heart with my broken hands.
Then I let go. Of her. Of us. Of the hope that held me hostage.
The release was terrifying, as though a part of me had been amputated. The air felt thinner, the world sharper, the absence of her presence like a wound pressed raw against my chest, and yet, in that silence, in that trembling stillness... there was something else.
It wasn't empty.
It was peace, fragile and trembling. It was pain, deep and unyielding, a river of grief I could not turn away from. It was a promise, to myself, to the future, to the love I still had to give, that I would fight back. That I would learn to carry the pieces of me without shattering.
Chapter 10: The First Fight Back
(Ryder)
I learned to placate Mira even more after the confrontation with December. Maybe she sensed the shift in me, maybe she evennoticed how stiff my smile had become, but if she did, she chose to ignore it when I pretended to have forgotten the whole thing. It was killing me inside. Every fake laugh, every forced touch was a betrayal to myself, but it was also strategy. If keeping her calm bought me the time to build my case, to gather the proof, then I'd endure it. I had already lost December. I wasn't going to lose the fight against Mira.
Working with her became an art of survival. Every word I spoke had to be softened at the edges, every movement measured so she wouldn't mistake it for rejection. I was constantly aware of the balance: give her just enough to keep suspicion at bay, but never enough to let her sink her claws deeper.
"Why are you texting so much?" she'd snap, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her tone was coated in sugar, but the venom underneath was always there, waiting.
"Spence," I'd answer smoothly, even when my pulse spiked. "He's on my case about the gym again."
