I drove faster than I should have, chasing distance I knew wouldn't help.
Because no matter how far I ran, I'd still feel her. And that terrified me more than anything.
I shoved the door open and stepped into silence.
Cold. Empty. Exactly how I kept it.
The keys hit the counter harder than I meant—metal clattering against granite in the dark. I didn't bother with lights. Didn't need them. I knew every corner of this place by heart. Every bare wall. Every sharp edge.
I'd built it this way on purpose.
No soft surfaces. No distractions. Nothing that invited anyone to stay.
And yet tonight it felt wrong. Too quiet. Too hollow.
I paced to the window. Stared at the city lights bleeding through the glass. Turned around. Paced back.
My hands dragged through my hair, yanking hard enough to sting.
Get it together.
But I couldn't.
She was everywhere. In the silence. In the cold air. In the ghost of sensation that refused to fade—her warmth beneath my fingertips, the softness of her skin, the quiet catch of her breath. Static under my skin. Crawling. Relentless.
I pressed my palms flat against the counter and leaned forward, shoulders tight, jaw clenched.
I hadn't felt this in years. Not since I'd learned to shut it down. Lock it away. Choose discipline over desire because desire only led to wreckage.
I'd been good at it. Damn good. Until her.
I exhaled slowly, forcing air through the tightness in my chest.
I didn't want this. Didn't want to feel the pull. Didn't want to notice the way her eyes had softened when I'd touched her face or how she'd looked at me like I wasn't dangerous. Didn't want to lie awake at night remembering what she felt like.
But I would.
And that was the problem.
I stripped mechanically. Hoodie. Shirt. Jeans. Socks. All of it hit the floor in a pile I didn't bother folding. The bathroom mirror caught my reflection for half a second—dark eyes, clenched jaw, exhaustion carved into every line—and I turned away before I could see more. Didn't want to look at myself. Didn't want to see what I'd become tonight.
I twisted the shower knob hard left. All the way. No hesitation.
The pipes groaned. Water exploded from the showerhead in a brutal rush, freezing cold before the spray even hit my skin.
Good.
I stepped under it.
The cold slammed into me like a fist—sharp, vicious, stealing breath. Ice needles stabbing every nerve. My shoulders locked. Muscles seized. Lungs stuttered on the shock.
I didn't move. Braced one hand flat against the tile and forced myself to stay there. Forced my breathing to slow. In through the nose. Out through clenched teeth. Counting seconds I didn't feel.
The cold was supposed to help. Reset. Snap me out of whatever spiral I'd fallen into. Supposed to wash it away. Her warmth. Her softness. The way she'd looked at me like I wasn't a mistake waiting to happen.
I ducked my head under the spray and let the water pummel the back of my neck. Frigid torrents running down my spine, my chest, pooling at my feet in icy streams.
Wash it away.
