Page 94 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

That he meant every word.

That this—whatever this was—was the most honest version of him I was ever going to get.

“I’m sorry, James,” he said finally.

No performance.

No dramatics.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. For… all of it. For every time.”

The room felt smaller. The air thinner.

I held his gaze for a moment longer, thinking about everything. Every version of us. Every time I stayed. Every time I came back. And every time it ended exactly like this.

His words sat there between us: true and sincere.

Yet somehow, it still didn’t change anything.

I didn’t say anything.

I just walked past him.

Opened the door…

And left.

Outside, Samar Loop was empty.

Trees lined both sides, wrapped in Christmas lights that glowed too softly to feel real. They were gold, warm, and almost gentle, which didn’t match how everything felt inside me.

I walked without direction, my steps uneven against the pavement, like my body hadn’t caught up to what just happened.

Or maybe it had… and this was what breaking actually felt like.

I stopped right between two trees.

Suddenly, I couldn’t keep going.

So I sat down on the pavement, not caring about how it looked, or who might see. My chest felt too tight to even care.

I stayed there, breathing through the pain. Like if I just sat long enough, everything inside me would settle on its own.

But it didn’t.

It just stayed. Heavy. Unmoving.

And somewhere in the middle of it, my mind went back—not to Kyle, but to him.

Victor.

I was lying on the bed, scrolling through my phone, while Victor sat beside me, half watching whatever I was doing.

It was easy. Quiet. Normal. Lovely.

I opened an Instagram story from a mutual friend of ours.

It was at a party with loud music and people laughing.