I must have written the words a hundred times, and erased them a hundred more.
We should break up.
Delete.
It's not you, it's me.
Delete.
I can't do this anymore.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
The glow of my phone screen is the only light in my room, but it feels like it's burning me alive. Every excuse I try sounds cheap, pathetic, wrong. Because none of them are the truth.
The truth is, Jason Marek's voice has been clawing at me ever since I left his shop. You will be the reason she dies. I hear it when I wake up. I hear it in the silence between classes. I hear it every time Lena's laugh spills across the phone line, bright and oblivious, like she's not standing on the edge of a cliff.
God, I wish I could be like her. Laughing it off. Calling it superstition, nonsense. That's what people do in this century, right? We don't believe in prophecies. We don't hand our futures to strangers with tired eyes and smoke-stained fingers.
But try as I might, I can't shake it. The dread is always there, heavy and choking. Maybe Josh was right. Maybe Lena too. Maybe I really am just an overthinker, making shadows where there's nothing. But what if, just this once, the shadows are real? What if I keep holding her hand, and it's me who pushes her over the edge?
I stare at myself in the mirror, practicing lines I don't believe in.
"I can't handle the attention." My voice cracks.
"I'm not ready for something serious." My throat closes up…
"I just… need space." I can't even look myself in the eye.
No excuse sounds strong enough to hide the terror underneath.
But I keep telling myself this is the right thing. Better she hates me now than dies because of me later. Better she cries for a week than disappears from this world forever.
I drop the phone on my desk and bury my face in my hands.
"I'm sorry, Lena," I whisper into the dark. "I love you too much to stay."
⟡ ✧ ⟡
Lena's room smells like vanilla and faint citrus, the kind of warmth that always makes me feel like I belong here more than in my own house. She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, grinning as I walk in, holding something behind her back.
"Guess what I made?" she teases, eyes sparkling.
I already feel my throat closing. "What?"
She pulls out a tiny photo frame, a picture of us from the party, my arm awkwardly around her, both of us smiling like idiots. She's written 'Sixteen looks better together' across the bottom in her neat handwriting.
And I swear for a second, I almost gave up on this stupid plan. Almost.
But Jason's words slice through me again. You will be the reason.
I swallow hard. "Lena… we need to talk."
Her grin softens into something curious. "Uh-oh. That's never good."
I force the words out like glass splinters. "I think we should break up."
She stares at me. Then laughs. Actually laughs. "You're kidding, right? Is this some dumb prank Josh put you up to?"
I shake my head. My chest feels like it's caving in. "I'm serious."
Her smile falters. "Wait… what? Why?"
I can't tell her the truth. I can't put that weight on her. So I go with the script I practiced, even though it sounds hollow.
"I just… I can't handle all the attention. Everyone's looking at us, talking. I don't think I'm ready for a serious relationship."
Her eyes shine, but not with laughter anymore. With tears. "So it's me? I did something wrong?"
"No!" The word rips out of me too fast, too desperate. "It's not you. It's just… me."
She shakes her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "That's not good enough, Ash. You don't just…" Her voice cracks. "You don't just make me fall for you and then walk away."
I reach for her hand, then stop halfway. If I touch her, I'll break. If I break, I'll stay. And if I stay…
So I let my hand fall back to my side. "I'm sorry, Lena." My voice is barely more than air.
She's crying now, shoulders shaking, whispering, "Please, just tell me why. Please."
But I can't.
I turn, each step out of that room feeling like I'm tearing my own skin off. I don't look back. Because if I do, I'll never leave.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
I don't remember the walk home. My body moved, but my mind stayed stuck in that park, in her eyes, in the way her voice cracked when she asked me why.
By the time I stumble into my room, it feels like I'm not even inside myself anymore. My knees give out, and I collapse against the bed, sliding down until I'm just sitting there on the floor, staring at nothing.
My phone won't stop buzzing. Lena's name keeps flashing like a heartbeat I can't shut out.
Call. Call. Call.
Message. Message. Message.
I don't even have the strength to read them all. The little previews on the lock screen are enough:
Ash? What's going on?
Please don't do this.
Talk to me.
I love you. Isn't that enough?
Every word burns straight through me. Each one feels like proof that I'm the villain in her story, just like Jason said.
I press the phone hard against my chest, like I can muffle her voice, like I can force my heart to beat differently. But it doesn't work.
The silence of the room feels heavier than her words. My own breath sounds wrong, jagged, like it's catching on invisible thorns in my throat. For the first time in weeks, I can't breathe properly. No matter how deep I drag air in, it feels like my lungs are collapsing.
I bury my face into my knees and whisper to no one, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The words taste like metal in my mouth, sour and sharp.
The thought keeps circling like a vulture: go back. Run to her. Tell her the truth. Beg her to forgive you.
But then Jason's voice slithers in, coiling around my chest. You will be the reason. You will be the reason.
And I freeze.
If I love her, if I truly love her, then I have to stay away. I have to let her hate me. I have to let her believe I'm heartless. Because that's safer than her dying because of me.
So I curl tighter against the bed, as if making myself small will shrink the guilt pressing down on me. But it doesn't. It only grows.
And in that suffocating silence, with her name lighting up my phone again and again, I realize something terrifying.
This is only the beginning.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The knock at the door rattles the frame. Not timid. Firm. Like someone who knows he'll be answered.
Grandma pokes her head into my room.
"Ash," she says softly, "Lena's father is here."
My stomach drops.