Hazel:
The walk home felt longer than usual. Every step echoed with Luke's words. I can't do this. I'm putting a pause on it. The pain was a sharp, physical stab in my chest, but my mind kept circling back to what he hadn't said.
He never said he didn't love me.
He just looked at me with those tired, confused eyes, his thumb brushing away my tear like I was something fragile and precious. That touch held more truth than any words could. He was pushing me away because he was trapped. Because of Ethan's threats. Because the messes of my past were ruining our future, and he was drowning in it.
A new feeling began to burn through the pain, hot and clear. Anger. Not at Luke, but at the situation. At myself for letting it get this far.
He's not ending it, I realized, my shoes hitting the pavement now with a determined sound. He's giving me a choice. He's forcing my hand. And I choose him. I choose Luke.
I unlocked my apartment door and the quiet that greeted me wasn't lonely anymore, it felt like it was waiting for me to get ready. I dropped my bag and went straight to the bathroom. I turned the shower as hot as I could stand, stepping under the spray and letting it pound on my back.
I wasn't washing away tears this time. I was washing away the fear, the helplessness, the girl who let a man like Ethan control her life with threats. That girl was dissolving down the drain. The woman stepping out, wrapping herself in a clean towel, was someone different.
I looked at my reflection in the steamy mirror. My eyes were a little red, but they were clear. Luke is right, I thought, the certainty growing strong inside me. This is my problem. My mess. I let this shadow fall over us, and I watched it poison everything. No more. If I want Luke, I have to be someone who deserves him. I have to be strong.
I dressed in simple jeans and a sweater, my hands perfectly steady. The frantic panic was gone, replaced by a cold, focused calm. This wasn't a desperate request. This was a strategic move.
I picked up my phone. My thumb hovered over Ethan's name for only a second before I tapped it. I put it on speaker, My heart was beating firmly, not from fear, but from determination.
He answered on the third ring, his voice thick with the smug, familiar arrogance. "Well, well. Look who finally called. Already miss me, huh?"
"We need to talk," I said, my voice calm and solid. It didn't tremble. "In person."
He gave a low, rough chuckle. "Oh, is that right? And why should I bother?"
"Because if you don't," I replied, the words cold and clean, "I'm taking this phone, all your texts, and the restraining order paperwork straight to the police. Not tomorrow, but tonight. Meet me at the coffee shop on 5th Street. In one hour."
There was a silence on the other end. I could almost hear him recalculating. The helpless Hazel he knew was gone.
"Fine," he spat, the smugness replaced by simple anger. "One hour."
The call ended. The silence in my apartment felt intense, humming with purpose. I walked over to my coffee table and opened my sketchbook to a fresh page. I picked up my charcoal stick, which felt familiar and comforting in my hand.
I didn't draw a picture. I drew a single, bold, dark line from one edge of the paper to the other. A line of demarcation. Everything before this moment was on one side. Everything after would be on the other.
Then, I opened the voice memo app on my phone. I tapped the red record button and placed the phone in my sweater pocket, making sure the microphone was clear. I wasn't going into this unarmed. I was done being a victim.
An hour later, I sat at a small table in the back of the coffee shop, I made sure my back was against the wall, facing the door. My hands were wrapped around a mug of tea I hadn't touched. My heart wasn't fluttering with fear; it was beating hard and steady with strong energy. This moment was for me. This was for Luke. This was for the future we still might get to build.
The door opened, the bell chiming softly. Ethan walked in, his eyes scanning the room before they landed on me. His expression was a mix of his usual arrogance and a new, wary curiosity. He saw me watching him, and his eyes narrowed.
He walked over and slid into the seat across from me, not taking his eyes off my face.
I met his gaze, my hands steady on the table, and for the first time, I did not look away.