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I didn't leave the house.
I went into my study and closed the door behind me, pressing my palm flat against the wood for a moment longer than necessary. The sound of it shutting felt final in a way I hadn't intended.
I stood there, breathing slowly, counting it out like I used to when things threatened to spiral.
In.
Hold.
Out.
It didn't help.
The image refused to fade.
Asher on the floor.
Marcus above him.
The look on Asher's face when he saw me shock, fear, something else I didn't want to name.
I turned on the desk lamp and sat down, opening my laptop without registering the screen. My hands were steady again. That was good. That meant I hadn't completely lost control.
Yet.
I stayed there longer than I should have. Long enough for the house to settle into silence. Long enough for the adrenaline to drain and leave behind something heavier.
Guilt.
Not for what I'd done.
For how close I'd come to doing something worse.
When I finally stepped out, the hallway was dark. Asher's door was closed. That, too, felt deliberate. I didn't knock.
I went to the kitchen instead.
I cleaned.
The counter was already spotless. I wiped it anyway. I put away dishes that didn't need to be moved. I reorganized the spice rack by height and frequency of use.
Order was comforting. Predictable.
By the time I finished, the house felt controlled again.
Asher emerged an hour later.
I noticed immediately. The way his steps slowed when he saw me. The way his shoulders tightened, like he was bracing for impact.
He stopped a few feet away.
"You said I couldn't bring him here again," he said quietly.
I turned to face him. "I said this won't happen again."
"You meant Marcus."
"I meant anyone who puts you in that position."
"I wasn't in a position," he replied. "I fell."
"I know."
"Then why does it feel like I'm being punished?"
Because you don't see what you do to me.
I didn't say that.
"This isn't about punishment," I said instead. "It's about boundaries."
"For who?" he asked.
"For me."
He laughed softly, without humor. "You keep saying that like it makes it okay."
"It makes it necessary."
His gaze hardened. "You don't get to rewrite my life because you're uncomfortable."
"I'm not rewriting anything," I said. "I'm clarifying."
"Clarifying what?" he demanded.
I took a step closer, stopping well short of touching him. Close enough that I could see the faint flush still lingering in his cheeks.
"You don't bring people into this house without telling me," I said. "You don't take them into private spaces. And you don't-"
"And I don't let anyone touch me?" he finished.
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you meant."
Silence fell between us again, thick and charged.
"You don't trust me," he said.
"I trust you," I replied immediately.
"Then why does it feel like you're watching me like I'm about to do something wrong?"
Because you already did.
Because you didn't mean to.
Because that's worse.
I exhaled slowly. "Because you don't realize how easily people take advantage of you."
His eyes widened. "Marcus wasn't taking advantage of me."
"I'm not talking about Marcus," I said.
He stared at me, searching my face.
"Then who?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
The truth hovered dangerously close to my tongue.
Me.
"You're changing the rules," he said after a moment. "And you're not telling me why."
"Because if I do," I replied, "you won't listen."
"Try me."
I looked at him for a long moment.
I saw how tired he was. How confused. How much he wanted answers I refused to give.
I wanted to tell him everything.
I wanted to tell him how long I'd been standing too close to a line I pretended didn't exist. How Marcus on the floor above him had felt like an intrusion I couldn't rationalize away. How the jealousy had been so sharp it scared me.
I said none of it.
"Go to your room," I said.
He stiffened. "You don't get to end every conversation like that."
"I do when it stops us from saying something irreversible."
"That's not fair."
"No," I agreed. "It isn't."
He shook his head slowly. "You don't get to decide what's irreversible for me."
"I do when I'm the one who has to live with the consequences."
His hands clenched at his sides. "You're not the only one affected by this."
"I know."
That was the problem.
"Then stop acting like this is something you can manage alone," he said.
I stepped back.
"That's exactly what I have to do," I replied.
He stared at me like he didn't recognize me anymore.
He walked away, his steps measured but tight, like he was holding himself together by force.
I stood there long after he disappeared down the hall.
Rules were easier than truth.
Boundaries were easier than honesty.
And control...control was the only thing standing between me and something I couldn't allow myself to want.
But today had proven something I didn't want to admit.
Rules only worked when everyone believed in them.
And Asher was starting to see straight through mine.
I turned toward my room, intending to shut the door, to put distance between myself and everything I hadn't said. Halfway down the hall, I stopped.
The bag was still on the counter.
Brown paper, neatly folded at the top. The logo of the place he liked printed on the side. I'd carried it home carefully, making sure nothing spilled. I'd even remembered the dessert he pretended not to enjoy, the one he always finished anyway.
For a moment, I just stood there.
This-this stupid, insignificant thing had been meant to smooth things over. A quiet apology without the risk of words. Proof that I was still paying attention, even while pretending I wasn't.
My jaw tightened.
The irritation surged fast and sharp, burning through the thin layer of control I'd rebuilt. The thought of him eating it, of him smiling without understanding what it had cost me to bring it home, twisted something unpleasant in my chest.
I grabbed the bag.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't slow down.
I threw it into the bin hard enough that the container inside cracked against the side, the sound echoing too loud in the quiet kitchen.
The lid fell shut.
I stood there, breathing hard, staring at it like it had betrayed me.
It wasn't the food I was angry at.
It was the fact that even now after everything I'd still been thinking about what might make him happy.
And how easily that thought had turned into something I couldn't stand to look at
and ik he hasn't betrayed me, i know its just my own obsessed, selfish thoughts i just can't help it