31. Daphne

Chapter thirty-one

Daphne

T hree weeks have passed since Alex and I ended things, and the pain feels as fresh as an open wound. A constant ache in my chest threatens to consume me. Whenever that familiar pang hits, I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on the music, trying to drown out the memories.

As I play, my mind inevitably wanders to Alex. His crooked smile, the warmth of his embrace, and the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me. I ache for him. But even as the longing threatens to overwhelm me, I remind myself why we’re apart.

I deserve better. I deserve someone who values me, who puts me first. And if that person can’t be Alex, then… Well, I’ll learn to be okay on my own.

It’s difficult, though. I love Alex—I probably always will—but I’m not ashamed of choosing myself this time. It’s a bittersweet epiphany, tinged with both sadness and a newfound sense of self-worth .

Speaking of self-worth, Victoria has backed off from her snide remarks and bullying. It’s not that we’re friends, but a sense of tolerance seems to have washed over her. Our professor even gave me a small solo for our Spring Concert, and Victoria didn’t say a word about it. It’s painful, really, because had she tolerated me months ago, Alex and I might have stood a chance.

Doesn’t matter now. Thankfully, my mother hasn’t sent me any more letters. If she had, I would have contacted the police. But since she hasn’t, I’ve let it go.

I know, I know. Forgetting isn’t the best decision, but ignoring her is my tactic. To not give her behavior any attention. If I contacted the police, she’d know the letter bothered me. It’s not like she can do anything to hurt me while she’s in prison. I’d much rather let her stew in her loneliness.

Plus, I’ve been so busy practicing for my solo and avoiding Alex that I have had little time to think outside of classes.

Hence why I’m hobbling into my dorm suite after a merciless chase around campus. Two classes missed, and every accidental glance of Alex had me bolting in the opposite direction. My breaths are shallow, a pathetic attempt to steady the thumping in my chest.

“Hey,” Victoria, sprawled across the dining room table like she owns it, greets without looking up from her phone .

“What do you want?” I ask, squinting at her as I peel off my shoes. The relief is short-lived; the ache has set deep in my bones.

“Nothing.” She doesn’t even blink, but there’s something in her eyes. A glint of mischief or curiosity that I can’t decipher.

A knock on the door shatters the fragile calm. I think Victoria is going to get it as she stands, stretching like a cat. But then she says, “Bathroom break. Can you get that?”

“Sure.” I push myself up, each step towards the door reigniting the day’s torture on my soles.

I swing the door open, and there he is—Alex. His presence punches the air from my lungs. Tears ambush my eyes, traitorous and burning. I swipe them away fiercely. I won’t be pathetic in front of him. Not now.

“Celeste is at cheer practice,” I blurt out, voice wobbling despite my best efforts. My hand finds the door again, ready to close out his piercing gaze.

I can’t see him. I’m not ready.

“I’m not here for her,” Alex says, and something in his tone halts my movement.

Okay, if not Celeste, then he must be for his sister. “Victoria is in the bathroom. Can’t she go to your place?” My words are defensive shields, but they tremble against the onslaught of emotions I see mirrored in his eyes .

I’ll admit, I’ve thought about moving out to further avoid him, but I haven’t found a job yet. I have several applications in to local businesses but haven’t gotten interviews. Likely because my class schedule is so fucked. It’s hard to request full-time work when you can only dedicate two hours here and two hours there.

He shakes his head. “I’m here for you.”

My knees weaken, and I lean against the doorframe. More tears betray me, spilling freely down my cheeks. I see his jaw clench, his own eyes glossy with unshed sorrow.

God, I miss him. Every fiber of my being aches to reach out, to collapse into his arms and forget the world. But I can’t. We’re poison to each other—beautiful, intoxicating poison.

“Please, just…” My voice breaks, a silent plea for him to understand this torture we inflict on ourselves. It’s too much. We deserve better, don’t we? I can’t finish my sentence, so I choose a new one. “We didn’t leave anything behind,” I say, confused why he’s here. He just stares.

It’s a shame there’s nothing to remind us of our time together. We kept our relationship so secret. Other girlfriends have tangible reminders, like jerseys or t-shirts. I only have a few texts and painful memories of another woman in his arms .

I need him to go. I’m afraid I’ll break down. “I haven’t told anyone about our history,” I say, hoping that’s not what he’s worried about.

“Baby, no. Look, I’m so fucking sor—”

“Don’t.”

He nods, the corners of his mouth twitching in a sad smile. There’s an agony in his eyes that mirrors my own. It is twisted reflection of love that still burns too brightly.

“Please, just go. I can’t do this,” I whisper, my voice a fragile thread about to snap. The world narrows to the space between us, the air thick with everything unsaid.

Alex’s nod is heavy, weighted with regret. “I love you, baby.” The words are a caress, a wound, and he extends his hand, offering me a plate filled with meatloaf, corn, and a small slice of pie. Comfort in the shape of a meal.

“What’s this?” I manage, even as my heart does that painful leap at the sight of him caring.

“I’m getting back into cooking.” His voice holds a hint of the old Alex, the one who found solace in flavors and textures before life turned bitter.

I give him a half-smile; the action tears at the stitches I’ve put over my broken heart. “I’m glad. ”

“Me too.” He clears his throat, looking away for a split second before locking his gaze with mine again. “I’ll stop by tomorrow morning with our breakfast.”

His words hang there, an offer I should refuse. “I don’t want you to,” I say, but it feels like I’m pushing against a tide, my resolve eroding with each syllable.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just drop it off.” Alex’s assurance is gentle, a promise he means to keep.

I say nothing. If I try to utter a single word, I’ll break down in sobs. Instead, I nod because it’s all I’m capable of doing.

Taking the plate from him feels like holding onto a piece of us—a reminder of what we’ve lost and what still lingers, unwanted yet cherished. His next words are quiet, meant only for me. “I love you, Daphne. Only you, baby.”

I shut the door on him, on us, and on the relentless hope that refuses to die. My back presses against the wood, the cool surface grounding me as I clutch the plate to my chest.

“Only me,” I repeat to the empty room. It’s a truth that cuts deep, bleeding out through the cracks in my facade.

I slide down to the floor, the carpet rough beneath my fingers, the smell of meatloaf filling my senses. A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek to drop unceremoniously onto the pie .

Even in the darkness, I can’t escape the warmth of his love, the echo of his words wrapping around me like a ghostly embrace.

And I hate myself for wanting to hold on to it, even now.