Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

PARKER

T he cardboard jungle that had taken over the living room had barely been touched, a monument to procrastination and avoidance. I stood in the doorway, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. It was almost as if the boxes were mocking us for our domestic neglect.

"Three months," I murmured to myself, running a hand through my short, dark hair and letting out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of all our unspoken conversations.

I took a step forward, making light work of navigating the maze of boxes. Each one was labeled haphazardly in David's neat doctor's scrawl: Kitchen stuff , Books , Random crap . But they might as well have been tagged Indifference or Silence for all the attention we'd paid them since we left Cincinnati.

My heart raced with the knowledge that something needed to change. I couldn't keep living with this hollow mimicry of love, where conversation had dwindled to the occasional text about groceries or whose turn it was to pay the electricity bill. We were supposed to be partners, lovers—but when did we start playing house instead of building a home?

"Fuck," I whispered, as a wave of realization crashed over me. Other than the night he'd sprung a proposal on me, we didn't even eat together anymore. Our meals had become solitary rituals, carried out in the silence of our different schedules. And sleep? The bed we once shared was now just a place where I'd sometimes find the residual warmth of his body, nothing more than a physical reminder that we were still technically sharing a space.

Lost in thought, I tripped over a box marked Photos and caught myself against the couch, my hands sinking into the plush fabric. When did we stop looking at each other like we were the only ones in the room? When did "I love you" become something that was said instead of something that was felt?

"Shit," I cursed softly, straightening up and glancing at the clock. Any minute now, the front door would open, and in would walk David—the man I'd once dreamed of growing old with. Yet now, I struggled to remember the last time I looked at him and felt that familiar spark, that undeniable pull that had drawn us together in the first place.

"God, what happened to us?" The question was a whisper lost in the expanse of our too-quiet apartment. I watched the dust motes dance in a shaft of light, their gentle movements a stark contrast to the stillness inside me. I knew what needed to be done, could feel the truth of it heavy in my heart, but fear clung to me like a second skin. How do you tell someone you've loved for years that your forever is no longer with them?

My fingers absentmindedly dipped into my pocket, tracing the cool band of metal that symbolized a promise for the future. The engagement ring felt heavier now, burdened with silent questions and unspoken truths. I pulled it out and held it between my thumb and forefinger, watching it catch the fading light. As I rolled the band over in my hands now, I couldn't help but wonder if David had noticed its absence from my finger. He hadn't said anything. Maybe he was too caught up in his own whirlwind at the hospital or maybe—maybe he didn't really see me at all anymore.

My mind drifted back through years of memories. David and me, the high school sweethearts who had dared to bring our love into the light of a small Ohio town which was stuck in the dark ages. Our first kiss under the bleachers, shy and tentative, yet setting off fireworks in my heart. Homecoming games spent holding hands. Prom night—the night we first made love, when the world outside vanished, and it was just him and me learning the feel of each other's bodies and discovering even more about our own.

We were young, fearless, and wildly in love. But somewhere along the line, our relationship started to feel more like a comfortable routine than a passionate journey. We became two people moving parallel to each other but never intersecting. The spark that once burned so bright had dimmed to an ember, struggling to stay alight.

I was roused from my reverie by the sound of keys jangling, announcing David's arrival. I shoved the ring back in my pocket. "Time for honesty, Parker. It's now or never."

As the door creaked open and he stepped into our shared space, I knew it was time to unpack more than just these neglected boxes. It was time to unpack our hearts, lay everything bare, no matter how much it might hurt. Because love wasn't just about holding on; sometimes, it was about letting go.

David shut the door behind him then looked up, finding me sitting on the couch. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, the lines on his face deeper than I remembered. He managed a weary smile in my direction before discarding his jacket on a nearby chair.

"Hey," he greeted, voice heavy with fatigue.

"Hey," I echoed, unable to keep the tremor from my own. "We need to talk."

"Can it wait? I'm beat. I just want a shower and to hit the sack," he sighed, already heading toward the bedroom.

"No, David. It can't." My voice, firmer now, stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look at me, a question in his eyes. The ring in my pocket suddenly felt scorching hot, a token of a commitment we were failing to uphold.

"Okay," he relented, the resignation in his tone mirroring the defeat I felt. He joined me on the couch, leaving a careful space between us.

"David, when was the last time we really talked?" I began, my heart hammering against my ribcage. "Not about work or mundane things we need to do around here, but about us?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a familiar gesture when he was stressed. "I don't know, Parker. It's been a while."

"Exactly. And it's not just talking. I can't even remember the last time we made love, or showered together, or even made it through an entire movie together. When did we stop making us a priority?" My voice quivered, betraying the hurt that lay beneath my calm exterior.

"Somewhere between the move and the midnight shifts, I guess. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I should have tried harder. I got so caught up in the hospital, in proving myself—I neglected us. Maybe if I'd made more time, if I'd been more present?—"

I shook my head, cutting him off. "No, David. This isn't on you. It's not anyone's fault."

"But I could do better," he insisted, leaning forward, his eyes pleading. "I could take fewer shifts, we could plan date nights, maybe even take that trip to the beach we always talked about. I promise I'll try harder, Parker. We can fix this." The earnestness in his voice tugged at my heart, but I knew it wasn't enough. We'd been drifting apart for so long, the flame had burned out and no amount of date nights or beach trips could bring it all back.

"David," I said softly, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers were cool against my palm, familiar yet somehow foreign. "I don't think we can fix this. At least, not in the way you mean."

His face fell, a mix of hurt and realization dawning in his eyes. "What are you saying, Parker?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to say the words I knew would change everything. "I'm saying that I think we've grown apart. We're not the same people we were in high school, or college, or even when we moved here. We've changed, and—I think our love has changed too."

David was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on our joined hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I think I've known for a while. I just—I didn't want to admit it." His expression turned sheepish. "That's why I blindsided you with a proposal out of the blue. I think I was just trying to hold on."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I get it. I've known things were different for a while now." We sat in silence, the weight of our admission hanging heavy in the air. Outside, the Chicago skyline twinkled, oblivious to the small heartbreak unfolding in our living room.

"Do you remember that summer after graduation?" David asked suddenly, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "When we drove to the lake and camped under the stars?"

I couldn't help but smile too, the memory warming me from within. "How could I forget? We were so in love, so full of dreams."

"We were," he agreed, his thumb absently stroking the back of my hand. "And it was beautiful while it lasted, wasn't it?" David's voice was soft, tinged with nostalgia and a hint of regret.

I nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "I love you. A part of me always will. You know that, right?" I needed him to understand.

"Of course I do. And I love you too, but—" He hesitated, searching for the words. "But we're not in love, are we?"

It was the question neither of us wanted to ask, but both knew the answer to. I nodded slowly, a single tear escaping down my cheek. "No, we're not."

"God, this hurts," he whispered, and I could see his own eyes glistening. We weren't angry, just two souls recognizing the end of a chapter.

"I know it does, but we deserve more, David. We both deserve someone who makes us feel alive, who reignites those flutters and the passion we've lost," I said, feeling a strange mix of relief and anguish.

"Someone who's our priority," he agreed, voice thick with emotion.

I nodded. "Are we—are we saying we're better off as friends?"

"Looks like it," David confirmed, reaching for my hand again. His touch was warm, familiar, and heartbreaking.

"Friends," I echoed, allowing the word to settle into the space between us.

"Friends," he affirmed, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

We sat in companionable silence for a few moments, both lost in memories of happier days. The weight of our impending separation hung heavy in the air, but there was also a sense of relief. We were finally being honest with each other, and with ourselves.

"So, what happens now?" he asked, his eyes meeting mine.

"David," I choked out between sobs, my voice barely above a whisper, "I think it's time for me to move out."

His eyes, red-rimmed and swimming with emotion, met mine in a silent nod. He understood; there was no need for more words. I reached into my pocket, feeling the cool metal of the engagement ring against my trembling fingers. With every ounce of strength I had left, I placed the ring in David's palm—a symbol of a dream that would never come true—at least for us. His hand closed around it, and something inside me fractured.

"Keep it," I murmured, "or don't. It's yours now."

He nodded again, his Adam's apple bobbing as he fought back more tears. There was nothing more to say.

I walked to our room, grabbing a duffel bag and tossing in a few clothes and toiletries—just enough to get by. The rest of my belongings could wait; they felt like ghosts of a life we'd never live. My heart thrummed painfully against my ribs, the finality of the moment crackling in the air like static.

"Bye, Parker," he said as I reached for the door handle.

I spun back around and threw my arms around him, hugging him tight. He held me just as tightly. "Goodbye, David," I whispered, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

The neon lights of a nearby bar called out like sirens to my shattered soul. Inside the crowded establishment, I drowned myself in drink after drink, each one numbing the pain a little more until the edges of reality blurred. Time lost meaning as I sat there, ignoring the bartender's concerned glances.

"Another one," I slurred, pushing my empty glass across the sticky counter.

"Last call, man," the bartender said with a sympathetic tilt of his head.

"Fuck." I fumbled with my phone, my vision swimming as I tried to focus on the screen. I needed someone, anyone. My thumb found Travis's name and without a second thought, I hit call.

"Heyyy, Travvvvis," I drawled when his voice came through the speaker, steady and clear.

"Parker? What's wrong, you sound wasted." Travis's voice was laced with worry.

"'Cause I am," I informed him with a hiccup.

"What happened, Parker? Why are you drinking?"

"Me and David—we're done," I stated, thankful for the copious amounts of alcohol I'd consumed which helped dull the pain.

"Shit, Parker. Why?"

I shrugged my shoulders as if he could see me. "Spark's gone," I slurred, the liquor loosening my tongue. "Stopped getting that—that little tickle in my belly when I saw him. Not like—" My drunken thoughts flitted in and out of my head, gone before I was able to give them voice.

"Where are you? I'll pick you up and take you home," he insisted. I could hear keys jangling through the phone and then a door shutting. It sounded like he was outside now.

"Can't go home," I mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of the night. "Don't live there anymore."

"Then I'll bring you back here. Either way, give me the name of where you are."

I turned bleary eyes on the bartender. "Where am I?"

The man shook his head. "Lucky Jack's," he replied.

Travis must have heard because he cut in before I could relay the name of the bar to him. "I know where that is. I'm coming to get you, Parker. Just stay put."

"'Kay," I managed to say before my world tipped sideways and darkness crept in at the edges of my consciousness.

Travis found me slumped over the bar, my world spinning, overwhelming emotions causing tears to stream down my cheeks. He didn't judge, didn't ask any questions. He just picked up my bag, paid my tab then scooped me up like I was something precious and helped me out into the night.

Streetlights blurred past as Travis's car hummed steadily. I leaned my head against the window, the glass cooling my alcohol induced flushed skin. The night had taken its toll, the alcohol in my veins a bitter reminder of the day's heartache.

"Drink this. All of it," Travis instructed, handing me a bottle of water from out of the cupholder. His tone was gentle, yet firm, as if he knew just how much to push without breaking me further. I took it with a nod, the weight of it in my hands grounding me back to reality.

"Thanks," I murmured.

A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking garage of his building and shut off the engine. "Come on, let's get you inside." He guided me out of the car with an arm that felt both protective and familiar.

His condo was just as warm and inviting as I remembered, the dim lighting a stark contrast to the harsh fluorescence of the bar I'd left behind. Each step towards the guest room felt heavier than the last, my legs barely cooperating as gravity seemed to have it out for me tonight.

"Here." Travis offered me a couple of Tylenol, which I accepted with a clumsy gratitude, my fingers brushing against his palm. Even through the haze, I couldn't help but notice the strength in his touch, the certainty in his movements. I felt safe with him, cared for. It was exactly what I needed, but also too much, his kindness bringing fresh tears to my eyes.

"Thanks," I repeated thickly.

He helped me into the bed, taking off my shoes and tucking the covers around me with a care that was almost meticulous. There was something so effortlessly kind about him; it made my chest ache with a longing I couldn't quite place.

"Travis," I mumbled, the edges of sleep creeping in, numbing the edges of my pain. "I really—I like you so much."

His chuckle was soft, a sound that seemed to fill the room with a warmth all its own. "You're just drunk, Parker. Sleep it off, okay?"

But even as sleep pulled me under, I knew there was a truth in my slurred confession, a spark that flickered in the darkness, waiting to be kindled. And as I drifted off, I couldn't help but feel like I was finally somewhere I belonged.