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“Neither did I.”

“Then why are you still here?!”

He looks at me for a few seconds, and when he finally speaks, all I can focus on is the way his eyes are begging for me to accept that he won’t stay away. “Because I can’t stand the idea of you alone in this state.”

My fingers curl at my sides, then loosen again like my body can’t decide what to do with itself. I shift my weight back half a step hoping that the distance might fix something that already slipped too close. My gaze drops for a second, and I shake my head once, before deciding to be honest. “You came into my life, you lied, you— you made me⁠—”

“Made you what?”

The next word comes out like a bruise. “Weak.”

He takes a step forward before replying,“No.” A hand lands on my cheek. “I made you feel safe.”

“Same thing!”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is for me!” Say it. Say it and don’t look back. “Do you have any idea what it does to me when something actually feels safe?!”

“It scares you,” he says softer this time.

I look away, not wanting to focus on the feeling of his heat piercing my skin. “I want to hate you! Do you understand that?! After everything, I should hate you!” A nervous laugh escapes me. “You feel like something I can’t remove. Like you’re inside my system and I can’t—I can’t get you out without tearing myself apart.”

“Then stop trying to cut me out of you like I’m the enemy.”

You are. Damien Caldwell is the most dangerous addiction I ever had to fight and the biggest enemy my heart had to forget. But he will never understand that.

“I grew up to be a very cold soul after everything they did to me, Damien. And you will try for a long time to understand it but you won’t be able to grasp half of it.”

“But I want to. You can’t control what I feel about you, Mireya. That’s not how it works.”

“I hate you. I hate you,” is all I can say, over and over again. I hate myself. Until the last sentence comes out in a broken voice, “Why can’t I hate you?”

This is stupid. I’m falling in love with someone who can clearly see how I see myself, and it’s terrifying. I shove at his chest, once, then twice, harder every time and he still doesn't step back. Doesn’t even shift properly. It’s like my hands hit a stone.

His hands catch my wrists before I can pull away again, he doesn’t say anything, nor loosen his grip. He doesn’t interrupt or look away. He keeps holding me there, close to him.

“Is my pain attractive to you?” My voice breaks mid-sentence. “Is that why you’re still here…why you keep trying to take care of me?”

I pull against him again, but it doesn’t change anything. My strength feels pointless against the way he’s holding me.

“I trusted you,” I say, breath catching. “You lying fucking asshole.”

His grip doesn’t loosen, as if he’s absorbing every word without giving me anywhere to put the weight of them. My vision blurs before I even register it properly. Tears come, frustrating because it hurts, it hurts so fucking much to love someone.

I didn’t know it would be this painful.

“I’m scared to lose you,” I say, quieter now, the words slipping out before I can stop them, “and you’re not even mine. You can’t be mine.” My forehead presses into him for a second. “It sucks,” I add, barely holding myself together.

I pull back enough to see him again. He still doesn’t speak, he’s still holding my wrists, still there.

“Doesn’t mean I want you any less, Mireya,” he whispers softly after a few seconds.

“You’re trying to fix things you can’t even comprehend,” I say, and it comes out smaller than I meant it to, like I’m running out of fight mid-sentence.

His hand pushes mine deeper onto his chest, engraving it to him. “I never needed you to be fixed for me to stay.”

My eyes meet his, and I reply confused, “That’s the thing. I am not your problem, Damien.”