Chapter Eleven
Abigail-Ann
“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.”
~ William Shakespeare
T he night blurred by in a haze of exhaustion, my parents rushing off to an emergency and leaving behind a warm tray of lasagna. I ate, hoping to find comfort in the rich, familiar flavors, but the loneliness crept in anyway.
And then, out of nowhere, it hit.
My chest tightened, breath coming too fast, too shallow. The air felt thick, unsteady, like I was sinking into something I couldn’t escape. Tears welled up and spilled over, hot and relentless, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop them.
It felt endless.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus. Inhale. Exhale. Count backward. Again. Again.
Slowly, the world steadied. My pulse slowed. My body sagged with exhaustion.
I climbed back into bed, curling into the sheets, hoping sleep would dull the lingering ache in my chest.
Morning came with the sound of Aurora’s voice carrying through the hallway, light and unbothered.
What was it with the women in my life singing before the sun had even fully risen?
Stretching, I groaned softly, the weight from last night still lingering, though lighter now. Rubbing my eyes, I felt the mess of my curls—of course, I’d forgotten my bonnet. Thank God for silk pillowcases.
I reached for my phone, skimming my notifications, when one stopped me cold.
@mikkelsuarezofficial started following you.
“Oh my God!”
The words tumbled out in a squeal as I clutched my phone to my chest, as if I needed to physically hold on to the moment to make it real. A giddy laugh bubbled up before I flopped back against my pillows, eyes wide, heart pounding.
My fingers moved on their own, opening Instagram, scrolling with purpose until I found his profile.
And then I froze.
He liked my pictures.
Every. Single. One.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I could see it—Mikkel, scrolling through my posts, lingering, taking in each photo.
Then my gaze snagged on something else.
Seventy million followers.
“What the fuck?”
I shot upright, gripping my phone tighter as the number looped through my mind .
Seventy million.
My pulse roared in my ears as I stared at his profile picture—the same face that had left me dazed the first time we met. There were only two posts on his page, both minimal, yet enough to leave an impression that felt impossible to shake.
This man was a phenomenon.
The first photo showed him on a beach at sunset, bathed in molten gold. His tousled hair, black glasses, and white linen shirt—unbuttoned just enough to tease the intricate tattoos on his chest—made him look effortlessly striking.
Did he always wear white?
I thought back to the times I’d seen him. He had. Every single time. It fit him, though. There was this quiet control about him, something steady and unshaken, even in the way he dressed. But here, in this photo, that control was tempered by something untamed. Barefoot in the sand, the ocean behind him like it was his to command—he looked like he belonged to another world.
God, he was sexy. But not in some polished, Hollywood way. No, this was something raw, almost mythical. The kind of allure that felt unreachable.
The second post was entirely different, but just as magnetic. Mikkel at his company’s opening, sharp in an all-white suit. His honey-brown eyes locked on the camera, confident, unreadable. Power radiated from him—unshaken, untouchable. The proud set of his shoulders, the ghost of a smirk, the ease in his stance. Look away if you dare.
I swallowed.
He looked like he could own the world if he wanted to.
And with seventy million followers, maybe he already did.
Why was I reacting like this?
I should have been overthinking. Normally, I’d be dissecting every detail, every like, every possible meaning. But I wasn’t. I was just letting the moment exist.
And why the hell was I overthinking the fact that I wasn’t overthinking ?
I huffed, shaking my head, and scrolled back to the first photo. Then the second. Then the first again. My fingers hovered over the edges of my phone, my gaze tracing every inch of him, every hint of the life he lived.
Ridiculous. It was ridiculous, the amount of time I spent staring. But I couldn’t stop.
A restless, electric thrill zipped through me—the kind I hadn’t felt in ages.
With a deep breath, I tapped the follow back button .
The screen shifted, registering the action.
I stared at the bolded text. What did I just do?
What if that was a mistake? What if it made me look too eager? Should I have waited longer? Played it cool?
Before I could spiral, a new notification popped up.
A message.
From him.
My pulse leapt.
I froze, my eyes locked on the tiny preview of his words.
What did it say? Should I open it now? Wait? Did the timing even matter?
Stop . Just open it.
With trembling fingers, I tapped the notification. My heart slammed against my ribs as the message unfolded.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Good morning, Red. I hope I didn’t scare you off with the liking spree. I couldn’t resist.
I sat there, fingers hovering over the keyboard, fighting the urge to overthink. I typed, deleted. Typed again. Deleted.
God, why was this so hard?
Finally, I settled on something simple. Something that wouldn’t make me sound like I was trying too hard.
Me: Good morning! I don’t mind at all.
I hit send and tossed my phone onto the bed, exhaling. Distraction. I need a distraction .
The phone buzzed immediately. My pulse jumped.
@mikkelsuarezofficial reacted to this message.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: How are you?
My stomach dipped. A slow, ridiculous smile tugged at my lips as my fingers flew across the screen.
Me: I’m good. A little tired, but good.
Why the fuck am I so awkward?
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Get some rest today, okay? Traveling can be exhausting.
I stared at the message, warmth pooling low in my stomach. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a response—
A knock at the door interrupted me.
“Breakfast is ready, Princess.” Dad’s voice.
I sighed and quickly typed:
Me : I have to go now, but we’ll talk later.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Looking forward to it, Red. Have a great day.
I locked my phone and headed downstairs, the scent of pancakes and chamomile tea wrapping around me like a hug.
Dad stood by the dining table, flipping through a newspaper. As soon as he saw me, he kissed my cheek.
“Morning, sweetie.”
“Morning, Dad,” I said, sliding into the seat beside Aurora. “Morning, everyone.”
He leaned over to kiss Mom before grabbing his lab coat. “I’ve got a patient in an hour, so I’m headed to the clinic.” His tone shifted, more serious. “Listen, you need to finish packing today, but I don’t want you alone with that boy.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be fine, Dad. Just a few things left to sort out.”
Aurora barely looked up from her phone. “Don’t worry, Pops. We’re going together, so she won’t be alone with Joshua.”
Dad’s frown didn’t fully ease, but he nodded. “Alright. Just be careful, and if you need anything, call me.”
“We will.”
With one last look, he kissed Mom again before heading out.
Mom, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. “The movers will be here this weekend, so we need everything packed by then.”
Aurora and I nodded.
“Oh, and we picked up some clothes from your apartment yesterday.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled, grabbing her purse. “Alright, I’m off to work. Love you girls.”
The front door closed behind her, leaving the kitchen quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside.
I poked at my pancakes, appetite suddenly waning.
Aurora set down her fork. “You ready for this?”
I let out a slow breath. My chest felt tight. No, I wasn’t. But that didn’t matter.
“I have to be.”
The moment the car rolled to a stop, my stomach twisted with unease. My hands were clammy. My pulse raced. The gnawing dread refused to let go.
I had no idea if Joshua was inside or what to expect. The uncertainty was unbearable. Forcing myself to breathe, I grabbed the empty boxes and tape from the trunk and made my way toward the lobby.
Inside, the familiar faces of the security guards offered a small but fleeting sense of stability, anchoring me amid the storm brewing inside.
“Good afternoon, Miss Asher,” one of them greeted, his voice kind. “Welcome back.”
I forced a smile and nodded, but my mind was already racing ahead, bracing for what lay beyond the elevator doors. As Aurora and I stepped inside, the polished marble floors seemed to stretch endlessly, making the journey to the third floor feel like an eternity.
Bittersweet memories, heartbreak, and countless nights spent crying and hating myself swirled in my mind.
A soft ding signaled our arrival.
We stepped into the hallway, and with each step toward Apartment 50B, the weight of the moment pressed down harder.
Aurora turned to me suddenly, pulling me into a hug so fast I barely had time to react.
“Shut up and let me hug you,” she muttered before I could protest.
I frowned slightly. “But you don’t like hugging.”
“You’re my sister, dumbass.”
Her arms tightened around me, grounding me in the warmth of her presence. It was more than just a hug—it was a silent promise. A reminder that no matter what, she’d be there.
Steeling myself, I stepped inside.
Sunlight poured through the windows, but the apartment felt anything but bright. An overwhelming darkness seemed to seep into every corner.
I moved down the hallway, deliberately avoiding the living room. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and despite myself, I peeked inside. The bed was unkempt, covers tossed aside. The room felt cold, unfamiliar—just a shell of what it once was.
Then, I turned to the living room.
And stopped.
The sight before me was worse than I imagined.
Empty bottles littered the floor. Beer cans, half-smoked cigarettes, and scattered pills formed a chaotic mess, mingling with dirty dishes and leftover food that had long started to decay. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol and something sour—rotting, forgotten.
“Holy shit,” Aurora whispered.
She looked at me, wide-eyed. “This is…”
She didn’t have to finish.
“A fucking mess,” I hissed .
Aurora turned to me. “Do you want to come back later?”
Her voice was soft, but the weight of the question hit hard.
I swallowed, glancing back at the wreckage of what had once been my home. My past. My pain.
“No,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “I need to do this now.”
“You sort, and I’ll pack and label so we move faster,” Aurora suggested.
“Sounds good.”
I dove into packing, but the weight of the moment pressed down on me like a heavy fog.
I was really leaving.
I was really moving on.
Sadness, anger, relief, and fear tangled inside me as I wrapped each item in paper or bubble wrap. Every piece carried a weight beyond its physical form—the coffee mug from our first vacation, the blanket we once curled up under, the books we read late into the night. Ghosts of a past I was finally ready to leave behind.
For the first time, I let the reality sink in—he would never have me again.
But instead of breaking me, the thought settled like quiet closure, lighter than I expected.
Time blurred, and before I knew it, two and a half hours had passed. We were still at it.
“We’ve been at this for a while,” Aurora murmured, stretching with a soft yawn. “I’m grabbing us lunch.”
“Where?”
“Shake Shack!” She grinned. “I’ve been dying for a burger. Your order’s the same, right?”
I nodded. “It is. Thank you.”
As she left, I focused on packing the last two boxes, letting Mikkel’s interview play softly in the background. It had popped up as a suggested video—probably due to my recent searches—but I didn’t mind. His voice was steady, assured, and… comforting in a way I couldn’t explain .
Sorting through my clothes and shoes, I set aside anything in good condition to donate. Then, stretching my sore muscles, I wandered into the hallway. My gaze landed on a framed photo of us—an illusion of happier times. But that was never our reality.
Just a facade I had clung to.
I had settled for scraps of affection, convincing myself they were enough when I deserved so much more.
With a quiet exhale, I placed the photo back on the wall, but a voice behind me made me freeze.
“What’s going on, babe?”
I turned.
Joshua stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I’m leaving,” I said, forcing myself to sound casual despite the irritation crawling up my spine.
“Leaving?” His gaze flickered around the room, as if just now realizing the half-packed boxes. “You’re going on another trip?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “A permanent trip.”
Something in me expected a reaction. Shock. Regret. Maybe even a sliver of sadness. But his face remained unreadable.
And then, to my utter lack of surprise, he shrugged.
“I’ll see you later, then.” He stepped past me, grabbing a coat off the hook. “Came to get this.”
A bitter scoff escaped before I could stop it.
“This is why I’m leaving.” The words were out before I could second-guess them, heavy with the sorrow I could no longer bear.
Joshua finally looked at me, confusion creasing his forehead. “What do you mean?” His voice wavered, the slightest tremor of unease creeping in. “Aren’t you leaving to see Azzaria?”
I stared at him, something in me breaking and hardening all at once.
Taking a deep breath, I found the strength to say the words that had been festering inside me for far too long.
“I’m moving,” I said, my voice steadier now, despite the storm raging inside .
His expression shifted, lips parting slightly, but no real understanding dawned.
“Is this a joke?”
“The only joke here is you,” I continued, the memory of betrayal still fresh in my mind. “Five years and you threw it all away. You ruined us. You don’t care. You let me feel like a burden. You broke everything. I gave you everything that I couldn’t afford to lose. Every time I would pull myself together and want to leave, you came out of the blue saying you’d change and I believed you and you’d go right back to square one. What more is there to give you? The only time I matter is when I’m spreading my legs as you told me the other day. That’s what I’m there for, right? I made you who you are. When you couldn’t do shit yourself, I did it and now, I’m fucking done.”
He was speechless, his eyes darting away from my accusing gaze, searching for a way to shift the blame, to justify his actions. But there was no justification, no excuse that could erase the hurt he had caused.
“This is unfa-”
My anger flared, fueled by years of silent suffering, by the pain of knowing I had been deceived. “Don’t you dare try to shift the blame,” I spat, my voice dripping with venom.
“Why now?” he pleaded, reaching out for me as if hoping to hold onto what had already slipped away between us. “I’ll do better.”
But I recoiled, the distance between us widening with each passing second. “Why now?” I echoed, my voice hollow with resignation. “Because I can’t do this anymore. Because I deserve better. Because this should’ve been done the first time you showed me you didn’t want me. Because the cheating and the alcohol and bars with your friends were more important. Because I’m nothing more than an easy way for you to get yourself off. Because you’re never there when I need you.”
He leaned in, his lips seeking solace, and I stepped back, my demeanor hardening as disgust washed over my features.
“You know all those times when you blamed your dad?” I said softly, my voice trembling, but firm. “When you said you hated him? ”
He stopped, a subtle tension creeping into his shoulders. He didn’t look at me, but I could feel the heaviness of his silence.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “You’re just like him.”
His body stiffened. His eyes flashed with a flicker of anger, and I could see the fire building inside him. But it didn’t stop me. “Go ahead, Joshua.” My voice suddenly sharpened. “Break the vases. Be your daddy’s son.”
He didn’t move a muscle.
Finally, he took a step back, the anger draining from his face. His breath came in sharp bursts.
The words escaped me in a whisper, the finality of them cutting through the air like a blade. “You came to grab your coat, do it, and leave.”
And with that, I turned away, leaving him to grapple with the burden of his regrets, alone in the silence of our shattered love.
By the time Aurora returned with lunch, I was nearly done packing. Her bright smile faded the moment she stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the last few boxes and then landing on me. She didn’t have to say anything—the weight in the air spoke for itself.
We ate in relative silence, the only sounds coming from the rustling of paper bags and the occasional hum of conversation from the interview in the background. The Shake Shack burger should have been comforting, but it tasted like nothing.
Before we knew it, night had fallen. Our parents’ calls became incessant, checking in, worrying. With the final box sealed and stacked by the door, we finally left.
Aurora was unusually quiet as we drove, but I could feel her watching me, concern radiating off her in waves.
“Abi,” she called softly. “Are you o—?”
“I will be.” My voice was steadier than I expected, but my chest still ached. “I just needed to put that part of my life behind me. ”
She exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “I get it, but don’t beat yourself up over it. It was five years, yeah, but you have an eternity ahead of you. You have no idea what the future holds.”
The moment her words settled, Mikkel immediately came to mind, and I hated myself for it. A fresh wave of guilt crashed over me. I had just left someone, and yet my thoughts were tangled with someone else.
Fuck me.
“I wanted him to want me,” I whispered, the admission stinging like salt on an open wound. “But he never did, and that’s where I went wrong.”
Aurora sighed. “No,” she corrected gently. “It all went wrong when you thought you had to teach him how to love you. The right man won’t need lessons.”
I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as a tear slipped down my cheek.
“For now, love yourself more than you could ever hate him,” she continued. “And I promise you, everything will be okay.”
Her words sat heavy in my chest, pressing against something I wasn’t ready to name.
The rest of the ride was quiet. The hum of the car, the distant glow of streetlights flickering past, the city still alive despite the ache settling in my bones—it all blurred together.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, the house was warm and lit up, golden light spilling through the windows. The scent of home hit me the moment I stepped inside—my mom’s perfume, hints of something baking, the subtle freshness of linen. It was familiar, safe. But right now, it only made the ache worse.
Mom and Dad were waiting in the living room. The moment she saw me, her expression softened, her concern barely masked beneath the warmth of her voice.
“Do you have everything you need?” she asked.
I forced a small, tired smile. “Anything I don’t have, I can buy later.”
“We’re getting ready to eat soon,” she offered gently, an unspoken invitation.
“I’m not hungry. ”
I turned toward the stairs, and as I walked away, I heard her whisper to Aurora, “What happened?”
“She just needs some time, Mom.”
“I’m going to see what’s up.” Mom’s footsteps followed, her worry evident in every step.
Aurora stopped her before she could climb. “Mom, let her have tonight. She needs space.”
I paused on the stairs, my fingers curling into the wooden railing, feeling both gratitude and sadness.
Finally, in the quiet of my old bedroom, I let out a slow, shaky breath and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress was familiar, and the blankets still smelled faintly of home, but everything inside me felt foreign, like I was drifting somewhere in between the past and the unknown.
Just as I shut my eyes, my phone buzzed.
I almost ignored it. I should have. I was too tired to deal with anything else, too emotionally drained to open myself up to more.
But when I glanced at the screen, my breath caught.
Mikkel.
I hesitated. My fingers had tingled as I unlocked the phone, my pulse had picked up even though I had told myself it shouldn’t have.
Despite everything—the exhaustion, the heartache, the weight of the past—I felt warmth bloom in my chest. And I hated how much I wanted to read whatever he had sent.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Hey. I hope you had a good day.
Me: Hey.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: How are you?
Me: Good, I guess. How are you?
@mikkelsuarezofficial: What’s wrong?
Me: Long tiring day to say the least. Are you okay?
@mikkelsuarezofficial: I’m okay. Will you be okay at least?
Me: Yeah. Thank you for asking.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: This might sound weird coming from someone you barely know, but if you need to talk, I’m here.
Me: Thank you.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: You’re not crying, right?
Me: No? Why?
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Good. Remember I told you that you’re too pretty to cry.
Me: You were right.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Huh?
Me: It wasn’t worth my tears.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: I’m glad you saw that.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Also, how was your flight? I forgot to ask.
Me: It was good. I have a bit of flight anxiety but I survived.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Aerophobia or something else?
Me: Not aerophobia, I just hate crowded spaces and airplanes are very crowded.
Me: This is depressing lol. Distract me?
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Alright. Let’s play a game.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: If you could have dinner with any three people, dead or alive, who would they be and why?
Me: Marilyn Monroe because she’s an icon.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: That’s one, two more.
Me: Aurora (my sister) because she LOVES Marilyn.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: And lastly?
Me: Lana Del Rey because Lana would just have to be there.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Terrence Loves You.
WAIT… Wait… Did he just—
Me: You listen to Lana???
@mikkelsuarezofficial: I do.
Me: What three songs would have to be on the aux if we were in a car?
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Million Dollar Man, Video Games and Venice Bitch.
Impressive.
Me: You KNOW Lana.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Shocking?
Me: Very.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Your three?
Me: Born to Die, Bartender and Cinnamon Girl
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Top 10, I’ll give you that.
Me: They’re classics! And Lana’s voice is just…
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Mesmerizing? I’ve seen her live, and it was incredible.
Me: I’ve always wanted to see her perform live but never got the chance to.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Maybe someday I can make that happen.
Me: I’d sob so hard if it did.
@mikkelsuarezofficial reacted to this message.
Me: It’s getting late. I’m going to head to bed.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Before you go, how was the distraction?
I felt a warmth spreading through me.
Me: As great as the company.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Happy to be of service.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Goodnight, Red.
Me: Goodnight, Mikkel.
@mikkelsuarezofficial: Sweet dreams.
I smiled at my phone, feeling lighter, and drifted off to sleep.