32 sleepless nights
I don't sleep.
Not even close.
The room goes quiet after the call with Jenny ends, but my brain keeps moving anyway, loud enough to feel physical.
Every thought crashes into the next one before I can even finish it properly, and somewhere across from me Everly breathes steadily beneath her blankets, completely unaware that I just detonated my entire life out loud over a phone call.
I drag both hands down my face and stare at the dark ceiling above me.
Jesus Christ.
I told Jenny I loved her.
Not liked.
Not wanted.
Loved.
The word still feels unreal in my head, like it belongs to somebody else instead of me.
Across the room, Everly shifts slightly in bed, the mattress creaking softly.
My eyes snap toward her immediately.
For a second, I almost say her name.
Almost.
But the memory of her face at the party slams into me hard enough to stop the thought cold.
You're fucking unbelievable.
The worst part is she was right.
I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, but that only makes everything replay clearer.
Scott's hands on her waist while they danced.
Her laughing with him earlier near the field.
The way she looked relaxed around him in a way she hasn't looked around me in weeks because every time she starts getting close to me, I find a new way to ruin it.
And then, because apparently my brain hates me, Scott's voice cuts through all of it again too.
You wish she was?
I stare into the darkness for a long time after that.
Because I didn't answer him.
Couldn't.
Not because I didn't know.
Because I knew immediately.
That was the terrifying part.
I roll onto my side, facing the wall this time, but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. The room still smells faintly like Everly's shampoo and the vanilla candles she burns while studying, and I hate how familiar it's become. Hate that I notice when she's gone. Hate that her empty bed feels wrong now.
At some point over the past few months, she stopped being my roommate and became something stitched into my everyday life so thoroughly I don't even know where to separate her anymore.
And that realization scares the absolute shit out of me.
Because loving someone is one thing.
Needing them is another.
My dad used to tell me attachment makes people weak. That the second you give somebody enough power to hurt you, eventually they will.
I used to think he was exaggerating.
Now I'm lying awake at three in the morning feeling physically sick because Everly Coleman looked at me like she didn't recognize me anymore.
The irony would almost be funny if it didn't feel like someone was crushing my ribs.
Across the room, Everly shifts again beneath the blankets, quieter this time.
I stare at the outline of her bed in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," I almost whisper.
But I don't.
Because apologies have started feeling cheap coming from me. Temporary. Like bandages I slap over damage before causing more of it five minutes later.
That's the problem.
I keep hurting her even when the last thing I ever want is for her to hurt.
My chest tightens painfully at the thought.
I think about the first few weeks after she moved in, when she'd glare at me over coffee cups and insult me without blinking. The nights she'd fall asleep studying with highlighter stains on her hands. The way she steals my hoodies like she thinks I don't notice.
The guitar playing earlier this week.
The silence when she walked out without looking at me.
Everything feels different now.
More fragile, like I pushed too hard and finally found the breaking point.
And the sickest part of all is that none of this would've happened if I'd just admitted the truth sooner instead of acting like some emotionally constipated idiot every time things got real between us.
I exhale harshly into the darkness.
God, Jenny was right.
I am such an asshole.
The thought sits heavily in my chest while the room stays silent around us.
Eventually I turn onto my back again and stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn from exhaustion.
Fear keeps circling the same thought over and over.
What if it's too late?
Because I know how Everly gets when something genuinely hurts her. She retreats inward. Gets quieter. Colder. Like she starts locking doors inside herself one by one until nobody can reach her anymore.
And I put that look on her face.
Me.
The realization makes something twist hard in my stomach.
Across the room, the blankets on her bed move slightly again before going still.
I wonder what she's dreaming about.
Wonder if I'm in it.
Wonder if she hates me now.
The thought alone feels unbearable.
So sometime around four in the morning, exhausted and miserable and completely unable to keep lying to myself anymore, I finally admit the truth I've been trying to outrun for weeks.
I'm terrified of loving someone this much.
Terrified of needing someone this much.
But I already do.
And whether I deserve her or not doesn't actually change that anymore.
I stare at the ceiling until pale early-morning light starts slipping faintly through the blinds, and somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I make a decision.
I have to fix this somehow.
Even if I have no idea where to start.