32. The Reckoning
T he sky outside my window is the color of ash, with gray light bleeding into the corners of the room, as if it doesn’t want to be here either.
It looks like the remnants of something burned overnight—maybe my past, the memories with Kevin smoldered down to smoke and regret.
There’s no flame left to fan. All that’s left is the wait to see what might rise from it.
It’s too early for birdsong and too late to go back to sleep, even on a Sunday.
I lay awake, but haven’t moved in hours. One arm shields my eyes; the other rests across my chest. The sheet clings to dried sweat. My heart’s not racing, it’s just steady, like it’s waiting for my mind to catch up to what it already knows.
The room smells faintly of skin and air that’s gone still. My clothes are somewhere on the floor. The record player is silent. The world is silent. Just the faint tick of my watch on the nightstand beside me and the thin light through the blinds drawing pale lines across my chest.
Kevin didn’t ruin me. That’s the sentence that finally lands.
I’ve been building that lie for years, blaming what we did that night for my breakup with Stacy.
For coming out. I blamed him for the moment I ran, for the way our friendship ended, and for the life he lived after I was gone.
I used it to justify the hookups and the ache of not having a close relationship.
I kept telling myself it was his fault—for exposing those emotions—and then moving on to someone like Josh.
He didn’t come looking for me. He didn’t wait for me.
However, the truth is, he did. He opened the door. He asked me to stay, and I walked out. Josh didn’t steal him. Kevin didn’t break me or change me. I left.
That night. That version of him. That version of myself. I walked out and left it all behind, convincing myself I could chase it down later if I chose—as if it would always be out there, frozen in time, waiting for me to be ready.
But it wasn’t.
Kevin is happy. Josh is kind. They laugh together.
That version of him—the one I once believed was meant for me—was never mine.
I only watched it from the outside, convincing myself I had a claim.
But that life belongs to who Kevin is now, and I’m not part of it. I’m not the reason he smiles like that.
The version of Kevin I’ve been chasing all this time—it wasn’t real. It was a memory softened by longing. It was a night I tried to preserve so I wouldn’t have to confront who I became after it.
I wasn’t running from Kevin that night. I was running from myself. Who I really was.
Closing my eyes, the thought settles. It doesn’t feel like forgiveness. Not yet. But it’s something quieter. Like space. Like breath. It’s like the first moment after crying when your body realizes there’s nothing left to cry over.
I don’t need closure from Kevin. I need to stop leaving myself behind every time things get real.
Sitting up slowly, my back aches, and my legs are stiff. The window catches more of the morning light now, still soft and filtered by the trees, but growing brighter. I watch it climb the wall as if it’s trying to remind me that time keeps moving, whether I want it to or not .
The bed’s a mess. The air is still heavy. Nothing’s really changed—but something in me has.
I’m not sure what comes next. But maybe, for the first time, I don’t need to chase it. Perhaps I can let it find me.