27. Mariana
Mariana
A fter Anna left, I sat curled up on the couch for a long time, knees drawn to my chest, staring at the wall, willing myself to move. My body felt too heavy, too drained to do anything but exist.
The thought of spending the whole night like this—alone, stiff, exhausted, fighting against my own body and my own damn mind felt unbearable. So I called Sebastian.
I hadn’t wanted to. I’d spent the entire day trying to convince myself I was fine, that the ache in my joints and the exhaustion sinking into my bones were just minor inconveniences.
Manageable. But the second I was alone, reality hit me like a weight pressing into my chest. I wasn’t fine, and the worst part?
I didn’t want to be alone, and that scared me more than the pain.
So I called him. I barely had to say the words. He heard it in my voice.
“I’m coming.” That was it. No hesitation.
By the time I made it to the front door, headlights were cutting through the darkness. Sebastian didn’t say anything when he saw me. He just held out his hand and waited. I took it.
He helped me into his car, his hand warm and steady against my back, his presence grounding. The drive to his house was quiet—no pressure, no expectations, just the soft hum of the radio and the occasional glance from him, checking on me.
Sebastian kept the heat on low, knowing the cold made my joints worse. His fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel, matching the rhythm of the music playing through the speakers.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. Even in the dim glow of the dashboard, I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his brows furrowed like he was thinking too hard. He didn’t ask me what was wrong. He didn’t need to.
Instead, he reached over at a red light, wordlessly adjusting the blanket he’d brought for me onto my lap. That was Sebastian. Always paying attention, always knowing exactly what I needed before I did.
When we got there, he made me drink water and wrapped me in a warm blanket, his touch gentle, his presence unwavering. He held me close, his fingers threading through my hair in soothing strokes. I fell asleep listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Warmth. That was the first thing I noticed when I woke up. Not just from the blankets wrapped around me, but from the air itself—soft, lived-in. It felt safe here.
The space beside me was empty, but his presence was still everywhere. His scent lingered on the pillows, woodsy and familiar. I let my fingers drift across the sheets, still warm from where he’d been.
On the nightstand, a bottle of water and my pain meds sat neatly beside my phone—plugged in and fully charged. He must have done that before he left the room.
The faint rustle of movement drifted in from the kitchen. The low hum of a song—some old reggaetón tune he probably didn’t even realize he was singing along to.
I exhaled slowly, shifting under the covers. The worst of the flare-ups had passed, thankfully. I should be relieved. My body didn’t ache nearly as much as last night.
My fingers still felt stiff, but not as bad. But there was something creeping in now. Something that had nothing to do with lupus.
I was getting used to this. That realization settled into my chest, heavy and sharp, because this wasn’t supposed to be easy. Loving someone, needing someone, wasn’t supposed to feel safe.
And yet, with Sebastian, it did. I swallowed hard and forced myself to sit up. My body protested the movement, but I ignored it. I needed to shake this off.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the floor. If I just got up, if I just focused on anything else, this feeling would pass.
But before I could take a single step, Sebastian appeared in the doorway, barefoot, hair still damp from his shower, wearing nothing but sweatpants hanging low and a knowing smirk.
“Morning, princesa.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach at how good he looked so damn effortlessly. Damn, this man is fine.
I sank into a chair, wrapping my hands around the coffee mug he placed in front of me. “Tell me you didn’t burn the house down making breakfast,” I teased.
“Excuse you,” he said, feigning offense. “I happen to make an incredible breakfast.”
“Uhuh.”
He let out an exasperated gasp. “Rude. I cook all the time, you know.”
I snorted. “You grilled burgers last weekend.”
“And they were fantastic,” he shot back. “But this morning, I outdid myself. You deserve a good morning, Mariana.”
Something in my chest pinched. It was the way he said it. So simple, so certain, like I deserved this without question.
I took a sip of the coffee, letting the warmth settle inside me. Sebastian reached out, brushing his fingers along my wrist, his touch light and deliberate.
“You’re stiff,” he murmured, his brows furrowing slightly.
I hated how easily he could tell. “I’m fine,” I said quickly.
He didn’t argue. He just took my hands in his, his thumbs tracing slowly, careful circles over my knuckles.
The way he touched me—gentle, focused, and completely attuned to me—made my throat go tight.
I didn’t stop him, but I should have. Because every time he did this, it became harder to remember how to be alone.
I pulled my hands back, flexing them. “See? Good as new.”
Sebastian sat back, watching me carefully. “You sure?”
I forced a small, easy smile. “Positive.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he stood up, stretching. “Pancakes are getting cold.”
I let out a small laugh, standing too. “You’re really proud of these, huh?”
“Damn right, I am.”
But as we walked to the kitchen, something lodged itself in my chest. An unwanted thought, an unwanted fear. I wanted to be here. I wanted this. I really did.
But deep inside, there was still this small part of me that was scared. Scared of where I’ve been. Scared of what I’ve gone through. Scared of what this could be. And most of all, scared how it would kill me if I lost this.
Breakfast was good. Annoyingly good. And he knew it, grinning every time I took a bite. The easy warmth between us felt dangerous. So I focused on his voice instead. He was telling me about a prank they pulled at the firehouse last week.
“So, Andres was in the middle of a shower, right? And I -”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “No.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, smirking. “We filled up a bucket of ice water, got the rookies to distract him, and then—bam!” He clapped his hands. “Right over the top of the stall.”
I burst out laughing. The image was too ridiculous. Sebastian grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. It was one of those rare moments where everything felt untouched by the weight of my own mind. That was, until it didn’t.
The fear sat in my stomach like a stone. I pushed my food around my plate, my appetite suddenly gone. Sebastian must have noticed because he reached across the table, touching my wrist lightly.
“You okay?”
Lie. Just lie. “Yeah,” I said, smiling quickly. “Just thinking about the bakery, there’s still so much to do.”
He nodded, satisfied with that answer. But I hated myself for giving it. Because the truth? I’m a damn mess, and I don’t know how to fix it. I look at Sebastian, and all I can think about is how much I love him—how deeply, hopelessly in love I am. Boy, am I screwed.
Sebastian left for work later that morning. I kissed him before he walked out the door, but something felt different. I told myself it felt the same as always, but it didn’t.
Not because he had changed, but because I had. I knew this feeling. I’d felt it before. The slow, creeping hesitation. The quiet unraveling of something I should have been holding onto. The last time I felt this way, it was senior year.
Sebastian kissed me at graduation and held me like he thought love alone could make me stay. And for a second, I let myself believe it. But I still left. I had to.
I told myself that I needed to experience life outside of this small town, that this place, this love, wasn’t enough.
The truth was, I was scared back then too.
Scared of what it meant to love someone like him—completely, deeply, all at once.
Scared of what it meant to build my future around a person instead of my own dreams, So I left.
I left and did the same shit I was running away from. All my decisions became about Andrew. What a fucking mistake that had been.
I turned my world upside down for a man that didn’t love me. Not really. He loved control, power, the way he could shape me into whatever version of me best suited him, and I let him. I fucking let him. Why the hell did I do that?
So what was I doing now? Running again? Pushing Sebastian away because I was scared of what it meant to stay? Or was I just trying to save us both from the inevitable heartbreak?
Because I knew how this story ended. Love wasn’t enough to keep me from leaving before, and love sure as hell hadn’t saved me from Andrew. So what made me think it would save me now?
I leaned against the counter, staring at the half-empty coffee cup I hadn’t even realized I was gripping. Sebastian was gone, and the house felt too quiet without him. A small part of me was relieved.
I was alone, I could finally breathe, finally think, finally try and get myself together. But another part of me, a much larger part, felt hollow. Because I’d been here before. Closing myself off. Creating space before someone else could take it from me.
I should stop. I should let myself have this. I should let myself enjoy true happiness, but the truth settled deep in my chest, thick and suffocating.
Everyone leaves. Everyone hurts you. Leave before you are left. No matter how badly I didn’t want to, I needed to pull away. I needed to protect myself and my heart.