38. Sebastian
Sebastian
I hold on too long, fight too hard for things I should’ve learned to release. I’m not built for indifference, I’m not built for loss.
But this? This is something else entirely. This isn’t just holding on too long. This is drowning. This is waking up every morning with the crushing weight of her absence pressing against my ribs before I even open my eyes.
This is rolling over to a cold pillow, to empty sheets that haven’t been touched by her warmth in weeks.
This is gripping those sheets in my fists, burying my face in the fabric because it still carries the faintest trace of her scent.
If I close my eyes and breathe deep enough, for just a second, I can almost convince myself she’s still here…
almost. Then reality sinks its claws in, and I’m left staring at the ceiling, waiting for the ache in my chest to loosen its grip. It never does.
This is standing in my kitchen, staring at two coffee mugs, one for me, one for her, because I still reach for both, every single morning. Every single morning I pick up hers without thinking, my body betraying me, my hands acting on instinct before my mind catches up.
Every single morning I curse under my breath, shove it back into the cabinet like it’s something I should’ve let go of by now. But I never do, because I don’t want to.
This is getting in my car, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, because her scent still lingers in the passenger seat, faint, fading…fading just like she did.
No matter how hard I try to hold on, no matter how many times I inhale too sharply, hoping to catch more of it, I can’t do anything to stop it from disappearing, just like I couldn’t stop her.
I can’t even be angry, even though I really want to be. I want to hate her for leaving, for shutting me out, for making me believe we were something solid and unshakable, only to tear it down.
For making me believe in forever, only to leave me stranded in the wreckage of it. For making me love her so damn much that even now, even after she stood in front of me and shattered my fucking heart…I still can’t stop, I still love her.
No matter how much time passes, no matter how much I try to push her out of my head, she’s still everywhere. She’s in my car, in the way my hand instinctively reaches for hers at stoplights before I realize she’s not there.
She’s in my apartment, in the blanket she always curled up with, still bunched up in the corner of the couch, untouched since the last time she was here. I should fold it, I should put it away, but I don’t, because that would make it real, that would mean she’s not coming back.
She’s the way I still turn to tell her things, only to be met with silence. She’s the way I still hear her laugh even when there’s no one around, it happens when I’m least expecting it. In the shower, where she used to press her cold feet against my legs, laughing when I jerked away.
In the grocery store, when I reached for the snacks she always made me buy but never finished. In my own goddamn reflection, where I see the man she used to love, except now he looks hollowed out, like he’s just barely keeping himself together.
She’s in my fucking bones. Because Mariana Vargas has never just been someone I love; she’s been a part of me. Now, I’m stuck inside a life that still has space for her, still makes room for her, still fucking belongs to her.
And what fucking sucks is that no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it hollows me out, I don’t want to let it go. If I stop reaching for her, stop seeing her in the spaces between silence, stop aching for her…it means she’s really gone.
The night stretches long and unforgiving, I can’t sleep.
I haven’t been able to sleep for weeks, but tonight is different, tonight, it’s worse.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, my breathing uneven, my body heavy with exhaustion that refuses to pull me under.
The air in this house is stale, unmoving, thick with the scent of something missing. Her.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fists clenching, breath stuttering as I fight against the sharp, sinking feeling in my chest. The one that says I did this to myself, the one that says I had everything and I let it slip through my fingers.
I reach blindly toward the nightstand, my hand closing around my phone before my mind can catch up. I know what I’m about to do, and I don’t stop myself.
Her name is still pinned at the top of my call log…Mariana. I hover over it, my thumb pressing against the screen so lightly that it doesn’t register the touch.
I could just call her…the ache in my chest deepens, turning sharp, slicing through bone, because I know she won’t answer. She made that clear, she doesn’t want me. The thought makes my throat close up, my breathing unsteady.
I shift my grip, my knuckles going white around the phone. My pulse is in my ears, loud, thudding, drowning out every rational thought telling me to put it down.
Because if I don’t call her, what do I do? If I don’t hear her voice, how do I survive the night?
My body starts shaking before I even realize it. Not the kind of tremor that comes from the cold—the kind that comes from something inside you breaking, something collapsing in on itself, something you can’t fix. I grit my teeth, squeezing the phone so fucking hard my hands go numb.
Just call her.
Just call her.
Just…I exhale sharply and throw my phone across the room. It hits the wall, a sharp crack cutting through the silence before it drops to the floor.
Her name rings out, faint and hollow. "Hey, Seb." I freeze. The sound of her voice cuts through the silence like a blade. I can’t breathe.
I turn, my body moving before my mind catches up, my eyes locking onto my phone, the screen still illuminated from where I threw it. It’s playing something, something old, something I didn’t even remember existed. A voice memo…from her.
I stare at the screen, pulse hammering in my ears, hands shaking so bad I don’t think I could reach for it even if I wanted to. Then, she keeps speaking. "You’re probably still asleep, but I just wanted to say hi. No real reason. Just… I don’t know. I was thinking about you."
A sharp ache blooms in my chest, thick and suffocating, pressing against my ribs like something is caving in from the inside, because I remember this.
I remember this exact morning; it was a Sunday. I had barely opened my eyes when I saw her name on my phone, a voice memo waiting for me; I had smiled. I had smiled so fucking hard.
She knew I hated voice memos, but she also knew I loved them when they were from her. "Anyway, I know you hate voice memos, but I also know you’re probably smiling right now because you secretly love them when they’re from me."
My breath stutters out of me, uneven and sharp, because she had been right.
I had smiled. I had called her two minutes later, voice still rough with sleep, teasing her for leaving me messages when she could’ve just waited for me to wake up.
She had laughed, I can still hear her laughing. "You sound grumpy," she had said.
"That’s because you woke me up, Mari."
"Liar," she laughed again. "You love that I woke you up."
She had been right, I had loved waking up to her. I had loved every stupid voice memo, every early morning call, every damn thing about the way she loved me.
Now, she’s gone. Now, I’m sitting alone in this apartment that still smells like her, still aches with the absence of her, still feels like it belongs to her. Now, I’m gripping my knees so hard my nails dig into my skin, fighting the sob that’s clawing its way up my throat.
"Okay, I’ll stop rambling. Just… call me when you wake up, okay? Love you."
Love you.
Love you.
The words ring through the room, through my head, through my entire fucking body. I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving my fists into my hair, fighting the way my whole chest feels like it’s caving in.
This is too much.
This is too fucking much.
She loved me.
She loved me, and she still walked away. Not once—twice.
The screen goes dark, and the silence is deafening. In that moment, I realize—I can't stay here. If I stay, this house will destroy me.
I push up from the bed so fast my vision tilts. I need to move, I need to go. I grab my keys, and I leave.
It’s past midnight when I pull into my sister’s driveway. The house is dark except for the glow from the living room window, I don’t know why I came here.
Maybe because it’s the only place that still feels familiar, or because Analyse is the only person who’s ever been able to read me without me having to say a word. Maybe because I’m so fucking tired of being alone.
I kill the engine and sit there, gripping the steering wheel, my hands still trembling, my body still bracing against something that already hit. I take a slow breath, but it doesn’t help.
Then, the porch light flickers on. I watch through the windshield as Analyse steps onto the porch, arms crossed, brow furrowed. She doesn’t look surprised; I think through some sibling telepathy, she knew I was coming.
I rub a hand down my face, sighing. I don’t have it in me to pretend I’m fine. Not tonight. I open the door, step out, and before I even make it up the steps, she’s pulling me into a hug.
It’s not soft or careful. It’s fierce, tight—a hug only Analyse can give, one that says, I see you, I know you, and you don’t have to say anything. She doesn’t let go for a long time.
When she finally does, she tilts her head toward the house. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
I drop onto the couch, elbows braced on my knees, head hanging forward. Analyse disappears into the kitchen. When she comes back, she hands me a glass of water. I stare at it.
“I was hoping for something stronger,” I mumble.
She sits beside me, pulling a blanket over her legs. “You need water more than you need whiskey.”
I huff a tired breath, dragging a hand through my hair. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
Finally, she sighs, shifting to face me. “You look like hell, Seb.”
I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “I feel worse.”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t tell me to move on, or that she wasn’t worth it. She just waits. The dam breaks.
“I don’t know how to do this.” My voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to live in a world where she doesn’t want me.” Analyse’s expression softens, but she stays quiet.
I shake my head, staring down at my hands. “I thought I could handle it, that I could just… exist without her. But I can’t.” My throat tightens. “I don’t know how to let her go.”
Analyse exhales slowly. “Do you think she really wanted to let you go?”
I swallow, shaking my head. “She made her choice.”
“Did she?” Analyse raises a brow. “Or did she just convince herself she didn’t have another option?”
I don’t respond, deep down, that’s the thing that’s been eating at me the most.
Analyse leans forward, voice quieter now. “Seb, I know you. And I know you don’t give up on the people you love.”
I lift my head, meeting her eyes.
“But love isn’t just about feeling it. It’s about choosing it.”
I flinch, exhaling sharply.
She reaches out, squeezing my arm. “You deserve someone who fights for you.”
The sadness shifts, and in its place, anger claws its way to the surface. Not at Mariana, but at myself for waiting, for breaking apart every night, hoping she’d come back, while she’s out there pretending I never fucking mattered.
For holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping me whole, when she’s the one who let go first. For loving her when she doesn’t love me enough to stay.
I inhale sharply, blinking against the burn behind my eyes. Analyse doesn’t say anything else. She just lets me sit in the silence—a silence that doesn’t crush, a silence that doesn’t drown. And for a brief moment, I feel a little lighter.