Chapter 25 Dove
DOVE
The bed feels like a prison; the covers tangled around me, trapping me in a suffocating embrace.
My body aches, my chest heavy with the weight of the grief that seems to flood every inch of me.
The tears won’t stop, and I don’t know how to make them.
The darkness in the room mirrors the darkness in my mind, and I curl into myself, burying my face into the pillow, trying to hide from the memories that keep crashing into me like waves against the shore.
I remember the first time I walked into that room, that room he built just for me.
The library. The one place I thought I could find peace, a place where I could escape, where the noise of everything else would fall away.
It was perfect—every corner, every detail meticulously designed with my comfort in mind.
The soft velvet chairs, the shelves filled with books, the towering walls that seemed to rise up around me like a fortress.
But it wasn’t just the physical beauty of it.
It was the intention. He made it for me.
Why would he do that if I meant nothing?
Why would he create something so beautiful, so personal, just for me if I was nothing more than a fleeting distraction?
He had given me something precious, something I didn’t even know I wanted, something that made me feel special.
In those moments, when I sank into the softness of the armchair, surrounded by the scent of leather-bound books and the warmth of the room, I felt… wanted.
I thought he saw me. I thought I mattered.
But now… now I’m just lying here in the dark, and it’s like none of it ever mattered at all.
The images come flooding back, uninvited, relentless.
His hands, gentle but firm as they pulled me close.
His voice, soft in my ear as he whispered promises I thought were real.
The way his eyes would soften when they met mine, like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
I can still feel the warmth of his touch, the heat of his breath against my skin, the way he would trace his fingers over my arm like he was marking me, claiming me.
But why? Why would he do that if I was nothing?
I remember the mornings we spent together. The way he would look at me, like I was the one thing he wanted more than anything. I remember laughing with him in the kitchen, our easy banter as we shared quiet, intimate moments. How could he be so… kind one moment, and so cold the next?
The image of him standing in front of me, telling me to leave, it cuts through me like a knife.
The way he shut me out, his eyes hardening like a shield.
His words, so final, so brutal. I try to remember the softness, the sweetness, the way he made me feel, but it’s drowned out by the ache of what he’s done.
I want to hold on to the moments where I felt like I mattered, but they slip through my fingers like sand.
How could he do this to me?
The library… that beautiful, sacred place he created for me, the one where I thought I could escape, now feels like a cruel reminder. How could he build that for me, give me something so… intimate… only to turn around and break me?
I want to scream. I want to run to him, demand answers, beg him to explain why he destroyed everything he built. But I know he wouldn’t care. I know it’s pointless.
Every memory I have of him—every kiss, every soft whisper, every stolen moment—now feels like a lie. And the weight of it presses down on me, suffocating me with the truth that I was never real to him.
I can still hear his voice in my head, echoing over and over again. You mean nothing to me, Dove.
Those words rip through me, and I feel the tears start again, hot and heavy, flooding down my face.
He was never mine to begin with, was he?
He was never someone who would let me stay.
He wanted to break me, to control me, and I let him.
I let him weave me into his world, made me believe in something I should have known was never real.
The room feels too small, like the walls are closing in on me, suffocating me with the memories of a love that never existed. My heart aches with the weight of everything I’ve lost, everything I thought I had.
I press my hands to my eyes, trying to stop the tears, but it’s no use. They come faster, harder.
How could he do this to me?
I thought I knew him. I thought I could trust him. But in the end, I was just another plaything to him. Another thing to use, to break.
And I hate myself for believing in him.
Christina’s voice cuts through the quiet of my room like a knife, sharp and insistent.
“Dove!” she calls, her footsteps thundering down the hallway, too loud for my liking. I hear her outside the door, the way she slams it open without even knocking—classic Christina.
“Are you even alive in there?” she continues, her voice now much too close.
I don’t respond. I don’t even move, letting the blankets swallow me whole as if they could hide me from the world. I could feel her standing there, just waiting for me to say something, but I don’t. I can’t. I don’t want to.
Christina knows me too well. I hear the shuffle of her feet as she crosses the room and then the bed dips under her weight. She doesn’t even ask for permission, just pulls the blankets back and climbs under them like she owns the place.
“Okay, what’s going on?” she asks, her voice softer now, but I can hear the worry in it. “You’ve been in here for days, and I know you better than anyone. You can’t hide from me, Dove.”
I roll over, my back facing her, wishing she’d just leave me alone.
I’ve been wallowing in this pain for so long, and I don’t want her to see me like this.
I don’t want to explain myself. I don’t want to talk about Ashton, or what happened, or anything else that’s spinning in my head.
But Christina doesn’t know how to take a hint.
“You’re not getting out of this one, girl. I know that blanket move,” she teases, lightly poking my shoulder. “The ‘I’m-gonna-hide-from-my-problems-under-the-blankets’ move. Classic.”
I groan and bury my face in the pillow. “Just go away, Christina. Please. I just need to be alone.”
“Nope,” she responds quickly, her voice filled with the unmistakable tone of stubbornness. “I’m not leaving. We’ve been through too much for you to push me away now. You can cry, you can scream, hell, you can punch a wall if you want to, but you’re not doing it alone.”
I can feel her warmth next to me, the way she slides closer until we’re both tangled up in the covers.
Her hand, rough and warm, finds my hair and she starts gently running her fingers through it, slow and steady, just like she used to when we were younger.
It’s comforting, even if I’m not ready to admit it.
“Dove,” she whispers, softer now, like she’s trying to get through to me without pushing too hard. “I know you’re hurting. I can feel it, but you need to get up. You need to stop letting this destroy you. You’re better than this. You deserve better than this.”
I let out a shaky breath, biting my lip to hold back the tears that threaten to spill again. “He… he told me to leave, Christina. He… he made it sound like I didn’t mean anything. Like I was nothing.”
Christina sighs and pulls me into her, her chin resting on the top of my head.
“You’re not nothing. You’re Dove. You’re one of the strongest people I know. I don’t care how messed up this whole thing is, you’re still you. You haven’t changed. You’re still my best friend, and I’m not letting you fade away.”
She strokes my hair again, her touch gentle but firm. “Ashton may have broken you a little, but that doesn’t mean he gets to keep you broken forever.”
I feel my chest tighten, like a vice is squeezing my heart. How can she be so damn strong? Why can’t I be strong like her right now? The tears start coming again, hot and painful, flooding out of me as I let myself feel everything I’ve been hiding from.
“I can’t do this, Christina,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I’m so tired.”
Christina shifts, pulling me closer, her arms wrapping around me. “I know you are, sweetie. I know. But you’re not going to stay in this bed forever, okay? You’ve got a life to live, and it’s a damn good one. Ashton? He’s just a chapter in your story. You’ve got so much more ahead of you.”
I try to shake my head, but the sobs keep coming, harder now, and she doesn’t let me go.
“Dove,” she says again, her voice lighter now, with a hint of playfulness. “You smell like a dead rat, girl. I don’t know how anyone could survive in this room with you. Are you even trying to take care of yourself?”
I can’t help but laugh through the tears, a wet, choked-up sound that’s as much a sob as it is a laugh. “I don’t care about that right now.”
Christina doesn’t back off, though. “You should. You don’t look like someone who just lost their mind over some guy. You look like someone who’s been living under a rock, eating Cheetos all day.” She gives me a little push, as if to get me moving, even though she’s still holding me.
I roll my eyes, but it feels good to have something to laugh about. “I’m not a Cheeto addict.”
“I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying it’s time for you to put on your big girl pants. Get up, take a shower, and breathe. You’re not a prisoner here. You’re my best friend, and you’re going to get through this, even if I have to drag you through it.”
I sniffle, wiping my nose on the back of my hand, and the absurdity of her words hits me. I can’t help but smile, even though it’s a sad, broken thing.
“Fine, fine. You’re right. I smell.”
Christina grins like she’s won a battle. “Thank God. I don’t know how much longer I could stand it. Get up, Dove. Go take that shower. I’m serious. We’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”