Day Two
The morning came too soon. Savannah woke to a suffocating stillness, the weight of an empty bed pressing against her chest.
The sheets were cold. The pillow beside her was untouched. And worst of all?
It didn’t smell like him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fingers curling into the fabric, desperate for something—anything—to tether her back to the warmth she had left behind.
But there was nothing.
No trace of him. No rough hands pulling her close. No deep, raspy voice murmuring, "Morning, Monroe."
Nothing but silence.
She lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling, caught in the wreckage of what she had done, drowning in the echoes of what she had walked away from.
A soft knock at the door.
Then, the hesitant creak of it opening.
Mallory.
She stood there, holding a plate of food and a cup of coffee, her expression unreadable.
“You need to eat,” she said softly.
Savannah didn’t move.
Mallory sighed, setting the plate down before sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I know this is hard. But lying here all day isn’t going to change anything.”
Savannah finally turned her head, her voice hoarse.
“And what exactly am I supposed to do, Mal?”
Mallory studied her for a long moment before sighing.
“You could call him.”
Savannah’s stomach twisted violently.
She turned her face back toward the ceiling.
“I can’t.”
Mallory’s brows furrowed. “Why the hell not?”
Because she was afraid.
Because if she called him and he didn’t answer—It would be over.
Truly, irrevocably over.
And she wasn’t ready for that—Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Mallory sighed and stood. “Fine. Sit here. Wallow. Torture yourself.” She walked toward the door, pausing just before she left.
“But don’t lie to yourself and act like this is what you want.”
Then, she was gone.
Savannah exhaled shakily, staring at the ceiling until her vision blurred.
But sleep didn’t help.
Because even in her dreams, Chase was there.
And when she woke up—her body reaching for something that wasn’t there—
She was breaking all over again.