In The Between

✧･Chapter 8 Guilt

I keep my eyes on the window, watching the glow of streetlights stretch and blur against the glass as we pass them, one after another, like they're being pulled into something distant and unreachable.

The quiet hum of the car fills the space, steady and low, and for a second I try to focus on that instead... on something simple, something real.

It doesn't work. Nothing does, because she's still there.

Not physically, not anywhere I can point to - but in my head, in my chest, in the way my body hasn't quite settled since we left. It's like she followed me anyway, like she slipped into every empty space and filled it without asking.

Her voice replays first. Low, steady, quieter than usual but somehow heavier, like every word meant more than it should have.

"One I would've stuck around for."

My fingers tighten in my lap before I realize I'm doing it, nails pressing into my palm just enough to sting. I shift slightly in my seat, trying to get comfortable, but there's no position that feels right, no way to sit that doesn't feel like I'm too aware of everything at once.

Because it's not just her voice.

It's her laugh... the way it always comes easy, a little sharp at the edges, like she's half-amused and half-daring you to keep up.

It's the way her mouth curves when she's about to say something she shouldn't, the way her eyes hold just a second too long when she means something she's not saying out loud.

And worse-

It's her hands.

The memory hits without warning, sudden and vivid, like it's not something that happened years ago but something my body still thinks is happening now.

The warmth of them, the way they moved like they knew exactly what they were doing, like they weren't hesitating even when I was.

The way they held me - firm, grounding, like I was something worth holding onto.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. I shake my head slightly, barely noticeable, like I can physically push it away before it goes any further.

It doesn't stop, because then it's everything else.

The way she said my name. Not joking, not teasing but soft, almost careful, like it mattered.

The way I pulled her in without thinking, like something in me had already decided before I could catch up to it.

The way it felt, like it was natural, too easy, like it wasn't wrong even when every part of me knew it was supposed to be.

My chest tightens. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. It didn't mean anything.

It was a mistake. A drunk night. Something that shouldn't still be sitting under my skin like this, shouldn't still feel so-

"Mae?"

Chris's voice cuts through everything, closer than I expect, and I blink, my focus snapping back so abruptly it almost makes my head spin. I turn toward him, realizing I haven't heard a single thing he's said in the last few minutes.

"Yeah?" I answer too quickly, the word slipping out before I can soften it.

He glances at me briefly before looking back at the road, his brow faintly furrowed. "I asked if you were okay. You've been quiet."

"I'm fine," I say immediately, forcing a small smile onto my face like it belongs there, like it doesn't feel stiff and misplaced.

It comes out too easy, way too automatic, because I've had years to get good at that answer.

Chris hums softly, like he doesn't fully believe me but isn't sure if he wants to push. "You sure? You seemed... off back there."

Off.

The word sits wrong. I look back out the window, nodding once. "Just tired. Long day."

Another lie. Another one that slips out without resistance, smooth and practiced and completely empty. Chris is quiet for a second, and I can feel it, the way he's thinking, the way he's deciding whether or not to let it go.

"Was it something Lucas said?" he asks after a moment. "Or-" he hesitates slightly, "-Claire?"

My chest tightens so fast it almost hurts. I don't answer right away, because I can't.

Because her name feels different now, heavier somehow, like it carries everything I've been trying not to think about all at once. I press my lips together, shaking my head lightly, still not looking at him.

"No," I say, keeping my voice steady. "It's nothing."

Nothing. The word echoes in my head, hollow and wrong, because it's not nothing. It hasn't been nothing for a long time.

I shift again in my seat, my fingers curling tighter against my palm as another memory slips through before I can stop it.

Her leaning in closer, the faint smell of her perfume mixed with something sharper, something that felt like it belonged only to her.

The way everything else faded for a second, like the world narrowed down to just that space between us.

Like it always had. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, just for a second, like I can shut it all out if I don't let myself see it. But it's already there.

It's always been there.

And no matter how many times I tell myself it didn't matter, my body remembers everything.

The car slows, the steady motion easing as we turn onto my street, and I feel the shift before I even look up. The familiar buildings come into view, dimly lit and quiet at this hour, and something in my chest tightens again.

Chris pulls up in front of my building, the engine idling softly as he puts the car in park. For a second, neither of us says anything. The silence settles, heavier now, like everything I didn't say on the drive is still sitting between us, waiting.

I reach for the handle before he can say anything, needing the air, the distance, something to break the feeling pressing in on me.

"Mae."

I pause, my hand still on the door, and glance back at him.

He's already looking at me, something softer in his expression now, less curious, more careful. "You sure you're okay?" he asks again, quieter this time.

I nod, the motion automatic, even as it feels like a lie sitting too close to the surface. "Yeah. I'm just tired."

He studies me for a second longer, like he's trying to decide if he should push again, if this is something worth digging into. Then he sighs softly, reaching over to rest his hand briefly against my arm.

"Alright," he says. "Get some sleep, okay?"

"I will."

Another lie as I push the door open, the cool night air hitting my skin immediately, and for a second I just breathe it in, letting it ground me, letting it pull me out of my own head.

"Mae."

I glance back again, and this time he leans over the center console, one hand braced lightly as he closes the distance between us. It's familiar, expected, something we've done a hundred times before.

I met him halfway without thinking. His lips press softly against mine, warm and steady, a gentle, lingering kiss that should feel like something, comforting and right, but it doesn't.

Not the way it's supposed to.

I kiss him back anyway, because that's what I'm supposed to do, because this is what my life looks like, what it's always looked like, normal.

But it feels muted and distant. Like I'm going through the motion instead of being in it. He pulls back after a second, brushing his thumb lightly along my arm. "Goodnight, Mae."

"Goodnight," I echo, my voice softer than I mean for it to be.

I step out of the car and close the door, the sound louder than it should be in the quiet street. Chris waits just long enough to make sure I'm inside before pulling away, his headlights disappearing down the road.

And just like that, I'm alone. The silence wraps around me immediately as I turn toward the building, fishing my keys out of my bag with slightly unsteady hands. The familiar weight of them grounds me for half a second, just enough to get the door open, just enough to step inside.

The hallway is dim, quiet, the faint hum of old lights overhead filling the space as I make my way toward the stairs.

Each step feels heavier than it should. Like I'm carrying something with me, something I can't set down.

By the time I reach my door, my chest feels tight again, my thoughts already starting to get louder, slipping back into places I've been trying to avoid all night. I unlock it quickly, stepping inside and closing it behind me, the click echoing in the stillness.

For a second, I just stood there, staring at nothing, like if I didn't move, the feeling pressing against my chest might ease on its own.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, the word slipping out sharper than I meant it to. I kicked off my shoes and walked toward the kitchen, dropping my keys onto the counter harder than necessary, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment.

My chest felt tight and exposed all at once, like something had been forced open that I'd spent years trying to keep sealed. It was confusing in the way it shouldn't have been, because I knew exactly what it was.

Her. It's always been her, and I hated myself for that.

For six years, I'd convinced myself that night didn't matter. That it was nothing more than a mistake, something fueled by alcohol and poor judgment, something that could be buried if I ignored it long enough. I had let her believe I didn't remember, but deep down, I knew better.

And honestly? I don't think she believes it anymore either and that's what makes this so unfair.

How quickly everything shifted. How one look from her tonight dragged me right back into something I had fought so hard to leave behind. How it all came rushing back, not just the memory, but the feelings. The same ones I'd buried, denied, reshaped into something safer.

Because what was I supposed to do with it? Where would that leave me?

I let out a slow breath and moved toward the couch, sitting down heavily, elbows braced against my knees as I dropped my face into my hands. My fingers pressed into my temples like I could physically hold myself together.

I hated this. Hated what it did to me. Hated what it was still doing to me. Hated what it meant. And I hated what it said about me - that even after everything, after all the time and distance and silence, I was still here. Still stuck.

Still hers in a way I didn't know how to undo.

My stomach twisted at the thought of Chris, and guilt settled in immediately, heavy and unavoidable. He didn't deserve any of this. He was everything he was supposed to be... easy, kind, and steady. My parents adored him. My life with him made sense.

I exhaled sharply, cutting the thought off before it could fully form, like I'd done a thousand times before.

"God," I muttered, dragging my hands down my face before letting them fall. "What is wrong with me?"

Because even now, my mind wouldn't stop. It kept pulling me back.

To the way she used to laugh, low and effortless, like she didn't have to try. The way she teased me just enough to get under my skin, always knowing exactly what she was doing. The way she'd tilt her head with that look, like she was already waiting for my reaction.

The way she never let me pay for coffee, always brushing it off like it was nothing, but still remembering exactly what I liked without asking.

The way her smile reached her eyes. The way she looked at me like... like I was the only person in the room.

My throat tightened. I remembered the small things too. The way her shoulder would brush against mine when we walked, casual and easy, like it meant nothing, even when it felt like everything. The way she never crossed a line, not once, not until I did.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw tightening. I crossed every line that night. And I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't want to.

Didn't like it.

Didn't...

Love it.

The word sat heavy in my chest, something I refused to say out loud, even now. Because that's what's been eating me alive all these years. No matter how much space I put between us, no matter how many people came after her, nothing ever came close. No one ever felt the way she did.

No one ever held me the way she did. Like I was something worth keeping.

My breathing faltered slightly at that, my hands curling together as I stared at the floor. And tonight... she couldn't even look at me after a while.

The shift had been subtle, something no one else would've noticed, but I did. I saw the way something in her closed off, the way her energy changed, the way she avoided me after a certain point. And then she left quickly, almost too quickly, like she needed to get away.

Guilt twisted sharper this time.

For inviting Chris. For not thinking it through. For assuming, stupidly, that time had erased something that was clearly still there, still alive under the surface, just waiting for the right moment to come back.

And it did. It came back the second I saw her. The second she looked at me.

I leaned back into the couch slowly, my head falling against it as I stared up at the ceiling, my chest still too tight, my thoughts still too loud. This is wrong, all of it.

Wrong in every way I was raised to believe, in every way that had been drilled into me since I was a kid. Loving a woman wasn't just complicated - it was a sin. Something that cost you everything. Your family. Your place. Your future.

Everything.

And I knew that. I've always known that. So why does it still feel like this? Why does she still feel like...

I shut my eyes again, my throat tightening as I forced the thought down, burying it before it could take shape. Because I don't get to have that. I never did, and I hate myself for wanting it anyway.

The silence presses in after that, like the apartment itself is waiting to see what I'll do next. I stay where I am for a moment longer, breathing through the tightness in my chest until it dulls just enough to move around.

I push myself up from the couch and walk back toward the kitchen, my steps slower now, more deliberate. My phone sits where I left it, the screen lighting up the second I pick it up.

Something in my chest softens, not the same way, not the way it does with her, but enough. Familiar and steady in a way I knew how to handle.

My thumb hovers for a second before I type back, the words coming without much thought.

I stare at it for a moment, then add a small heart at the end before hitting send. The message delivers, simple and clean, and I exhale quietly through my nose, like that settles something.

Like that fixes something, but I know it doesn't.

My thumb lingers on the screen longer than it needs to, my grip tightening just slightly before I back out of the conversation. The rest of my messages fill the screen like names, threads, things that don't matter.

I didn't mean to scroll as much as I did, but I did.

And then I stop.

Claire.

Just her name is enough.

My chest tightens again, sharper this time, like it knows better than to pretend this is something small. I don't open the conversation. I don't let myself see what's inside, don't let myself fall into something I won't be able to climb out of.

I just look at it. My thumb hovers near her name, close enough to press, close enough that it would take nothing to open it, to read, to type... but I stopped.

Because I already know how that ends. So I stay there, staring at her name like that's somehow safer, like this isn't already too much.

And then-

The screen shifts and three small dots appear beneath it.

My breath catches before I can stop it, my fingers tightening slightly around the phone as I stare, my pulse picking up for no reason other than that.

She's typing.

The realization hits immediately, sending something uneasy through me, something that feels a little too close to panic and something else I don't want to name. My mind starts moving before I can stop it, like what she's going to say, what I'll say back, what this means, what it changes.

But I don't move and I don't open it, I just watched.

The dots blink once. Twice. And then they disappear.

The screen settles back into stillness, her name sitting there like nothing ever happened, like there wasn't almost something there a second ago.

But I felt it, whatever it was. My grip on the phone tightens, something unsettled twisting low in my chest as I stare a second longer than I should.

Because she was going to say something, and now she's not.

I swallow, my thumb hovering again before I finally lock the screen, the light disappearing and leaving the apartment in quiet darkness.

But it doesn't feel quiet anymore.

Because now I know...

this isn't over.