✧･Chapter 20 Choice
I barely remember us moving to the small bed in the corner of my studio. Just flashes, like her pulling me down with her, my head settling against her chest, the steady rhythm of her breathing. Her fingers threading slowly through my hair.
I remember how quickly it all went quiet and how quickly I fell asleep.
When I open my eyes, the morning sun is already slipping through the windows, too bright, too early. I squint against it, letting out a small yawn as I try to wake up.
And then... It hits me.
Claire.
She's not here. At least, not in the bed. I push myself up slowly, my legs falling over the side, feet brushing the floor. "Claire?" My voice is rough, still half-asleep as I glance around the studio.
Nothing, and then I stand, walking toward the bathroom, but the door's already open and the light's off.
"What the hell..." I mutter under my breath. I turn toward the kitchen - and stop, because there's a piece of paper sitting on the counter with a pen resting neatly on top of it.
My stomach drops and slowly, I walk over, each step heavier than the last, and reach for it.
Blank.
There's nothing written at all. Just an empty page, like she meant to say something, started to... and then didn't.
I let out a quiet, humorless huff, closing my eyes as I shake my head.
Of course she didn't leave anything. What was she supposed to say? Sorry? Last night shouldn't have happened?
I couldn't stay?
My grip tightens slightly on the edge of the counter, the paper crinkling faintly between my fingers before I set it back down like it might burn me.
God.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly, but it doesn't steady anything. If anything, it makes it worse... because the second I let myself think, it all comes rushing back.
Her. The way she looked at me. The way she said my name. The way she... touched me.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening. It wasn't supposed to feel like that, and that's the problem.
It wasn't supposed to feel right.
I turn away from the counter, pacing once, twice, my arms folding tightly across my chest like I can hold myself together.
Chris.
The thought hits like a jolt, sharp and immediate. Chris, who has been nothing but patient, steady, and good.
My stomach twists.
"I-" My voice catches, and I let out a shaky breath, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. "I didn't..."
Didn't what? Didn't mean to? Didn't plan it?
That doesn't change anything.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I cheated on him and the words land heavy, ugly, undeniable. And I should feel sick. I do feel sick... there's guilt curling low in my stomach, thick and uncomfortable, making it hard to breathe.
But underneath it - there's something worse. Because when I think about last night...
My chest tightens again, but this time it's different.
Softer, warmer.
Fuck.
I can still feel her. Her hands, her mouth, the way she pulled me closer like she didn't want there to be any space left between us. Like she'd been waiting.
Like I had.
I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head quickly like I can force it out, like I can shove it somewhere it won't touch me.
"No," I mutter.
But it's already there.
The memory of it. The way I didn't hesitate. The way I wanted it. The way I leaned into her.
My hands drop to the counter behind me, gripping it this time, grounding myself as my thoughts spin too fast.
Six years. Six years of pushing it down, ignoring it, pretending it wasn't there, and all it took was one night... One moment and it all came back like it never left.
I laugh again, quieter this time, but there's nothing funny about it.
"Fuck" I whisper.
Chris doesn't deserve this. And Claire... She left, she didn't stay. That should tell me everything I need to know.
Right?
That she knew this was wrong.
My chest aches suddenly, sharp enough that I have to inhale through it. Or maybe she left because she knew she wouldn't if she stayed.
That thought settles heavier than anything else.
I stare down at the blank piece of paper again, my vision blurring slightly as I exhale. She couldn't even write it, couldn't even put it into words.
Because there aren't any. Not for this. Not for what we did and not for what it meant.
My fingers curl slightly against the counter.
"I can't-" I shake my head, pushing away from it again, restless, pacing with no direction. I can't pretend it didn't happen. I can't go back to Chris and act like nothing's changed, like I didn't just ruin the entire relationship him and I had.
I stop in the middle of the room, my chest rising and falling a little too fast.
Everything feels too loud and too close.
The walls, the silence, the bed behind me - it all presses in at once, like the space itself knows what happened here, like it's holding onto it, replaying it over and over no matter how hard I try to push it out of my head.
I drag in a breath, but it doesn't help. If anything, it makes it worse, because it gives my thoughts room to keep going.
"God," I mutter, dragging my hands through my hair, tugging slightly at the roots like I can ground myself, like I can pull myself out of whatever this is.
I need to fix this.
No. I need to do something.
Standing here isn't helping. Thinking isn't helping. It's just looping, over and over, the same thoughts, the same memories, the same realization that nothing about this is small or fixable or something I can just ignore until it goes away.
It's not going away. It's already too big, and the mistakes had already happened.
I turn in a slow circle, like I might find an answer somewhere in the room, like something will make sense if I just look at it long enough, but there's nothing. Just the same space, the same quiet, the same weight sitting heavy in my chest.
I can't be alone right now, and the thought comes suddenly, sharp and clear, cutting through everything else. Because if I stay here, I'm going to keep spiraling, keep thinking, keep tearing myself apart without actually doing anything about it.
I need someone.
Someone who knows me. Someone who isn't going to let me hide behind half-answers or pretend this isn't exactly what it is.
June.
The name settles in immediately and instinctive. My best friend. The person who has seen every version of me and still stayed. The person who won't let me get away with anything... Not this, not now.
"Okay," I say under my breath, the word rushed, uneven, like I'm trying to convince myself as much as anything else. "Okay, yeah. I just- I need to go."
The second the decision is made, I move.
Fast.
I move around the studio, throwing on a shirt and jeans, then throwing my hair into a very messy ponytail.
I then grab the first pair of shoes I can find, shoving them on without really paying attention, nearly stepping on the back of one before jamming my foot in properly.
My keys are somewhere and my eyes scan the counter, the table, landing on them after a second too long, and I snatch them up like they might disappear if I hesitate.
My gaze flickers, just for a second, back to the counter.
To the paper.
My stomach twists again, but I don't let myself linger on it. If I stop, I'll start thinking again, and I can't afford that right now. I don't even grab a jacket, don't check the time, and don't think about whether June will even be home.
I just need to go.
The door opens harder than I mean for it to, the sound sharp in the quiet morning as I step out and pull it shut behind me, barely remembering to lock it before I'm moving again.
The air outside hits me all at once, cool and grounding, but it doesn't slow anything down. If anything, it makes everything feel sharper, more immediate, like there's no buffer between me and what I've done.
My grip tightens around my keys as I head straight for my car, my thoughts still racing, still tangled, still too much.
What am I even going to say? The question flickers in, unwanted.
Hey, June, I cheated on my boyfriend with the girl I've been in love with for six years and now everything is ruined?
I let out a short, breathless sound that isn't quite a laugh as I unlock the car, pulling the door open quickly.
"Yeah," I mutter to myself, sliding into the seat. "That'll go over well."
But she'll listen. That's the thing. She'll listen, and she'll ask the questions I don't want to answer, and she'll look at me like she already knows half of it anyway.
And right now, that's better than being alone with it.
I start the car, hands tightening around the wheel for a second before I force myself to breathe, to focus enough to actually drive.
Just get to June, and everything else can fall apart after that.
The drive feels shorter than it should, like I blink and I'm already pulling into June's driveway.
I don't remember half of it. Just the way my hands wouldn't loosen on the wheel, the way my thoughts kept tripping over each other, too fast to keep up with.
By the time I cut the engine, my chest still hasn't settled.
I don't wait.
I'm out of the car, up the steps, keys already in my hand before I even fully register what I'm doing. The door unlocks quickly, and I push it open, stepping inside like I belong here.
Nothing. The silence hits wrong immediately, it's too quiet. No TV, no kids, no movement.
I step further in, my eyes scanning the living room, expecting and hoping, to see her anyway, but it's empty.
Then, "who is it?"
Helena's voice comes from the kitchen. I freeze for half a second, my stomach dropping before I even fully process why.
"Mae," I call back, my voice a little tighter than I mean for it to be.
There's a brief pause, like she's registering that, and then I hear movement like something being set down and footsteps shifting.
I move toward the kitchen, slower now, like the urgency that got me through the door is starting to falter.
Helena looks up when I step into view, and the second her eyes land on me, something in her expression changes. It's subtle, but it's there - like she's already clocked that something's off.
"Hey," I say, a little breathless. "Where's June?"
"She's out," Helena answers easily. "Took the girls with her. August wanted to spend the day with them." A small pause. "They won't be back until later."
The words sink in slowly.
"Oh." It comes out quieter than I expect.
My gaze drops for a second, my brain scrambling to adjust, to figure out what to do now that my plan - if I can even call it that - is gone.
Helena doesn't say anything right away, but I can feel her looking at me, though... taking in too much.
"Do you want some coffee?" She asks after a moment, already turning slightly toward the counter like she knows I'm not going to just leave.
"No," I say quickly, almost instinctive. "I'm fine, I just-" My words trail off, because I'm very clearly not fine, and we both know it.
She doesn't move, doesn't argue. Just waits and it stretches a second too long, the silence pressing in, and I shift uncomfortably, dragging a hand through my hair.
"...Actually, yeah," I mutter, exhaling. "Yeah, coffee would be good."
"Thought so," she says simply.
There's something about the way she says it, like none of this surprises her, that makes my chest tighten all over again.
I step further into the kitchen, slower now, the frantic energy that got me here starting to wear off, leaving something heavier in its place.
"What's wrong?" Helena asks, opening a cabinet and pulling out a mug. She sets it down and pours the coffee like this is normal, like I didn't just show up unannounced looking like I'm about to fall apart.
I sigh, closing my eyes for a second before opening them again. She adds sugar, then creamer, stirring it without even asking how I take it, like she already knows.
She hands it to me and I take it, my fingers brushing the warmth of the mug, grounding for half a second. I bring it up, take a small sip, then lower it again, staring down into it like the answer might be sitting somewhere in the swirl of cream.
"I don't know what to say," I mutter. And it's true. I don't know how to say this, not out loud... not to her.
I glance up, watching as Helena grabs her own mug and leans back against the counter, completely at ease. One eyebrow lifts slightly, her gaze steady on me, and it only makes the discomfort crawl higher under my skin.
"Just tell me the way you'd tell June," she says, like it's that simple.
"I don't think this is a good idea..." I whisper.
Helena lets out a quiet, almost amused huff. "Mae," she says, softer now, but firmer. "It's clearly eating you alive. Just say it."
My grip tightens slightly around the mug. I take a breath. Then another.
"I slept with Claire last night."
The words come out too fast, too blunt, like if I slow down even a little I won't be able to say them at all.
Helena chokes on her coffee.
She jerks forward, coughing hard, immediately setting the mug down and grabbing a towel from the counter. "Jesus! Mae-" she gets out between coughs, pressing it to her mouth as she tries to recover.
I wince instantly, already shaking my head. "I didn't mean it like that, I just- there's no easy way to say it and I needed to-"
"There are absolutely easier ways," Helena says once she finally gets her breath back, still dabbing at her mouth. "Preferably ones that don't start with emotional destruction."
A small, strained breath leaves me that almost becomes a laugh, but it doesn't make it all the way out.
"I didn't think I'd actually say it out loud," I admit quietly.
Helena watches me for a second, then picks her mug back up, not drinking it yet. Just holding it like she needs something steady.
"Okay," she says more carefully now. "Start from the beginning. What happened?"
I swallow, my fingers tightening slightly around my own mug. "She came to my studio," I say. "Yesterday, she was there to return my wallet."
Helena's expression shifts slightly. "And?"
My throat tightens. "And I started it," I admit.
The words feel worse coming out the second time. I look down quickly before I have to see her reaction.
"I didn't just... let it happen," I add, quieter. "I initiated it, and I didn't stop it. I should've stopped it, but I didn't."
Silence settles immediately, heavier than before and Helena doesn't interrupt.
Doesn't react right away, she just studies me.
"So she went to give you your wallet back," she says slowly, "and you turned that into..."
I nod once, stiff.
Another pause.
"And Chris?" She asks.
That name hits differently now, sharper.
"I haven't told him," I say immediately. "I- he doesn't know. I don't even know what I'm going to say to him, I just-"
"You will," Helena says, firm but not harsh.
I let out a shaky breath. "I know."
Helena finally takes a sip of her coffee this time, eyes still on me over the rim. "Where is Claire now?"
My stomach drops slightly. "Gone," I say. "She left."
Helena lowers the mug. "Did she say anything?"
I shake my head. "No. Nothing. There was a piece of paper on the counter when I woke up."
"What was on it?"
My laugh is small and humorless.
"Nothing," I say.
That makes Helena pause for a fraction longer than anything else has.
"Wow," she says quietly. I don't respond to that, because I can't.
Helena leans back against the counter, watching me now in a way that's less curious and more precise. Like she's stopped reacting and started understanding.
"You didn't come here just to say it out loud," she says.
"I didn't know where else to go," I admit quickly. "I'm so confused, and lost. I just... I couldn't stay alone with it."
"Mm." She tilts her head slightly.
"I don't know what I'm doing." I say, more honest now, more unsteady. "I don't know how to fix any of this."
Helena studies me for a long moment. Then she speaks, quieter, sharper underneath the calm.
"You don't look confused, Mae."
My breath catches slightly.
"You look like someone who already made a choice," she continues, "and is scared to admit it."
My grip tightens on the mug. "That's not true," I say automatically, but it comes out thin.
Helena doesn't flinch. "Isn't it?" She asks.
Silence stretches and I look down again, because I can't hold her gaze anymore.
"I didn't mean for it to happen like that," I whisper.
"I believe you," Helena says. Then, after a beat: "But that's not the question."
My throat tightens.
"What is?" I ask quietly.
Helena doesn't hesitate.
"Do you want to keep pretending you don't already know what you're going to do?"
That lands hard, not in a dramatic way. Just... final. And for the first time since I got here, I don't have an answer I can hide behind.
Just the truth sitting there, waiting for me to say it out loud.
My voice is barely above a whisper when I finally say it.
"I need to break up with Chris."