Chapter 32
The door stayed open long after he left.
I didn't close it. I couldn't. My arms hung at my sides, my fingers still curled around nothing, and the cold air from the hallway seeped into the apartment and wrapped around my bare feet, but I didn't feel any of it. I didn't feel anything at all.
The chain. He had been there for the chain.
Not me. Never me.
I stood there in the doorway, staring at the spot where the man in the black suit had been standing, and I let the truth settle into my bones like frost.
Every moment, every touch, every word he had ever said to me, it all played back in my head, but different now, twisted, like a song played in the wrong key.
The way he had looked at me that first morning in my kitchen, shirtless and unapologetic.
The way he had held me when I cried, awkward and unsure but unwilling to let go.
The way he had cooked for me night after night, learning my habits and my preferences and the small things that made me happy.
The way he had said my name like it meant something.
The chain. The one I had swept into my bag that morning, half-asleep and panicked, not looking, not thinking, just running.
The one he had asked for in the alley, the one I had misunderstood, the one that might had been sitting at the bottom of my purse this whole time while he cooked me dinner and held me while I cried and let me fall in love with him.
He had known. From the very first night, he had known. And he had let me believe he was someone else. Someone who needed me. Someone who would stay.
I thought about Oliver. About the way he had looked at me when I caught him with Anne, like I was the one who had done something wrong.
About the years I had wasted on someone who never deserved me.
About the promises he had made and broken, one by one, until there was nothing left but the memory of who I thought he was.
I thought about Anne. About the friendship I had trusted, the secrets I had shared, the betrayal I still didn't fully understand. About the way she had smiled at me like nothing had happened, like she hadn't destroyed something we had spent years building.
And now Caspian. Or whatever his name was. He had done the same thing, hadn't he? He had walked into my life, taken what he wanted, and disappeared. Except Oliver and Anne had taken years to show their true colors. Caspian had done it in weeks.
I didn't cry. I couldn't. My tears had dried up somewhere between the voicemail and the stranger and the slow, horrible realization that I had done it again. I had trusted someone. I had let them in. I had given them my home, my body, my heart. And they had taken what they wanted and left.
I didn't know how long I stood there. Minutes, maybe.
Hours. The light in the hallway changed as the sun moved across the sky, and the shadows grew longer, and the air grew colder, but I didn't move.
The only time I had begged for someone to stay was after my father had left.
Only one time. And he had done the same.
Another reason not to beg anyone to stay.
And then, without deciding to, I walked out.
No coat. No shoes. No keys. The door swung shut behind me, and I didn't know if it locked, and I didn't care. My feet carried me down the stairs and out onto the street, past the people who gave me strange looks, past the shops and the cafes and the places I had walked a hundred times before.
I didn't realize where I was going until I stopped.
The phone booth was old and graffitied, the glass cracked, the receiver hanging slightly askew. I had passed it a thousand times on my way to work, never once stopping, never once needing it. But now I stood in front of it with my hands shaking and my heart pounding and a number burning in my brain.
My hands were shaking as I put the coin in. My fingers knew the number before my brain did, I had stared at it for hours, days, every time I opened his contact, every time I called and got voicemail, every time I hoped and prayed and begged for an answer that never came.
I stepped inside and closed the flimsy door. The air smelled like cigarettes and stale beer, and the light flickered overhead, but I didn't care. I pulled a coin from my pocket, fed it into the slot, and dialed.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
And then someone picked up.
"Who?"
His voice. Rough, distracted, the sound of papers shuffling in the background like he hadn't even looked at the screen, like he had just picked up without thinking.
I pressed my free hand against my chest and took a deep breath. My voice needed to be steady. I needed him to hear me, really hear me, and I couldn't let him hear me break.
"If it's me, will you block this number too? Before you do, hear me out."
The silence on the other end was palpable. He didn't hang up. He didn't speak. He just listened.
I closed my eyes.
"You... came with a motive, right? You got what you wanted and... you left."
My voice was flat, hollow, like it was coming from someone else.
"But... But did you ever, even once, consider asking me about it? I would have given it to you in a blink. I would have given you anything. You didn't have to—" My throat tightened. I swallowed.
"You didn't have to play with my feelings to get what you wanted."
No response. Just that heavy, suffocating silence.
"I don't know if that's even your real name. Caspian. I don't know anything about you. I never did." A dry, bitter laugh escaped me.
"Was it fun? Playing with me? Watching me beg for you like an idiot? Confessing my feelings to a voicemail while you listened and then blocked me?"
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the phone booth.
"You knew what hurt me the most. You knew about Oliver and Anne. You knew I had been betrayed by the people I trusted. And you still did this. You still used it against me."
I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it.
"Well played, Caspian. Well played. You're worse than him, you know that? Oliver took three years to show his true colors. At least he gave me that much."
The silence on the other end was so loud that I could barely hear myself think. He didn't say anything. He didn't apologize. He didn't explain. He just sat there, silent and invisible, and I realized that he wasn't going to say anything at all.
I didn't know why I had expected anything different.
"I regret it," I said, and my voice was quieter now, tired. "Telling you to come with me that night. Falling for you. Going to the bar. Meeting you." I closed my eyes. "I regret all of it. It wouldn't have hurt this much if none of it had ever happened."
I hung up before he could respond. Not that he would have. He had already said everything he needed to say when he blocked my number and walked out of my life without looking back.
I stood in the phone booth for a moment, the receiver still in my hand, my forehead still pressed against the cold glass. My eyes were dry. I had cried so much in the past few days that there was nothing left.
I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palm, hung up the receiver, and walked back home.
The door stayed open long after he left.
I didn't close it. I couldn't. My arms hung at my sides, my fingers still curled around nothing, and the cold air from the hallway seeped into the apartment .
The door was still unlocked. Of course it was. I had walked out without thinking, without checking, without caring. I locked it now, hard, the click of the deadbolt loud in the empty apartment, and I leaned against the wood for a moment and let myself breathe.
Then I picked up my phone.
Sienna's reply came faster than I expected.
Sienna: Good. My office. 9am.
I set the phone down and made another call.
"Hi, yes, I'm calling about the deposit for the new apartment. I'm ready to move forward. The money is there. I want to move in as soon as possible."
The woman on the other end sounded pleased. She talked about paperwork and keys and moving dates, and I nodded along and said yes and okay and thank you, and when I hung up, the apartment was still empty and the silence was still crushing.
I looked around at the walls I had lived in for years. The couch where he had held me. The kitchen where he had cooked for me. The bed where he had slept beside me.
Every corner held a memory of him. Every surface held the echo of his voice. Every shadow looked like his silhouette.
I couldn't stay here. Not anymore. Not with him everywhere I looked.
I walked to the bedroom, pulled his hoodie off for the first time in days, and threw it in the corner. Then I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling and waited for the morning to come.