Chapter Thirteen - Zoe
Weeks pass, and there’s nothing.
No texts. No flowers. No bodyguards lingering across the street, silently watching.
It’s as if Lukin’s completely disappeared from my life, and for the first few days, I tell myself that this is good.
Exactly what I wanted. I finally have my space, my life back, free from the chaos and the constant reminders of him.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
But it doesn’t feel like freedom. It doesn’t feel like relief.
It feels like something is missing.
The silence in my apartment is louder than ever. It presses in on me, thick and heavy, as though the air around me has thickened, like I’m breathing underwater. I thought I’d be grateful for the break, for the calm, but all I can think about is how empty it feels.
I keep checking my phone without meaning to, my fingers hovering over the screen, waiting for a name that never appears. I glance at it every few minutes, hoping for a message, an update, some sort of sign that I’m not just fading into the background. But there’s nothing.
Not a word from him.
The lack of his presence—whether it was subtle or not—leaves a hollow space in my chest, one I didn’t expect. I’m trying to move on, trying to push it all away, but it’s harder than I thought. It’s like I’ve spent so much time avoiding him, avoiding this, that now the absence of it is suffocating.
I don’t even know why I care. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t feel this empty, this restless. But it’s there. The gnawing, the wanting, the need for something that isn’t even there anymore.
I go through my days, trying to keep busy, focusing on my store, my designs, but the truth is—I miss the chaos he brought. I miss the fire, the tension, the way he made me feel alive in a way I didn’t know was possible. I can’t believe I’m admitting it, but I do.
I just don’t know what to do with it.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Every time I breathe, I feel his presence, like it’s always lingering just on the edge of my thoughts.
And I hate it. I hate that I can’t shake him, that he’s still there, even when he’s gone.
It’s even affected my appetite.
I can’t pinpoint when it started, but it has faded.
Food tastes wrong now—bland, unsatisfying, like I’m eating to fill a space that nothing can reach.
I try to eat, but the food sits heavy in my stomach, like it’s weighing me down, making every movement more laborious.
I feel tired. All the time. Like my body is dragging me through the day, and no matter how much sleep I get, it’s never enough.
I tell myself it’s just stress. That I’m tired from working from the late nights in the store. But deep down, I know it’s more than that. I’ve been too on edge lately, too consumed by things I can’t control.
And then there’s Maria.
Since that morning at Lukin’s penthouse, things between us have shifted.
There’s an unspoken distance now, one that hangs between us, heavy and palpable.
We’ve barely spoken about what happened.
She hasn’t asked me anything more about it, hasn’t pressed me for details, but the silence is worse than any question she could have asked.
She doesn’t text me like before. I had to find out from Jenni that she’d already moved to France two days ago.
When I texted her about it, she apologized and cited some excuse, but I don’t believe it.
She has never been too busy to text me until now.
It feels like we’re drifting further apart with every passing day.
I want to explain, to tell her the truth, but I can’t bring myself to say it.
She doesn’t deserve to be caught up in the mess I’ve created.
The silence is loaded. It’s suffocating. Everything hurts.
Even my dreams are restless.
Each night, when I finally close my eyes, he’s there.
Sometimes he’s angry, his face twisted with something I can’t quite understand.
Other times, he’s quiet, just watching me with those intense, unreadable eyes, the weight of his gaze suffocating.
I wake up disoriented, my body tangled in the sheets, my skin damp with sweat. It’s always the same.
I try to shake it off, to push the feeling away, but it lingers. It’s like he’s invading my mind, seeping into the very fabric of my thoughts, whether I want it or not. The ache, the pull toward him—it won’t stop. I try to pretend it’s nothing, try to tell myself I’m over it, over him.
But my body doesn’t listen.
Tonight, it’s worse. I wake up with my body engulfed in sweat. He was in my dreams, touching me, making me feel pleasure more intense than life itself. When I wake up, disappointment shakes me so hard, I cry. I don’t know why.
The tears come so suddenly, a wave I can’t control, and I don’t even understand it. I want to stop, but I can’t. The emotions crash over me, raw and unchecked, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I’m still so tangled in him, that I’m still thinking about him when I promised myself I’d let it go.
I miss him.
I hate that I do.
But the ache won’t go away. It’s constant, like a dull throb deep in my chest, a reminder that something I tried to push aside is still very much alive inside me. My mind tries to erase him, to block out the memory of the way he made me feel, but my body remembers.
I bury my face in the pillow, my body trembling, the tears coming in quiet waves. I’m tired of fighting it. Tired of pretending I don’t care.
But I do.
And every time I close my eyes, every time I breathe, he’s there. Waiting. Watching.
I can’t escape it. I don’t know if I even want to anymore.
That morning, I finally try to snap myself out of the fog that’s been hanging over me. I’m tired of feeling like this—tired of being consumed by the memory of him, by everything I can’t shake.
I decide to clean. Something mindless. Something that’ll take my focus away from my thoughts, from him.
I start sorting laundry, moving around the apartment in a haze, folding clothes and stuffing them into baskets, pretending that I can get a handle on something in my life. It’s supposed to be simple, routine. But then, halfway through, a sudden wave of nausea hits me.
I stop, gripping the side of the counter, my stomach lurching in a way that makes my body tremble. I brush it off at first, blaming the coffee I drank too quickly that morning. It’s nothing. Just a passing discomfort.
But then it happens again.
The nausea comes back, stronger this time. It’s overwhelming, forcing me to take a deep breath, clutching the edge of the counter as I try to steady myself. My head spins, my hands shake as I drop the laundry basket on the floor.
Something’s wrong.
I lower myself to the floor, my knees buckling slightly as I sit, trying to steady my breathing. The room feels too warm, the air too thick. My skin is clammy, and every breath feels like it takes more effort than the last.
This isn’t normal.
Something is definitely wrong.
The nausea finally starts to ease up a bit, and the wave of discomfort subsides, but the unease still lingers, thick in the air.
I’m still trembling, my heart racing faster than it should.
I steady myself, pushing away the panic that’s crawling under my skin, and grab my phone.
My hands shake as I unlock it, desperate for something—anything—that will make sense of this.
I open my period calendar, the one I’ve been using to track everything, to make sure I stay on top of it all. I scroll through the weeks, my fingers dragging slowly over each square, hoping I miscounted. Maybe I’m just off. Maybe I’m stressed. Maybe…
But no.
I stop at the square for last week. I freeze, my heart stopping in my chest as I see it. My period was due last week. Seven full days late.
The room feels too quiet. My breath catches in my throat, my pulse echoing in my ears, and I feel it—the rising panic curling in my stomach, making everything around me feel blurry. I blink hard, trying to make sense of it, but the words on the screen don’t change.
“No,” I whisper to myself, the word escaping before I can stop it. “No, no, no.”
The sound of my voice only makes it worse. The weight of the silence in the apartment presses in on me. I’m not sure what to do, not sure what to think. I can’t be pregnant. I can’t.
I place a shaky hand over my mouth, trying to calm myself, but the dread only grows.
I’ve been careless. So careless.
The memories of that night flood back—Lukin, his touch, his intensity. I think of the moment we shared, of everything that happened, of how I let myself get swept up in it all. And now, this. I’m on the pill. How could this happen?
I try to tell myself it’s nothing. It’s probably just stress, I think.
It’s been a hell of a week, with all the designs I’ve been trying to finish at the store, late nights spent working, barely getting any sleep.
Maybe that’s it. My body’s just reacting to all the pressure, all the stress I’ve been under.
I’ve been through worse. I’ve been stressed before.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to breathe. This isn’t happening.
I took the day-after pills both times after Lukin and I had sex. There’s no way this is pregnancy. I was careful.
No way could I be pregnant. I would’ve noticed something earlier, right? This couldn’t possibly be happening.
Still, something in me tells me to buy a test. To just check, to be sure. But I push the thought away, refusing to give it any more space in my mind. It’s just stress. I’m just running myself too thin. That’s all.
I shake my head, trying to dismiss it. I’ve never been one to let things get out of hand. I’ll be fine. I’ll take a few days to rest, get my head back on straight. It’s nothing.
The silence in the room is deafening, the weight of everything pushing down on me. I sit there, my mind racing, the uncertainty gnawing at me like a hunger I can’t ignore.
And then, as if on cue, my phone buzzes in my hand, jolting me from my thoughts. Jason’s name flashes on the screen.
For a moment, I consider ignoring it. I’m not in the mood for his usual overenthusiastic energy, but the truth is, I’m desperate for a distraction. Anything.
So, I answer.
“Hey, Zoe!” Jason greets me warmly, his voice upbeat and carefree, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “I’ve been expecting you to call. You said we’d hang out soon.”
“No, I didn’t say that.” I roll my eyes. “I said I’d let you know when I’m free to hang out.”
There’s a pause on the other end, then he pushes again. “Okay. But can you please consider this?”
I frown, confused. “What?”
Jason’s voice becomes apologetic, the plea clear in every word. “There’s a fundraiser a mutual friend is hosting. It’s a great event. I’ve been invited. I was hoping you’d be my date.”
I immediately feel a flicker of resistance. I don’t want to get involved in something else right now. I don’t want to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.
“No,” I reply quickly, the word escaping before I even have a chance to think it through.
“Zoe, please.” His voice softens, and I can almost hear the pleading in it. “It’s a short event. Just an avenue for us to talk. There’ll be others there so we won’t be alone.”
I sigh, the words hanging in the air, my thoughts spinning. I’ve been hiding away from everything—Lukin, the uncertainty, the fear. I can’t keep doing this. Maybe I need to live a little. Be a normal person.
Instead of spending my nights alone, consumed by the pregnancy scare, by the constant thoughts of Lukin, why not just go out? I’m young. I’m beautiful. I deserve to feel something else, something other than this constant ache.
I try to push away the guilt, the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I’m doing this for all the wrong reasons, but I push through it. This isn’t about Lukin. This is about me.
“Okay,” I say, my voice almost quiet with uncertainty. “When is this party?”
“This weekend. I can pick you up.”
I hesitate, the thoughts swirling in my head. A part of me wants to say no, to shut it all down. But another part—something more urgent—wants to break free.
“Okay,” I finally say, the word almost escaping without my consent.
Jason’s relief is instant, his excitement clear through the phone. “Great! I’ll see you then. You won’t regret this, I promise.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you this weekend.”
I hang up, setting the phone down with a sigh. I tell myself this will be a distraction, that it’ll help me move on. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s just another attempt to run away from the real problems I’ve been avoiding.
Still, for now, it’s enough.