20
Aubrey
Ididn’t mean to snap at him. I know it’s not his fault that the truck broke down in the middle of nowhere. I know we didn’t plan on being stuck here together for the entire weekend—with one room, one bed, and no way out until Monday.
But it’s hard to accept our current reality.
I’d mapped it all out in my head: minimal conversation, keep a safe distance but mostly ignore him as much as humanly possible.
And then fate—or karma, or whatever cosmic force has it out for me—throws this at me: forced proximity with the one person I’ve never been able to ignore.
And now I’m stuck in a room with him. For two full nights.
I start pacing, slow and aimless, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. My thoughts just keep spinning, looping back to him no matter how hard I try to drag them somewhere else.
How does this keep happening? Every time I try to create space, life shoves me right back into his orbit.
First his accident… and now this?
I sink onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. I fold forward, elbows on my knees, and press the heels of my hands against my eyes as tears burn behind them. I’m swallowing them down when my phone vibrates against my thigh.
I pull it from my pocket with shaking fingers.
A text from Mom.
Mom: Just checking in. Let me know how you’re getting on.
A quiet breath shakes out of me. Before I can stop myself, I hit “Call.” I can’t explain any of this to her—not without opening doors I’m trying very hard to keep closed—but I just need to hear her voice.
She answers almost immediately. “Hey, strawberry. How’s the trip?”
I swallow, trying to steady myself. “It’s… not going great.”
“Oh no. Did something happen with the cake?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see it. “No, the cake’s fine. The bride loved it. We just—” My voice breaks. “We’re stuck in Pinecrest until Monday. Trent’s truck broke down.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” My mom’s voice softens, warm in the way it always gets when she knows I’m swallowing something down. “That’s rotten luck. Did you at least find somewhere to stay?”
“Yeah,” I say, my gaze drifting around the room—the neatly made bed, the soft lighting, “We managed to get a room here.”
“Well I’m glad you’re safe, sweetheart,” she says, “And thank goodness Trent is with you. I would be worried sick if you were alone.”
My chest tightens. She’s missing the point completely. If Trent wasn’t here—if our parents hadn’t suggested he come with me—I wouldn’t have been driving his truck in the first place, and I’d be driving home right now.
“Aubrey, are you still there?” my mom asks, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
“Yeah, sorry, I’m still here.” I rub at my forehead, suddenly exhausted. “I think I’m just going to have a shower, I feel pretty gross after the long drive. I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself later once I’ve chilled out for a bit and ordered some room service.”
“I’m sure you will,” she says gently. “Love you, Strawberry.”
The nickname hits me square in the chest. “Love you, Mom,” I manage, my voice thick with emotion.
I end the call before she can hear how much I’m unraveling. For a beat, I just stare at the dark screen in my hand. Then I push off the mattress and walk into the bathroom, setting my phone on the counter with a soft clack.
For a moment I just stand there, palms braced against the cool marble, breathing. Then I twist the shower tap. The pipes groaning in protest before hot water surges to life.
Steam spills out immediately, curling around my wrists.
It fogs the mirror, smearing my reflection until I’m nothing but a soft outline—blurred edges, no definition.
Maybe that’s fitting. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be around Trent anymore.
The woman who can’t look at him without remembering the way he broke me.
Or the version of myself who pretends nothing aches when he’s near.
A bead of condensation slides down the mirror like a tear, and my throat tightens. It’s ridiculous how something as stupid as a broken-down truck can crack open everything I’ve spent months trying to stitch shut.
I shed my clothes, ignoring the fact that I’ll have to pull them back on later, and step into the shower. The heat rushes over me, easing the tension in my shoulders, washing the day from my skin—or at least the pieces I’m willing to let go of.
If there’s one good thing this trip might give me, it’s a chance at closure.
I don’t need the reasons he ended things; I don’t have the emotional capacity to sit and hear all the ways I wasn’t enough.
What I can handle is the two of us agreeing to move forward civilly.
Maybe that’ll be enough to loosen the grip he still has on me.
The water drums steadily against my skin. I close my eyes and breathe, letting the heat soften the knot in my chest, nudging me toward whatever comes next.
I can survive these next couple of days with Trent.
I have to.