18. What Really Happened in 2025
Victor and I were in his living room, late afternoon light spilling through the windows. Soft and golden in a way that made everything look better than it actually was. He was on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he always did—relaxed, half-paying attention to the world around him.
I was beside him, leaning back, legs stretched out, trying to exist in that quiet space he created so effortlessly.
My phone buzzed.
A small smile formed when I saw Andi’s name. She had sent a screenshot of something I had posted on Instagram earlier, followed by a text that read: You look good, but your standards? Questionable.
I let out a soft laugh under my breath. It was very her—playful, a little sharp, but familiar in a way that didn’t cut too deep. Still, I stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
Then, without really thinking, I turned my phone toward Victor.
“Look,” I said, a small smile still on my lips. “Andi being Andi.”
He glanced at my screen, his eyes scanning it quickly.
For a second, nothing.
Then he let out a short breath—almost a laugh, but not quite.
“Well,” he said, shrugging lightly, “she’s not wrong.”
Something in me paused.
I let out a small chuckle anyway, because that’s what the moment seemed to ask for. “Wow. Okay.”
Victor leaned back further into the couch, completely at ease. “I mean I’ve seen your exes,” he added, his tone light—almost conversational. “You could’ve actually done better.”
There it was.
Not loud. Not harsh. Not even framed as something serious.
It was just placed… there.
Casual. Clean. Like it didn’t carry any sharpness at all.
I smiled.
Of course I did.
“Noted,” I said, a small laugh escaping me.
He smirked faintly, satisfied, already moving on. “It’s a joke,” he said—and it would’ve been enough. But then he added, almost as an afterthought, “But I’m just saying… you know, you should have standards.”
He shrugged.
And just like that, it passed.
Or at least, it looked like it did.
Because something on the surface, nothing changed. The light was still soft. The room was still quiet. Victor went back to his phone like the moment had already expired.
But something had settled in me, because it wasn’t really about the joke, it was how easily he said it. How naturally sharp words came to him—to agree, to add, to press just a little further without ever making it seem like he had.
And the worst part was, I didn’t even know how to respond to it without sounding… sensitive.
So I didn’t.
I let it go.
Like I always did.
But then the real ending began on the last day of that month.
That night didn’t arrive loudly.
It settled in. Quiet. Heavy. The kind of evening that felt like it was already carrying something before anything even happened.
Victor came home later than usual.
I heard the door unlock, the soft click echoing through the apartment.
I was already on the couch, with the TV on but barely watched. My phone rested face-down beside me, like I hadn’t been trying to check it every five minutes for a reply.
He stepped in, loosened his tie slightly, ran a hand through his hair. There was something in the way he moved—tight, controlled, like every motion was just a little too precise.
“Hey,” I said, sitting up a bit.
“Hey,” he replied, already walking past me.
No kiss. No pause. Just movement.
I watched him for a second, then stood, following him toward the kitchen.
“Long day?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
He exhaled through his nose. “You could say that.”
I leaned against the counter as he poured himself a glass of cold water, the silence stretching just enough to feel like it needed filling.
“What happened?” I asked. “You okay?”
He took a sip before answering. “Work.”
I nodded. “Yeah, but like… what about it?”
“Deadlines. People not doing what they’re supposed to do. Same thing,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t worth elaborating on.
I studied him for a moment.
“You wanna talk about it?” I asked, smiling like a wife desperate for his husband’s love. “Maybe it’ll help.”
That was when it shifted.
He set the glass down a little harder than necessary.
“I’m fine, James.”
“I know, I just—”
“I said I’m fine.”
The words weren’t loud, but they closed something.
I swallowed, adjusting slightly. “Okay. I just thought—”
“You don’t have to,” he cut in, already moving away back to the living area. “Really.”
There it was again.
The quiet dismissal.
Like what I was offering didn’t fit anywhere in his world.
I followed him anyway, because that’s what I always did—I stayed.
A loyal dog.
A foolish lover.
“I’m just trying to be here for you,” I said, softer now. Careful.
He let out a small breath, like he was trying not to get annoyed.
“I know,” he said. “But not everything needs to be a conversation. Really.”
That landed—not sharp enough to call out, but just enough to make me feel… unnecessary.
Because honestly, I just wanted me to be his comfort. His rest. His home.
So I nodded slowly. “Right.”
Then he added, almost absentmindedly, “Go do something else.”
I blinked. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sitting down the couch, picking up his phone. “Talk to your fans online. Talk to the ones who’s got a crush on you. Whatever.”
Something in me went still.
It was said casually… like a suggestion… like it didn’t mean anything.
But it did.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t someone trying to care.
I was a distraction. A background noise.
And just like that, everything I had been holding in—every painful moment, every offhand comment, every time I laughed something off when it didn’t feel right—started pressing up all at once.
The way he had been casually cruel to me.
The way he dismissed me like I was something easy to discard.
The way he didn’t seem to care about how I felt.
The way he never let me in—but still kept me close enough to stay.
The way I kept adjusting.
Softening.
Shrinking.
Just to fit into whatever this was.
A sharp pain twisted in my chest, because I realized, in that moment, I didn’t even know where I stood with him.
And worse—I wasn’t sure he even cared.
“You know what,” I said, before I could stop myself.
He glanced up.
I laughed, but there was no humor in it now. “I’m just trying to be here for you,” I said, my voice rising, “and you tell me talk to the ones who’s got a crush on me?”
“It’s not that deep,” he replied, already sounding irritated.
“That’s the problem, Vic,” I shot back. “Nothing is ever ‘that deep’ for you.”
His expression shifted. “James—”
“No, seriously,” I continued, words coming faster now. Sharper. “Do you even want me?”
“I’m stressed,” he said, his tone low but tight. “Not everything is about you.”
“Not everything is about me?” I echoed, incredulous. “I’ve been acting fine this whole time. I’ve been adjusting to you this whole freaking time!”
“Adjusting?” he repeated, eyebrow raised slightly. “To what, exactly?”
“To this,” I said, gesturing between us. “To you brushing things off. To you saying whatever you want, hurting me, and then calling it a joke. To you making me feel like I’m too much for just… caring.”
He stood up now, slower, more deliberate.
“Watch your tone,” he warned.
There it was.
Not concern. Not understanding.
Control.
I let out a breath, shaking my head. “See? This is exactly it.”
“I don’t appreciate being talked to like this,” he continued, his voice calm—but edged. “No one talks to me like this.”
I laughed again, but it broke halfway through. “Yeah. I can tell.”
Silence.
Heavy. Tense.
“I’m not trying to fight you,” he said. “But if you’re going to come at me like this over nothing—”
“Nothing?” I cut in. “You think this is nothing?!”
He didn’t answer.
My chest rose and fell, the air suddenly feeling too thin.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t trying to keep things smooth.
I wasn’t trying to be easy.
I was just… done.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” I said, my voice lower now, but shaky.
“Maybe everything that matters to me is nothing to you. I want you in my life… but I cannot say the same thing about you. Is this what I get from you? From your gifts and grand gestures? Your behavior? Because I don’t appreciate it, really.
You say you love me, but if this is what I get—I don’t want this kind of love. ”
His jaw tightened.
But he didn’t step closer… didn’t reach out… didn’t try to fix it.
So I did the only thing I hadn’t done before.
I stepped back.
“I’ll just go,” I said, walking to the bedroom.
He watched me, expression unreadable.
“Sure.”
Sure.
Just like that.
No hesitation.
No attempt to stop me.
Just… sure.
And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
I walked out his apartment before I could say anything else.
The door closed behind me with a loud bang… and then suddenly, I found myself outside the building.
The night air hit my face, cooler than I expected, sharper too. The city moved around me—cars passing, distant voices echoing, life continuing like nothing in the universe had just shifted.
But inside me, everything had.
I kept walking, not really sure where I was going, or what I was trying to outrun.
Did I need distance? Space? Air?
I wasn’t sure.
My hands trembled slightly at my sides. My chest still tight.
And then slowly, the doubt crept in. Quiet at first… then louder.
Did I overreact? The question sat heavy.
Because if I did, I might have fucked it up.
I could still see his face. Hear his voice. That calm, controlled tone that made everything I said feel… too much.
I swallowed.
Maybe he was just stressed.
Maybe I should’ve waited.
Maybe I should’ve been softer. Quieter. Easier… again.
My steps slowed, because the anger was already fading.
And in its place, regret.
I stopped walking.
I just stood there in the middle of a city that didn’t notice me.
I exhaled slowly.
Did I just ruin everything? The thought settled deep.
And for the first time that night, I didn’t feel justified.
I just felt scared.
Scared that I might lose him.
Little did I know… I already had.
June 2025
I didn’t reach out.
Not that night. Not the next day. Not the day after that.