Chapter 46
Haiyden
I hear the knock at the door, but it feels more like someone pounding on my skull.
Exhaustion weighs on my limbs like lead. I don’t know how long I’ve been here—days, maybe more—but I’ve lost track.
I left a few times. Bathroom, maybe. A drink. Maybe both. I don’t really remember. Doesn’t really matter.
The world is still moving outside these walls, keeping time while I’m stuck in this haze. Like I’m living in a bubble—safe, almost, but not real.
The kind of safety that only exists because I’m refusing to face the truth.
That I’m lying.
Hiding.
Running out of time.
That I’m falling behind—scrambling to catch up in a world that doesn’t wait.
But I’m not ready to dig into all that yet. Not today .
I move restlessly beneath the tangled sheets, legs kicking out, fighting against the mess I’ve made of them. For a second, I think about staying here. Letting the day pass without me.
But eventually, I shove the blanket off with an exhale and roll over, squinting at the daylight filtering in through the curtains. Morning—maybe midday.
The light is harsh. Glaring.
But it’s still daylight. And I’m here.
Buried in it.
My eyes drift to the ZZ plant across the room—the one in the too-bright, too-happy yellow pot. The sight of it frustrates me.
I haven’t watered it in days, maybe longer, but it’s still alive. Thriving. Its deep green leaves glisten in the sunlight, like it doesn’t need me. Like it doesn’t care that I’ve neglected it.
For a second, I think about tossing it out the window, just to watch it fall.
Anger? Maybe. Jealousy?
It’s alive, despite everything.
Despite me.
Another knock. Louder this time, but still hesitant—like he’s deciding whether to push today or let me rot in peace.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Fuck off, Chase.”
Silence.
A pause long enough to convince me he’s gone.
Then—
“Can I come in?”
I freeze. My pulse spikes, pounding loud enough to drown out everything else .
I know that voice like I know my own breath.
I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved. But then I hesitate—staring at the door like it might be a trick.
Like I’m lost in the desert, and her voice is the sound of water just ahead.
A mirage.
But when I open the door… she’s there.
She stands in the doorway, unmoving.
Her gaze is measured, taking me in the same way I’m taking her in. She looks drained, worn down by the days apart—like it’s hurt her just as much as it’s hurt me.
But she’s here.
Her eyes sweep over me, and I feel the weight of it.
I know what she’s seeing—the worst version of me. My hair’s a mess, sticking up in some places, matted in others. My face is swollen, jaw rough with days-old stubble, the dark circles under my eyes settled in like they’re permanent.
And I’m standing in front of her like this—in my underwear—trying to ignore the fact that my body still reacts to her. Even now.
Even after everything.
I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my bare skin.
She shifts, leaning against the door frame like she needs the support. Like she’s taking in the full mess of whatever the hell I’ve become.
Her eyes meet mine. And for the first time since she showed up, I see it—the rawness. The crack in her chest, wide open.
It’s there. Unmistakable.
She’s broken too .
“Chase texted me,” she says softly. “Can we talk?”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard, forcing my body into motion.
I step back, clearing my throat as I gesture toward the room—some hollow attempt at hospitality, like I can pretend this disaster isn’t mine.
“Yeah. Yeah, come in.”
She hesitates—just for a second—then finally steps inside.
The air between us brims with something tight. We both want to speak. Neither of us knows how to start.
I watch as she moves deeper into the room, her gaze drifting over everything—the empty bottles scattered across the nightstand and dresser, the clothes I never picked up after that night at her place, still tangled on the floor.
The bed, sheets twisted in a way that feels permanent.
Like I’ve been here since the moment she walked away.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shy away from any of it.
Instead, she moves to the center of the room, turns back to me, arms crossing over her chest protectively.
“You look awful,” she says quietly.
An empty smirk tugs at my lips. “Yeah, well. You should see the other guy.”
The joke lands flat. I see it immediately—the way her expression doesn’t change, the way her shoulders pull tight.
She didn’t come here for this. Not to watch me dodge. Not to listen to me hide behind humor.
Her head falls into her hands, fingers pressing against her temples, and something twists in my chest. I hate seeing her like this—frustrated, exhausted, barely holding it together.
And knowing I’m the reason? It’s too much.
She exhales—heavy. Like she’s forcing out everything she isn’t saying. Like she’s trying to breathe past it.
“Haiyden—”
“Calla.”
She steps toward the bed, and for a second, I think she’s going to sit. That she’s going to stay.
That maybe—just maybe—she won’t feel so far away from me.
But she doesn’t. She stops just short of it, holding herself back.
Unease cuts through me, fast and brutal. My stomach knots as I watch her stand there, stiff and uncertain, like she’s already halfway out the door.
I can’t take it.
I start pacing, back and forth, energy clawing beneath my skin. My thoughts slam into each other, tangled and desperate, chasing words that won’t come.
There’s too much to say, and none of it feels like enough.
She watches me, unmoving. Her face gives nothing away. Just a single nod. No expression. No forgiveness.
She’s making me earn it.
Frustration claws at my ribs. I rake a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Calla tilts her head slightly, her voice quiet but unwavering. “Try anywhere.”
It wrecks me—but I’m proud of her. For standing her ground. For not letting me off easy.
But fuck, it’s killing me to see her like this. So stiff. So guarded. Like she’s bracing for impact. Or worse—like she’s already halfway out the door.
Her voice drops, frayed at the edges. “Why did you leave, Haiyden?”
I let out a long breath, shaking my head at how pathetic the truth sounds—even to me.
“Because I didn’t know what to do,” I admit. “And I just—”
My fingers flex at my sides before curling into fists.
“I keep throwing more shit on your plate. More for you to deal with. And it’s not fair to you.”
My throat tightens.
“I felt guilty, Calla. I couldn’t handle my own shit, so I dumped it on you. You were already grieving—and I made it worse.”
Her lips part slightly, like she’s letting the words settle, testing their weight. But her expression hardens, jaw tight, shoulders squared.
“So what?” she says, something bitter winding through her voice. “You thought running away would make me feel better? That leaving me alone in my apartment for a week was going to somehow help ?”
I grind my teeth, shame threading through the exhaustion.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I admit. “I thought…”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out.
“I thought if I walked away, maybe you’d be better off. That if I left, I could stop hurting you.”
She steps forward—not much, but enough to make the space between us feel thinner.
“And now?” she asks, quieter this time.
I stop pacing. I stop everything. I look at her—standing so close but still feeling miles away—and I tell her the truth.
Or, at least, as much of the truth as I can manage .
“Now I know I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”
Her eyes search my face, but she doesn’t back down.
“And Tyler?” The question cuts clean, like she already knows there’s more.
The words knock something loose in my chest. I exhale slow, jaw clenched.
“I need you to leave him alone,” I say, my voice strained. “It’s not about you being stressed, or too close to it. It’s about protecting yourself.”
Her brow furrows. Confusion passes over her face—then something heavier. Hurt.
“What does that mean?”
I want to tell her everything. I want to close the space between us, pull her into my arms, make her understand.
But I can’t.
“He was talking about you … Calla,” I admit. “He came into the bar, angry—worked up. Said you were crazy. That you kept showing up. That you wouldn’t leave him alone.”
Her face shifts, pain flickering in her expression.
“He was loud. Pissed. And all I could think about was what he’d do if he saw you again. What could happen. I told him not to come back—even though what I really wanted was to throw him against the fucking wall.”
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing again.
“I just want you to be okay. I want you to feel safe. Happy,” I say quietly. “And I know I haven’t made that easy. I know I’ve made things worse.”
Her mouth opens slightly, like she’s about to argue, but I cut in before she can.
“If something happened to you…” I shake my head as the words scrape out. “I wouldn’t survive it, Calla. And this—him—it feels like something that could happen to you.”
I stop in front of her, meeting her eyes. Letting her see it—all of it.
“And some days—days like this—it feels like I’m what could happen to you… and I happened anyway.”
She studies me, something aching in her expression. Like she’s already forgiven me, even if she knows she shouldn’t.
“I know you think you’re some unlovable monster. But I’m standing right here, aren’t I?”
I freeze.
Then force the chaos in my head into something coherent. Something real.
She deserves more than half-truths and broken words.
So this time, I say it the way I should’ve from the beginning.
“I love you.”
She draws in a sharp breath, her throat bobbing—but I don’t stop. I can’t.
“I shouldn’t have said it the first time when I was drunk. Or after I disappeared. Or during a fight.”
My voice thickens, but I keep my eyes on hers.
“I meant it every time. But I should’ve said it like this. Sober. Here.”
I take a slow step forward, closing the space between us. My voice drops, steady—despite the storm inside me.
“You are my sun, Calla. Everything in my life moves around you, bends for you. ”
My voice cracks, but I don’t stop.
“And sometimes I don’t know what to do with that. Because without the sun, the world is nothing but darkness.”
I swallow hard.
“Loving you means I have more to lose than I ever have in my fucking life.”
I watch her, waiting. My heartbeat trips over itself, my breath barely there.
She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t step back. Just swallows—her throat working, her chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.
Then, softer than anything—
“Say it again.”
I close the last bit of space between us.
“I love you, Calla.”
She exhales, shaky.
And then, barely above a whisper—
“I love you, too.”
One second, there’s space between us. The next, she’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin, the breath she pulls in, the way she hesitates for half a beat before tilting her face up to mine.
I meet her halfway.
Her lips brush mine—searching, like she’s still testing the feel of it.
I let her. I don’t rush.
But when she opens for me, when her tongue sweeps against mine in that slow, familiar rhythm, something inside me starts to unravel.
A sound rises in my chest, low and guttural, as I pull her closer. My hands find her waist, fingers digging in just enough to hold her there. To keep her.
It’s love.
Love wrapped in something heavier. Something I still don’t have a name for.
Maybe it’s the quiet, desperate need to feel something other than the guilt that’s been hollowing me out.
But for once, it feels like it might be enough.