I'm losing it.
Elias
He'd been punching the heavy bag for thirty minutes straight.
His knuckles ached. Sweat dripped down his neck. His lungs burned.
But none of it helped.
Not even close.
Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.
Liana.
Last night. This morning.
The way she smiled when he handed her a glass of water.
The way she looked at him like she didn't remember everything—
But some part of her did.
And he remembered all of it.
The way her body curled into his side in sleep.
The soft sigh against his neck.
The way her fingers had clutched his shirt.
She fit.
Too well.
God, why did she have to fit?
He slammed another punch into the bag. Harder this time.
"Focus," he muttered to himself.
It didn't work.
His brain was a traitor.
Because right now, all he could think of was how she looked the night before—
Bare shoulders under a thin blanket.
Hair mussed. Lips parted.
She's not yours.
He punched again.
She's not yours. You don't get to want her.
Again.
You don't get to think about her like that.
Again.
His breath hitched.
He leaned his forehead against the bag. Eyes squeezed shut.
But her voice echoed in his head—
"You smell like Elias."
What the hell did that even mean?
And why did it make his entire chest feel like it was going to split open?
He let out a low groan and pulled off his gloves.
Tossed them to the floor.
Walked to the sink. Splash of cold water. Didn't help.
He gripped the edge of the counter.
This has to stop.
She trusted him.
She leaned on him.
And if he reached back—
If he so much as touched her now with the kind of thoughts he'd been having—
He'd ruin everything.
"Don't you fucking dare," he said to the mirror. Voice low. Sharp.
But his reflection didn't listen.
Because his body didn't care what his brain was screaming.
It remembered.
The warmth. The closeness.
Her voice in the dark.
"I like when you're here."
And all he wanted to do—
Was go back.
Hold her again.
Press his mouth to her hair and stay there forever.
But that wasn't what she needed.
She needed safety.
And he was becoming a danger to that.
He dragged a hand through his hair. Stepped back.
Chest rising too fast. Hands shaking.
This was bad.
He was slipping.
No. Worse—
He had already fallen.
And for the first time, he didn't know if he could pull himself back up.