The apartment felt like a cage. The walls pressed in, a quiet cruelty I hadn't noticed before. The ticking clock, once a gentle rhythm, now hammered against my skull, each tick a stark reminder of the empty hours stretching before me. Shadows, long and distorted, clawed across the floor, mimicking the hollowness inside. The air hung heavy, thick with a silence that pressed against my eardrums.
I stumbled to the window, desperate for a glimpse of life beyond these walls. But the city outside was a world away, indifferent to the turmoil within me. The distant hum of traffic, the faint glow of streetlights, only amplified the oppressive silence in the apartment. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, the chill a stark contrast to the burning behind my eyelids. Tears welled, then spilled, tracing hot paths down my cheeks.
Independence. The word twisted in my mind, morphing into something ugly. This was supposed to be what I wanted—release from his control, his rules, his ever-present gaze. But with him gone, the apartment felt vast and empty, each breath a struggle. I thought I was trapped before… but this… this is the real prison.
I drifted through the rooms, my fingers brushing against the ghosts of him, of us. His hoodie lay draped over the couch, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric. I snatched it up, my hands shaking, and buried my face in its softness. The familiar scent, once so comforting, now felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Yoongi…
I sank to the floor, clutching the hoodie. "Yoongi," I whispered, my voice cracking. The name felt foreign, as if it belonged to a different me, a me who hadn't driven him away. Call him…tell him I'm sorry…but what good are apologies now?
I had craved autonomy, yearned for it like a bird trapped in a cage. Now that I had it, it tasted like ash. I thought I was strong enough… but I'm falling… spiraling…
Every object in the apartment was a tiny torment. The faint indentation on the couch where he always sat, his coffee mug still on the counter—his absence turned the ordinary into unbearable reminders.
When he was here, his presence had been…overwhelming. His protectiveness, a chain I couldn't break. I resented it… fought it… lied to escape it… but it wasn't a chain… it was a shield.He was my wall against the world… his rules… not to stifle me… to keep me safe… and now… I'm exposed.
I curled up on the floor, the hoodie clutched tight. "Why did I push you away?" I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Why wasn't I enough?"
The independence I'd craved felt hollow, meaningless. What's the point if every moment is spent longing for him? His touch… his voice… even his reprimands… Those frustrations seemed so trivial now, insignificant compared to the gaping hole he'd left.
The clock ticked on, each second a painful reminder of what I'd lost. When he was here…I felt safe… even when I complained… He always knew what I needed, he grounded me… his presence… a lighthouse…
Now, adrift. Lost in the very freedom I'd fought for. Vulnerable… each sound outside… making me flinch… every shadow… darker… every silence… oppressive… I'm not independent… I'm alone.And I hate it.
Memories crashed over me, vivid and relentless. I could still feel his hands, firm but warm, grounding me when my world spun out of control. He had this way of holding me, not just with his arms but with his entire being, as though he could absorb my fears and silence my doubts with nothing more than his steady presence. Now, there was nothing but cold air where his touch used to be.
I remembered the mornings when he'd wake me up, his voice low and teasing. "Lazy girl," he'd say, tugging the covers off me with that mischievous smirk. I'd groan, half-annoyed, half-amused, only to have him pull me into a hug, his warmth chasing away any lingering irritation. "C'mon, breakfast won't make itself. You'll feel better once you eat." Those mornings had felt so mundane, so routine. Now, they felt like treasures I had foolishly discarded.
Arguments…bristling…convinced he was controlling me…the night I wanted to go out…him by the door…unreadable expression…firm tone…
"You're not going anywhere," he declared, voice steady and unyielding. "Not like that, and definitely not at this hour."
"You don't trust me, Yoongi," I snapped, my voice sharp with defiance.
His jaw tightened, but his eyes softened, a flicker of hurt visible beneath his frustration. "It's not about trust," he said quietly. "It's about keeping you safe. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"
I rolled my eyes then…his words…clear now…he wasn't controlling me…he was protecting me…
The tender moments and the tense ones blurred, each memory a sharp ache. I clutched his hoodie tighter, burying my face in the fabric as though it could bring me closer to him. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. The memories didn't comfort me—they tormented me, each one a cruel reminder of what I had lost.
The agony was unbearable. I stood, pacing the apartment, my bare feet cold against the floor. My fingers brushed against the bracelet Yoongi had given me last summer, a delicate silver chain with a charm he'd chosen just for me. I picked it up, the metal cool and unfamiliar in my trembling hand. "So you'll always know I'm with you," he had said when he fastened it around my wrist. Now, it felt like a cruel joke. I wasn't sure if he was with me anymore.
I clutched the bracelet tightly, the chain biting into my palm as I pressed it to my chest. "Why did you leave me?" I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of the question. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, my back pressed against the wall. The cold seeped through my thin shirt, but I didn't move. I couldn't.
The clock ticked on. Time…irrelevant…endless moments…emptiness…Tears…hot and relentless…soaking his hoodie…
Food was the last thing on my mind. My stomach twisting…a cruel reminder…no appetite…no energy…how can I nourish this hollow body?
Sleepless nights stretched on. My bed…a battlefield…replaying his words…each syllable…a dagger…the nights…worst…deafening silence…
My phone…his contact…"Yoongi, I'm sorry. Please come back."I couldn't send it…fear…finality… I threw the phone…frustration…
I sat on the floor by the couch, his hoodie a makeshift shield. His scent…it hurt…
Unraveling…piece by piece…this so-called independence… The weight of my decisions…I always relied on him…even when I resented it…now…every choice…a battle…I don't know how…without him…terrified…
The thought of going outside alone, of stepping into the world without the safety net of his presence, felt like walking into a storm without an umbrella. The street outside, once familiar, now looked foreign, hostile even. The people passing by seemed like strangers, their hurried footsteps a reminder of how isolated I had become.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open, the cool air hitting my face like a slap. My heart raced in my chest, each step outside feeling heavier than the last. I was exposed, vulnerable, stripped of the comfort of Yoongi's protection. For the first time in a long while, I was truly alone.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my breath coming in shallow gasps. This was freedom. The freedom I had begged for, lied for. It was raw and unforgiving. It was empty, hollow, and so much scarier than I had ever imagined. I was free to make my own decisions, but I didn't know how to live with them. I didn't know how to face the world alone.
I couldn't take it. His absence…the emptiness…I lost him…a dam collapsing…my chest tightened…a scream…raw…jagged…from the deepest part of me… I dropped to my knees. Trembling…hands over my face…tears…blurring my vision…the independence I begged for…a cruel joke…I want him…I need him…I pushed him away…nothing left…
I fumbled for my phone, the screen still cracked from the night I had thrown it across the room. My hands shook as I opened his contact, my heart racing with every breath. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, the panic and desperation building. I typed a message, my fingers moving faster than my mind could catch up.
"Yoongi, I'm sorry. Please come back. I can't do this without you."
But as I stared at the message, a voice in my head whispered what I had been too afraid to admit. He had told me to live my freedom. To figure it out on my own.
I deleted the message. Then I typed again.
"Please, I need you."
But I couldn't press send. My thumb hovered over the screen, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The weight of my own words, the weight of my own actions, stopped me. This was what freedom felt like—the raw, unbearable truth of it. It wasn't what I had imagined. It wasn't the escape I had hoped for. It was fear. It was a regret. It was a void I couldn't fill.
Tears blurred the screen, and I shut my eyes tight, trying to block out the pain. I knew he wouldn't answer. He had told me to learn—to face the consequences. And I was. But this—this was too much. The freedom I had begged for had shattered me.
I put the phone down, the weight of the world pressing down on me. I had thought I was strong enough to face it, but I wasn't. And I had no idea how to put myself back together.
I stayed on the cold sidewalk for what felt like hours, my breaths shallow, my tears unstoppable. The world around me moved on, indifferent to my pain. I wiped my face with trembling hands, forcing myself to stand on unsteady legs. My phone felt heavy in my pocket, like the weight of every message I hadn't sent.
Step by step, I made my way back to the apartment. The quiet of the streets mirrored the emptiness in my chest. By the time I unlocked the door, the exhaustion was unbearable. I collapsed onto the bed, clutching the bracelet Yoongi had given me, the tiny star charm pressing against my palm.
My last thought before sleep claimed me was the same as it had been every night since he left: Yoongi, please come back.