I pulled away like I always do.
First came the silence.
Then the dodging.
Then the excuses so flimsy I didn't even try to make them believable.
I told Amelia I had extra labs.
Told Ethan I had a family thing.
Told myself I was doing the right thing.
I stopped sitting with them. Ate alone. Took longer routes to class. Wore my headphones even when nothing was playing, just so people wouldn't speak to me.
I told myself I was healing.
That this space was necessary.
That maybe, if I was quiet enough, the sadness would pass through me and leave without noticing I was home.
But it didn't leave.
It stayed. Got heavier. Denser.
Until even silence started to feel loud.
---
Three days of isolation later, I came back.
Like nothing happened.
Walked into the dorm common area with a half-smile, hair still damp from the shower, pretending I hadn't been mentally crumbling behind closed doors.
Ethan was at the table, scrolling his phone. Amelia on the couch, flipping through her notes.
"Look who finally remembered we exist," I said, teasing. Casual.
Neither of them laughed.
The pause that followed wasn't silence. It was the sound of truth filling a room.
Ethan set his phone down. Slowly. Deliberately.
"Alexis," he said. Calm, but firm. "What are you doing?"
I blinked. "Saying hi?"
"No," he said. "What are you doing?"
My chest tightened. "I—I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do," Amelia said, voice soft but sharper than usual. "You disappear. You pretend you're fine. You act like we don't notice. And then you show up like we're just supposed to play along."
I felt heat rising in my neck.
"I was just taking some time—"
"You do this every time things get hard," Ethan said. "You vanish. You build a wall and call it healing."
"I needed space, okay? Is that such a crime?"
"No," Amelia said. "But pretending you're fine when you're clearly not? That's not space. That's hiding."
My hands were shaking now. I crossed my arms over my chest, as if I could press the anxiety back into place.
"You don't get it," I said through gritted teeth. "You think I'm running away from you, but I'm not. I'm trying to deal with everything the only way I know how."
"Alone?" Ethan asked.
"Yes!" I snapped.
"Why?"
"Because if I fall apart around you, I won't know how to put myself back together!"
I didn't mean to raise my voice. But it was too late.
Amelia stood. "Then let us help you—"
"I don't need help!" I shouted.
The words echoed too loudly. Too real.
My chest heaved. My vision blurred.
I tried to breathe, but it didn't work.
My hands trembled. I pressed my palms against the wall, fingers clawing for stability.
Not now. Not now.
But the panic didn't care.
It surged, hot and electric. My knees buckled slightly.
Ethan stepped forward. "Hey—hey, look at me. It's okay. Just breathe—"
"Don't," I said. "Don't touch me."
"Okay," he said gently. "Okay, no touching. Just listen to my voice, alright? You're safe. You're not alone."
Amelia's voice joined his. "You're okay. We've got you."
"No," I gasped. "You don't. I don't want you to."
I pressed my fists to my forehead, as if I could squeeze the thoughts out.
"You think I'm worth saving, but you don't know me. You don't know what I've done. What I still think. I'm not someone people save. I'm someone who survives in the dark where no one has to watch!"
My voice cracked on that last word.
And then I slid down the wall, knees to chest, arms wrapped around myself.
Breathing ragged.
Heart pounding.
The panic loud in my ears.
Ethan crouched a few feet away. Not close. Just there.
Amelia knelt near me, her eyes wet but steady.
"You don't have to let us in," she said. "But we're not going anywhere."
I shook my head, gasping, "I just need time."
They didn't answer.
They didn't leave.
They just sat with me while I unravelled.
And even though I didn't say it, part of me was screaming:
Please stay.
But I couldn't say that.
Not yet.