The drive to my old apartment was a blur of streetlights and a cold fear in my gut. Jean's voice still echoed in my head, each word like a hammer against my skull: "She's a mess, Luke... I think she might have taken something." My foot was heavy on the accelerator, the city smearing past the windows.
I'd left Anna in that luxurious suite, her lips still swollen from my kisses, her eyes clouded with confusion and hurt. I'd left it all for the chaos I thought I'd escaped. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth.
"Faster," I barked at the driver, my voice strained.
I took the stairs to the old apartment two at a time, my heart racing. I didn't knock, just shoved the door open. The scene was less dramatic than I'd feared, but somehow worse.
The TV was on, casting a glowing blue light over Jean, running a hand through his hair, his usual swagger replaced by a helpless anxiety.. And on the couch, Hazel curled into a tight ball.
She wasn't unconscious and she wasn't surrounded by pill bottles either. She was just… shattered. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her face buried in her arms. Her whole body trembled with silent sobs. The elegant dress from the gala was wrinkled. An empty bottle of wine lay on the floor beside her.
Jean spun around as I entered, his face pale. "Man, where have you been? I've been calling!"
"I got here as fast as I could," I snapped, my eyes locked on Hazel. "What happened? You said she took something."
"I don't know! She showed up here, banging on the door, crying. She was slurring her words, talking about 'ending it.' I thought… I don't know what I thought!" he ran a hand through his hair. "She just collapsed there. She hasn't moved."
I approached her slowly, "Hazel?" She flinched at the sound of my voice but didn't look up. A low, broken sob escaped her. "Go away."
Jean gestured frantically toward the kitchen. "I'm… I'm just gonna be over here." He retreated, giving us a space.
I knelt in front of the couch, the worn carpet rough against my knees. The air smelled of stale beer and her sweet, tear-soaked perfume. "Hazel, look at me. Please."
Slowly, she lifted her head. Her face was a mess of stained mascara and raw, red skin. Her eyes which are usually so warm and bright, were hollow and swimming in pain. The sight was a physical blow. This was my doing. The cold, deliberate act with Anna had done this.
"You came," she whispered, the words slurred and thick with tears. "Of course I came," I said, my own voice softer than I expected.
"Why? Weren't you busy with her?" The words weren't said with anger, but with a devastating weariness. I didn't have an answer for that. Instead, I asked, "Jean thought you might have taken something. Did you?"
She let out a shaky breath, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "No. I had a drink. Maybe two. I just… I came here because I didn't know where else to go. I felt like I was breaking apart, and this was the last place I remembered feeling… something." She looked around the messy, familiar room. "But you're not even here anymore. You've moved on. In every way."
This was the opening. The chance for the honesty I'd been avoiding. The power inside me was silent and dormant. This had to be me. Just me.
"I haven't moved on, Hazel. I've just been… running." I sank from my knees to sit on the floor, leaning my back against the couch, not looking at her. It was easier to talk to the dusty leg of the coffee table.
"Seeing you with Ethan… hearing his voice at our dinner… it didn't just make me angry. It made me feel like that same invisible nobody I was before all of this. It felt like I was losing you to a ghost, and I couldn't fight him. And Anna… she was the opposite of all that. She was power. She was control and being with her was like putting on a suit of armor. I thought if I could have that, if people could see me with her, then no one could ever make me feel small again. Especially not you, and I am so sorry I hurt you."
There was a long silence behind me. I could hear her uneven breathing.
"You became a different person overnight, Luke," she said, her voice small. "The man who was nervous to talk to me, who kissed me in the rain… he just vanished. You became cold. You looked at me like I was nothing. How can we have any kind of peaceful relationship, any kind of future, if my past just gets to dictate your present? If every time Ethan pops up, you're going to transform into this… this stranger who goes and sleeps with our co-worker to get back at me?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and justified. I finally turned to look at her. The anger I'd been suppressing towards Ethan, the frustration at this endless loop of drama, bubbled up.
"How can we, Hazel?" I asked, my voice rising slightly. "You ask me that, but how can I be at peace when he's still a shadow over your life? He texts me threats! He knows where I live! This isn't just your past; it's a present danger. You tell me to not let him dictate my actions, but he's here, in our lives, causing chaos! I'm angry, too. I'm angry at him for not letting you go, and I'm angry that I keep getting dragged into this war I never signed up for!"
She stared at me, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "So that's it? You're blaming me for his actions?"
"No! I'm not blaming you," I said, forcing my voice back down. "I'm telling you that this is the reality. My stupid reaction is my fault. One hundred percent. But his presence, his threats, that's the problem we keep circling. And I don't know how to fix that. I can't fight your battles for you. And I can't keep having mine derailed by him."
It was the ugly truth. We weren't just two people who had a misunderstanding; we were two damaged people caught in a toxic web, and a third was actively shaking the threads.
Hazel straightened herself, swinging her legs down to the floor. She looked exhausted, drained of all fight. "I know," she whispered. "I know it's a problem. I ended it with him, I swear I did. But he won't accept it. I feel… trapped."
The fight went out of me. Seeing her like this, small and defeated, was worse than any anger. "I know the feeling," I said silently.
We sat in silence for a long time, the only sound the muffled laughter from the TV in the kitchen where Jean was hiding. The initial crisis had passed, leaving behind the wreckage.
"I should go," she said finally, standing up on unstable legs.
"I'll take you home."
She didn't argue. I told Jean we were leaving, he was waiting. "She gonna be okay?" "I don't know," I said honestly, the weight of the night pressing down on me. "I really don't."
He just nodded. "You look like hell, man." he said with a rare look of concern on his face.
The car ride was quiet. The city was asleep. I walked her to her door, the silence between us was solid.
"I meant what I said," I told her as she fumbled for her keys. "I'm sorry. For all of it."
She turned, her hand on the doorknob. The hallway light cast deep shadows under her eyes. "I believe you," she said. "But sorry doesn't just fix this, Luke. We're… broken. And I don't know how to glue us back together right now."
It was the truth I didn't want to hear, but needed to. There would be no easy reunion tonight. No magical fix.
"I understand," I said, my voice empty. She gave me one last, long look, then slipped inside her apartment. The door clicked shut.
I returned to my new, silent apartment. The space that was supposed to be my freedom now felt like a beautifully decorated prison. My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I didn't need to look to know who it was. The screen lit up, a single message from Anna.
Anna: I don't appreciate being used as a prop in whatever drama you're playing. We'll talk Monday.
The consequences of the night were just beginning to knock, and I was all out of places to hide.