Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
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Where the Lines Overlap
Final Season - We are Broken
How did We Get Here (When I used to know you so well?)
I don't know how I made it out of the apartment. One second, I was standing there, and the next, I was outside, the cold morning air biting at my skin. My feet carried me forward, though I had no destination in mind. The city was just waking up, the streets eerily quiet save for the occasional car or the rustle of wind through the trees. I walked, numb and directionless, the image of them burned into my mind.
I turned corners without thinking, retraced steps I didn't realize I'd taken, until the building in front of me looked familiar. Mark's building. The realization brought a wave of shame that settled heavily in my chest.
Why was it always him? Why did I always end up here when things with Edward unraveled?
I stared at the intercom for what felt like an eternity, my finger hovering over the button but never pressing it. Instead, I fumbled for my phone and sent him a text:
I'm outside.
Not even ten minutes passed before the gate creaked open. Mark appeared, his expression shifting from confusion to alarm as soon as he saw me. He hurried over, his eyes scanning my face as if trying to piece together what had happened.
"Jay," he said, his voice soft but urgent. "What…?"
I couldn't answer. My throat closed up, and the enormity of it all—what I'd seen, what it meant—crushed me until I thought I might shatter. The tears came before I could stop them, hot and relentless.
Mark didn't hesitate. He guided me inside, his arm steadying me as he led me to his apartment. He didn't ask questions, didn't push for answers. He just sat me down on the couch and stayed close, his quiet composure easing its way into me in a way I couldn't explain.
"Hey," he said softly, crouching in front of me. "It's okay. You're safe. Just let it out… let it all out."
His reassurance felt like permission, and the moment I let go of the fragile restraint holding back my emotions, the dam broke. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed—raw, gut-wrenching cries that echoed in the quiet room, leaving no room for pride.
Mark didn't speak again. He just stayed there, his hand resting lightly on my knee, offering quiet comfort as my world fell apart.
I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. My chest heaved, and my throat burned as I gasped for air, the pain so overwhelming it was smothering me. Then I felt his arms around me, protective and soothing, pulling me close. Without thinking, I buried my face in his chest. His scent and the quiet strength of his body surrounded and anchored me as the rest of my world spiraled into a void. Mark rocked me gently, his hand brushing over my back, murmuring soft, wordless sounds that somehow eased the edges of my pain.
The world darkened around me. I was sinking, lost and helpless, until the exhaustion finally pulled me under.
When I opened my eyes, everything was still. Darkness surrounded me, and for a moment, I didn't know where I was. The bed beneath me was unfamiliar, the room dimly lit by a faint glow seeping through the curtains. I turned, my body stiff and achy, and saw Mark. He was sitting on the floor beside the bed, his arms folded on the mattress and his head resting on them. He was fast asleep.
It hit me then: I was in Mark's room. I didn't remember how I'd gotten there. My throat felt raw and sore, my head heavy with the remnants of crying. I sighed, the sound shaky and tired, and shifted onto my side to look at him.
Gratitude washed over me, but it was tinged with guilt. Mark didn't deserve to be pulled into my mess. Not again. Yet, here he was, keeping vigil over me like he always did. I stared at him, at the quiet strength in his sleeping form, and felt my heart ache.
Mark stirred, his lashes fluttering as he slowly woke. His gaze found mine, bleary but intent, and he studied me for a long moment before speaking.
"You're awake," he said softly, his voice rough from sleep.
I nodded, too drained to say much.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, his concern evident but not overbearing.
Once again, I marveled at how he just knew. He didn't press, didn't pry. He let me come to him when I was ready.
"Just thirsty," I managed to say, my voice a hoarse whisper.
Mark stood, stretching slightly before turning toward the door.
"I'll grab you something to drink."
"Wait," I said, my hand darting out to catch his wrist. He froze, looking back at me, and I sat up, motioning for him to sit down.
He hesitated but then sank onto the edge of the bed, his eyes steady on mine. I folded my legs beneath me, turning to face him fully. The words lodged in my throat felt impossible to say, but I forced them out anyway.
"I caught Edward with Luke," I said, my voice trembling. "On his bed. They didn't see me."
Mark's gaze lingered on me, his surprise fading into an expression of quiet incredulity. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to speak, but he hesitated. I shifted uncomfortably under his silence, the room feeling smaller, the walls pressing in.
"It's okay," I said finally, my voice hoarse. "If you want to ask something, just ask."
Mark shook his head slowly, his brows knitting together.
"The only thing I'd ask... I already know the answer to."
His words hung in the air, heavy and certain. He didn't have to elaborate—I understood. He wanted to ask if I was okay, but we both knew I wasn't.
"I'm so sorry," he said softly, his voice trembling with sincerity. "I wish you weren't hurting like this. I know there's nothing I can say or do that'll make it better, not really. But if there's anything—anything at all—you think might help, just tell me. I'll do it. Whatever you need."
His words pierced through the numbness in my chest, stirring something warm and fragile. I managed a small smile, though my throat tightened with the effort.
"You're already doing enough," I murmured. "Just... you being here, willing to care, to stay with me—it helps. More than you know."
Mark's lips curved into a faint, tentative smile, and he nodded.
"Then I'll stay." He tilted his head, watching me carefully. "How about this—you take a shower while I make some juice? It'll help, I promise."
I managed a small, grateful nod.
"That actually sounds... good."
He stood and walked to the dresser, pulling open a drawer. I rubbed my eyes, running a hand through my hair with a sigh.
"How long was I out?"
Mark fumbled to find something, his back turned to me.
"The whole day," he replied softly.
I looked around the room, then back at him.
"What time is it?"
He glanced briefly at his watch as he turned with a jersey and pair of shorts in his hands.
"It's past eight," he said, offering them to me with a sheepish smile. "These'll probably be huge on you," he admitted with a shrug.
"It's fine," I said, taking them from him. My voice was steadier now, though my hands still trembled.
Mark's smile softened as he gestured toward the ensuite.
"Towels are in the cabinet by the sink. I'll wait in the living room, so take your time."
I nodded again, moving toward the bathroom as he stepped out of the room. Closing the door behind me, I let out a shaky breath, the agony caused by the memory of Edward in bed with Luke piercing me once more. But for the first time since I'd left the apartment, there was a sliver of clarity in the haze. Mark was giving me space without letting me feel alone, and for now, that was enough.
Half an hour later, the quiet padding of my feet on the floor was the only sound as I made my way to the living room. Mark was on the couch, his back to me, his head cradled in his hands, elbows resting heavily on his knees. He looked like he was holding himself together by sheer willpower, and my chest tightened at the sight.
I paused for a moment, remorse settling heavily in my stomach. He was probably worried sick about me, and I hated being the reason for that kind of pain. Forcing a small smile, I tried to lighten the mood.
"Lucky these shorts have laces, or they'd already be on the floor."
Mark jolted slightly, his hands dropping from his face as he turned toward me. His fingers ran over his eyes in a quick motion, but I caught the glimmer of tears before he could hide it. He'd been crying.
I pretended not to notice, and Mark stood with a wobbly smile.
"The shirt looks like it's swallowing you whole," he said, his voice tinged with forced humor.
We both chuckled, though the sound felt fragile.
"I made some orange juice," Mark said after a moment, gesturing toward the kitchen with a thumb. "If you're up for it, I can throw together some subs."
"Thanks," I said softly, walking toward him. "But first, I... I wanna talk. I need to."
Mark's expression shifted to serious in an instant. He nodded and sat back down on the couch, patting the cushion beside him. I took a deep breath and joined him.
"Did you even leave the apartment?" I asked, trying to piece together the hours I'd lost.
He shook his head.
"I couldn't just leave you, not like this," he said, his gaze unwavering, earnest.
"What about your classes and practice?" I asked, a tightness in my chest.
"I called Coach," he replied, leaning back on the couch. "Told him I had something important to take care of and couldn't make it today. As for my classes... I just ditched." He shrugged.
A strange weight settled in my chest as I realized how much he was willing to sacrifice for me. I shifted uneasily, the guilt creeping in.
"I'm sorry for ruining your day, for throwing off your routine," I murmured, my voice small.
Seemingly without thinking, Mark's hands cupped my face, his touch gentle yet steady, fluid like second nature.
"Don't," he blurted out, his voice sharp. Then, softer, almost pleading, he added, "apologize."
He hesitated, his hands still on my face, his gaze intense. We locked eyes, and his lips parted as if he would say more, but stopped himself. The moment lingered between us, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Then, as if realizing the intensity, Mark pulled his hands away, and we both sighed.
I took a deep breath, knowing it was time to explain everything.
My heart pounded in my chest as I prepared to speak, to say out loud what I still couldn't fully comprehend.
I told Mark everything—from the moment I returned to Providence to the shattering image of Edward and Luke in bed. My voice had cracked more than once, but Mark never interrupted, just listened with his usual calm, steady presence that I clung to.
When I finished, rubbing my eyes and swiping away the silent tears that had fallen, Mark let out a long, heavy exhale.
"You should stay here tonight," he said gently. "Get some real rest. I'll take the couch."
I opened my mouth to protest, but the look on his face told me there was no use. He wouldn't let me argue. So, I nodded, the exhaustion taking hold of me.
Mark had me drink some juice before motioning for me to follow him to the bedroom. I trailed behind, watching as he pulled fresh bed sheets from the wardrobe. His movements were careful, deliberate, and when he turned back to me, his expression was warm but firm.
"If you need anything, just call me, okay?"
He started to head for the door, but I stopped him.
"Sunny," I called softly, using the nickname I gave him.
Mark turned, his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise, and I walked over to him. Standing on my toes, I pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
"Thank you," I whispered.
His lips quirked into a soft smile, and I caught the faintest hint of a blush coloring his face.
"Goodnight, Jay," he said, his voice just as quiet.
"Goodnight," I replied, watching as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
I climbed into the bed, the soft sheets carrying Mark's scent. It was warm and familiar, a comfort I wasn't sure I deserved. My eyes stung as the memories of Edward crept back in—the ache of betrayal twisting inside me.
Biting my lip to keep from making a sound, I cried quietly into the pillow, my tears soaking into the fabric, until exhaustion finally pulled me under.
.
.
.
I slid into the passenger seat of Mark's car, the familiar scent of leather mixed with the faint trace of his cologne barely reaching my senses through the haze of nerves. Mark glanced at me as he started the engine, his expression unreadable.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice gentle but carrying an unspoken weight.
The question settled heavily between us. My stomach twisted, and for a moment, I wanted to say no—to escape the inevitable. But I swallowed hard and nodded.
"I have to be."
Mark didn't press further. He just nodded once and shifted the car into gear, and we drove in silence. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of the oversized jersey I was still wearing, the cotton soft against my fingertips but offering no comfort.
Too soon we pulled up outside my building, and my pulse spiked. Panic tightened in my chest, and I turned to Mark.
"Oh my God," I said, my voice cracking. "I left my bag. It's by the door. He probably knows I'm back. He knows I saw them."
The thought hit me like a wave, crashing and pulling me under. My mind raced, jumping from one awful possibility to the next. Why hadn't he called or texted? What did it mean? My breaths came faster, shallow, and my vision started to blur.
"Jasper," Mark's voice cut through the haze, soft but firm. His hand rested gently on the nape of my neck, his thumb brushing the bone behind my ear, steadying me. "You're spiraling. Take a deep breath."
I followed his lead as he inhaled deeply, his calm steadiness grounding me. My chest still felt tight, but at least I could breathe again.
Mark's hand slid to my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"I have some classes, and then I'll head to the gym. But you can call me anytime if you need anything, okay? Just call."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as I opened the car door.
"Thanks," I muttered, stepping out onto the pavement.
The building loomed ahead, and my legs felt like lead as I walked toward the elevator. The ride up was unbearably slow, each passing second making my heart pound louder.
When I finally stood in front of the door, I hesitated, the air thick with dread. My hand trembled as I turned the knob and stepped inside.
The scent of something cooking drifted through the air as soon as the door opened. I froze. My eyes landed on Edward in the kitchen, standing at the stove, calm and methodical as he stirred something in a pan. He didn't seem ready to go to class—still wearing his pajama bottoms and no shirt. For a moment, he didn't even acknowledge my presence.
I glanced down and saw my bag exactly where I had left it by the door. My throat tightened. I reached behind me and closed the door slowly, careful to keep the sound subdued, but just loud enough to signal my arrival. My hand lingered on the doorknob longer than necessary, as if holding onto it might anchor me somehow.
When I finally turned, Edward had shifted slightly, his body half-turned toward me. His face remained blank, unreadable. He stared for a moment, then turned back to the stove, shutting it off with a deliberate twist of his wrist. Calmly, he cleaned his hands on a dish towel, his movements slow, precise. As he walked toward the hallway, his gaze remained fixed downward, avoiding mine.
I held my breath as he stopped just a few feet away from me. The tension in the air felt thick, heavy. Slowly, he lifted his eyes. The coldness in them hit me like a slap, but there was something more, something I couldn't quite place—a flicker behind the indifference that I didn't understand. My chest tightened, and a tremor ran through me, but I couldn't focus on it.
Edward exhaled, his tone detached, and finally spoke, though it felt like each word was forced out of him.
"Where were you?"
The question was laced with something that could've been concern, but the distance between us made it sound hollow, almost mechanical.
I exhaled slowly, struggling to steady my racing heart. I was barely holding it together.
"Are we alone?"
Edward's lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a frown. I knew that expression well—it was the one he wore when he was controlling something. I didn't know if it was frustration, guilt, or something else entirely, but it was there, just under the surface.
"Yes."
I nodded, stepping closer, my heart heavy. The air around us felt fragile, like it could break with the slightest movement.
"I was at Mark's," I finally answered his question. "Spent the night… spent yesterday there."
He nodded, his face still unreadable, like a mask I couldn't pierce.
"Isn't there something you should tell me?" I asked, my voice softer, hesitant.
He hesitated, just for a beat, before responding.
"There's no point." His eyes flicked to my bag on the floor and then back to me. "It is what you saw."
Tears welled up, spilling over before I could stop them.
"Was that the first time?" My voice cracked as I asked, almost pleading. "Is there something going on between you and him this time?"
Edward's gaze didn't waver. His expression was still blank, untouched by the emotions swirling in the room. But there was something in the stillness of his body—something almost too controlled.
"No." He exhaled slowly, his tone distant. "And no... it's just sex."
A fresh wave of tears overtook me, my breaths hitching.
"So it—it happened before...?"
He nodded, and it felt as if the floor was shaking beneath me.
"How many times...?"
Edward rolled his shoulders, his tone impassive.
"Does it matter? Knowing how many times won't change the fact—I cheated."
The bluntness of his words cut deep, and I sobbed openly now, the pain too raw to contain.
"I just... need to know," I insisted, my voice trembling.
Edward's jaw tightened, and he finally answered.
"That was the third."
I stared at him, his words crushing me like a physical force. My heart sank deeper, disbelief threading through the sharp sting of betrayal. Edward stood there, so cold, so different from the person I thought I knew so well. It was as though he had shed the tenderness I'd always associated with him, leaving behind this distant, unrecognizable version.
"When was the first?" The question slipped from my lips, trembling, and I felt as if I might fracture into a thousand pieces at any moment.
"Why do you want to torture yourself?" Edward's voice was measured and detached, his brow furrowing as if he saw no reason to dredge this up.
"Can you just… please answer me?" I pressed, my words splintering under the weight of the pain clawing its way up my throat. Tears streamed freely now, unstoppable.
"The first time was the morning after we got back from Olympia," he said finally, his tone bordering on impatience.
The world tilted, the air punched from my lungs. I staggered back a step, the betrayal crashing over me like a tidal wave.
"You… made love to me that night," I whispered, horrified. "How could you…? How could you touch me after... after being with him?"
Edward's silence was deafening, his lack of an answer more damning than any words could have been.
I clutched at my chest, struggling to keep my composure. He looked away.
"Why…?" My voice broke as I asked. "Why did you do that…?"
Edward met my gaze, his eyes colder than I had ever seen before.
"I felt like it… and didn't want to stop myself," he said simply, exhaling before straightening, almost as if trying to tower over me. "And because I want to break up."
Edward's words settled over me like a suffocating fog. I kept staring at him, waiting for some sign, some crack in his icy demeanor that would reveal the Edward I knew—the Edward I loved. But all I saw was a stranger.
It felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. This wasn't the Edward I had known my whole life. The boy who once held me like I was his entire world was now standing there, detached, as if I meant nothing to him.
"This isn't real," I whispered, shaking my head. "It can't be. You don't mean any of this."
Edward didn't flinch.
"I actually do. I'm being bluntly honest."
"No," I whispered, stepping closer, my voice shaking. "You love me. I know you do."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes distant.
"Yes, Jasper. I love you." His breath came out in a puff. "But I'm eighteen. I've been thinking about it, and… I don't want this anymore. I don't want to be tied down, to have this level of commitment, like I'm... married. You've been right all along. I just didn't want to admit it. I want to experience life. I want to live."
I flinched at his words, each one hitting harder than the last, like shards of glass piercing through me.
"No," I said firmly, shaking my head, as if willing his words to disappear. "This isn't what you want. It's never been. We love each other. You said it yourself—you love me. We're part of each other, Edward. You can't just throw that away."
He looked at me then, his expression softening just enough to twist the knife deeper.
"I didn't do this before because of your dad," he admitted quietly. "I knew you needed me, and I couldn't leave you then. But now that things are better... I have to do this. For both of us."
My chest tightened, and my voice cracked as I pleaded, "Please, E. Don't do this. We can fix it. Whatever this is, whatever's broken, we can fix it together."
Edward's gaze hardened again, like a wall slamming down between us, and he shook his head.
"There's nothing to fix, Jasper. I just don't want to be in a relationship anymore. I'm sorry."
My vision blurred with tears. I opened my mouth to speak, to say something that would change his mind, but nothing came out.
Edward stood there, unwavering, as if every word he said hadn't shattered me completely.
My mind felt like it was unraveling as Edward's words crashed over me. This didn't feel real—none of it did. The Edward I knew, the Edward I loved, would never act like this. This icy, distant person standing in front of me couldn't be him.
"I don't get it," I said, my voice trembling. "Why did you never act like this was true? Every time I brought it up, every time I said this could happen—you wanting to experience your freedom—you acted so offended. You said I was wrong. You said we were stronger than that."
Edward's lips parted like he was about to respond, but something in me snapped, and I just kept going.
"Because it's not true," I said, barely holding back a sob. "You're doing this because you feel guilty, not only for cheating, but for what appened to my father. You think breaking up will fix what you've done, but it won't. You don't have to feel like this, we can fix all of it, I can forgive you, I can forget, Edward, and my father, he is getting better—"
"Stop," Edward said sharply, cutting me off. The word sliced through the air like a knife, and I flinched. He dragged a hand through his hair, his exhale slow and measured like he was trying to keep himself in check. "This is not about your father," he spoke pointedly. "And I don't feel guilty for having had sex with Luke. I am sorry for cheating, for hurting you, I've never wanted to, but… this has been in my mind for a while, Jasper. At first it was just noise in the back of my head, and I fought against it because I love you. I do. But I couldn't fight it anymore. I can't. I gave in because I wanted to be with Luke… and I couldn't keep denying that part of me anymore. I wanted to experience that. I wanted to feel free. I want to be free. I don't want to settle down. I'm too young for that."
I shook my head, my whole body trembling.
"That's not—"
"Besides," Edward said, his voice hardening. "Jazz, you're straight. You'll never love me the way I love you. We'll never really work. We've been together for less than a year, and how many times have we struggled? We're always insecure with each other. Eventually, we'll break up. So what's the point in dragging it out and enduring more pain?"
Straight. The word hit me like a slap, stealing the breath from my lungs. I opened my mouth to argue, but the lump in my throat wouldn't let me speak.
Instead, I stepped closer, just one small, hesitant move. We were inches apart. He held my gaze with his cold, glacial eyes, but I stood my ground, though my insides shook. I raised my hand to his face, slow and tentative, expecting him to accept my touch...
But he grabbed my wrist midair.
"I've made up my mind, Jasper," Edward said, his voice colder, firmer. "Nothing you say or do will change it." He leaned in, our noses almost touching. "I want to break up." He punctuated each word, his gaze piercing mine.
The finality in his tone was like the sound of a door slamming shut. I stared at him, my heart pounding, searching his face for anything—any crack in the armor, any sign that he didn't mean it. But there was nothing.
I swallowed hard, more tears streaming down my face, my voice barely a whisper.
"You don't mean that. You can't mean that."
He didn't respond. He just let go of my wrist and stepped back, creating space between us. His silence was louder than any words he could have said.
But I couldn't stop myself. I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of him, even though his words had left me frozen. My hands trembled as I reached for his face, cupping his cheeks. This time, he didn't pull away.
His skin was cool beneath my fingers, his jaw clenched tight. I felt the tension in him, the fragile stillness of him letting me hold him, but it was like I was holding on to something that might slip away at any moment. My hands trembled as I kept them there, as if my touch could melt the coldness between us, even though I could feel the tightness in his face. I fought to keep my palms pressed against his skin, hoping somehow, my warmth would reach him.
"Edward," I whispered, my voice thick with tears. He wouldn't meet my gaze, his eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder. "Please, don't do this. Don't throw us away. We can fix this. I know we can."
He stayed still, like stone beneath my desperate touch. His jaw worked, muscles tensing under my palms, but he didn't pull away. For a moment, I thought—hoped—that maybe, just maybe, he was hesitating. That maybe there was still something left to hold on to.
Finally, he inhaled deeply, and when his eyes met mine, they were resolute.
"I don't want to be with you anymore," he stated, his voice earnest, each word carving through the air like an executioner's ax.
The finality in his tone hit me like a physical blow. My hands slipped from his face, falling uselessly to my sides. I stood there, staring at him, my chest heaving with silent sobs, as if I were a thousand miles away.
His posture remained stiff, his expression void of warmth, his gaze distant—empty. The person standing in front of me was someone else entirely, and I didn't recognize him.
Like a lock clicking into place, the truth hit me: there was nothing left to fight for. Nothing I could say or do would close the chasm now stretching between us.
Without a word, I turned and walked to the door. My movements felt slow, weighted, as though I were wading through water. I didn't look back. I couldn't.
The apartment door clicked softly behind me, but the sound echoed in my mind like a final nail driven into a coffin.
.
.
.
The air was crisp, a cool reminder that fall was still clinging on. I walked slowly, the city humming quietly behind me, but the only sound I could focus on was the steady rhythm of my footsteps against the pavement. I was heading to the lake at Waterplace Park, where memories were vivid and pleasant. Where maybe, just maybe, I could breathe again.
The leaves still clung to their vibrant shades of orange, the trees standing like the last remnants of warmth before winter's inevitable chill. The colors were beautiful, but I didn't see them. All I saw were the heavy, low-hanging clouds—a reflection of the grayness inside me. The same gray as Edward's irises, the same coldness in his last gaze. That chill had settled over me, dulling the world, leaving me alone to make sense of it all.
I reached the lake, unaware of how much time had passed or how far I had walked. I found a bench and sat, pulling my knees to my chest as I stared out at the water. It looked as empty as I felt. I tried to make sense of how much had changed, but the pieces of the puzzle wouldn't fit together. Every time I thought I had a grip on it, another twist emerged, unraveling everything again.
I thought about the first time I realized I was in love with Edward—how impossible it had seemed. I never would have guessed that he was gay, let alone that he had loved me for so long. It was like the world had shifted overnight, everything familiar turned on its head.
When we got closer, when things began to escalate, I had imagined myself taking the lead. I thought I'd be the one in control, the one steering us through those intimate moments. And I was, for most of them… but then, there was that night. When the moment came, I gave in willingly. I asked him to take the reins, let him take charge. And I loved it. I loved being his in every way.
Then there were the times I found myself caring for others. Allegra came first, but that had been a whisper—a fleeting attraction, nothing more. And then there was Mark. The feelings I had for him were stronger, harder to dismiss. They pushed past my better judgment, tested my control, and, at times, even overshadowed my love for Edward.
But I remained faithful. Every time, I made the choice my heart demanded. I chose Edward—through and through. That was what made it all the more devastating. I'd never expected Edward to be the one to betray me. He was the one who cheated. The one who turned everything upside down, when all along, I thought I was the one with unspoken desires and secret attachments.
The tears came again, hot and heavy, but I didn't fight them. I didn't try to understand why it hurt so much; I just let it. I let the ache wash over me, knowing it was the only way to release it, even if just a little.
After a while, I took a deep breath, wiping my face with the back of my hand. The lump in my throat refused to budge, but I swallowed hard, trying to keep it at bay. I couldn't linger in this pain any longer. I couldn't afford to fall apart again. It had to stop here.
Because I couldn't keep drowning. I had to think. I had to figure out what came next.
I took one last deep breath, feeling the cool air fill my lungs. It was time to decide. No more clinging to the past. I had to be practical now.
Then, I heard it—slow, steady footsteps approaching from behind. Somehow, without even looking, I knew who it was. Still, I turned, forcing a weak smile as Mark came into view. He moved hesitantly, like he wasn't sure if I'd welcome him or push him away.
"How did you know I was here?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected, though it felt like a fragile facade.
Mark paused before lowering himself onto the bench beside me. His gaze drifted to the water, lingering there for a moment before he finally met my eyes. I could see the careful deliberation in his expression as he chose his words.
"Edward called," he said quietly, almost apologetically. "He told me what happened and said he thought you might be here. Asked me to come find you." His voice was soft, measured, like he knew every word might land wrong.
At the mention of Edward's name, a familiar sting shot through me, sharp and cruel. I refused to let it show. I wouldn't let myself believe, even for a second, that this was Edward's way of caring, of trying to fix the unfixable.
I swallowed hard, shoving down the flicker of hope that tried to claw its way to the surface. There was no room for that. Not anymore.
"I need to move out," I said, my voice forcefully steady, though the words felt heavier than I'd expected. "Can you help me find an apartment?"
Mark turned to me, his expression open, kind. There was no hesitation in his answer.
"Of course," he said gently, his concern evident. "You can stay with me until you find somewhere. Whatever you need."
He placed a hand on my shoulder, a gesture so simple yet grounding. In that moment, it felt like a lifeline.
I nodded, my throat tight with gratitude I couldn't put into words.
"Thank you," I whispered.
We sat there in silence for a while, the city humming faintly in the background, the water mirroring the muted gray sky. Edward's grayish-blue eyes lingered in the back of my mind, their coldness and detachment still haunting me. But for the first time that day, the ache in my chest didn't feel so crushing.
Mark shifted beside me, and his voice broke the quiet.
"You're not alone, Jay," he said, his tone soft but firm, as if he needed me to hear it and believe it.
I met his gaze, and though I couldn't quite smile, I nodded again. His presence, his words—they didn't fix anything, but they made the weight a little easier to carry.
The world around us felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for me to take the next step. And though I didn't know what that step would be, I knew I wouldn't be taking it on my own.
.
.
.
A/N: It is essential to read, at least, the last two outtakes in the side season: Where the Lines Overlap—All We Know: (Don't Get Too Close) It's Dark Inside; (I'll Be Standing By and) Heal Your Broken Heart. They contain critical information relevant to the latest two chapters of this season. Check them out and let me know what you think! ;)