Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer
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Where the Lines Overlap
Final Season - We are Broken
(It's not that I don't feel the pain, it's just) I'm not Afraid of Hurting Anymore
The morning light crept through the blinds, painting thin streaks of gold on the pale walls of my room. It was early, too early for anyone else to be awake, but I hadn't slept. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor, the faint ticking of the clock the only sound filling the void. My hands rested limply on my thighs, my fingers twitching as if trying to grasp something just out of reach.
What were his last words to me?
I tried to picture his voice, the one I'd grown up with—sharp, clipped, and weighted with authority. It was a voice that demanded obedience, one that rarely softened. But in those last weeks, since he'd woken from the coma, it had been different. Warmer. There'd been hesitation in his tone, as if he was testing the unfamiliar terrain of kindness. I could still hear that warmth, faint and fading like the echo of a song, but the words… they refused to come.
We had talked that evening, the day Mark and I checked the apartment. I remembered holding the phone to my ear, the faint hum of the balcony breeze in the background, but the words... they slipped away every time I reached for them.
Had I said something meaningful? Had he?
The frustration churned in my chest, tightening like a fist around my ribs. I pressed my palms against my temples, as if forcing the memory to surface. Nothing. Just fragments of sound and static.
How could I not remember?
A soft knock broke through the chaos in my head, followed by the creak of the door. I didn't look up. My hands had moved from my temples to grip the edge of the bed, knuckles pale from the strain.
"Jay?" Mark's voice was low, careful, as though one wrong word might shatter me completely.
I felt him move closer, his steps measured. He crouched in front of me, his presence an anchor in the swirling storm of my thoughts.
"I can't remember," I whispered hoarsely. My throat ached, raw from holding back the tide of emotions threatening to spill over. "I talked to him that night. The night we checked the apartment. But I—I can't remember what he said to me."
Mark's brows drew together, concern deepening the lines around his eyes.
"Hey, that's okay. Give it time. It'll come to you."
I shook my head violently.
"No, it won't. It's gone. His last words to me, and I can't—" My breath hitched, panic tightening my chest.
Mark rose, his hands gently gripping my shoulders.
"Jasper, stop. Look at me."
I didn't at first, my vision blurring as my breaths came faster. He guided me to sit fully on the bed, settling himself beside me, his hands steadying my face.
"Breathe. In and out. Just look at me."
I met his gaze reluctantly, the piercing crystalline icy blue of his eyes pulling me from the edge. His thumbs brushed against the bones behind my ears, a light pressure that drew my focus.
"Your dad said, 'I love you.'"
I froze, his words cutting through the haze.
"How… how do you know that?"
Mark's expression softened.
"I went out to the balcony that night, wanted to check on you. I heard you say, 'I love you too, Father,' before you hung up."
The tightness in my chest eased, replaced by a trembling ache that spread through my limbs. Mark slid his hands to rest lower against my neck, his touch grounding, as if anchoring me to the moment.
"Take a deep breath," he murmured. "Think back. Let yourself remember."
I did as he asked, closing my eyes and following the rhythm of my breath. Slowly, the fragments pieced themselves together—the soft hum of the phone, my father's voice, tentative yet steady.
"Is it comfortable? In a safe area?"
I nodded instinctively, even though he couldn't see me.
"Yeah, it's fine. Safe and comfortable."
He paused, the faint sound of his breathing carrying through the line, likely glancing toward my mother.
"Good. Send everything to your mom—we'll handle the rest."
I smiled, shaking my head as if he could see the gesture.
"You don't have to worry about that, Father. I've got it covered."
A quiet beat followed, stretching just long enough to make me wonder what he was thinking.
"I'm proud of the man you're becoming, Alexander," he said suddenly, his voice steady but softer than usual.
The words hit me like a tidal wave, and for a moment, I struggled to respond.
"Thanks, Father," I managed, my throat tight.
"I love you, son," he added, almost hesitant, as though the words were unfamiliar.
I froze, the unexpected tenderness flooding my chest, warm and heavy.
"I love you too, Father," I whispered back, my voice unsteady but certain.
The memory hit me like a wave, and I choked on a sob as I opened my eyes, my hands reaching up to clasp Mark's wrists.
"I'd waited my whole life for that part of him," I said, my voice breaking. "And I only had it for some weeks. It's not fair."
Mark leaned closer, his voice firm yet kind.
"You had it, Jay. That matters. You need to hold onto that and commit it to memory. Let it be something you treasure rather than something that tears you apart."
Mark's words steadied me, pulling me back from the edge of panic. His hands slid up slowly, fingers curling gently around the back of my neck. His thumbs resumed their soothing rhythm just behind my ears, grounding me in a way only he could. My grip on his wrists remained firm, like they were the only tangible thing keeping me afloat.
"G'morning."
The soft voice broke the moment, startling us both.
My mom stood in the doorway, framed by the narrow crack she'd eased open. Her expression was warm, her head tilted slightly, as though she'd been quietly observing us for a while. I hadn't heard her knock—or the door creak open—and the suddenness of her presence sent a jolt of tension through me.
Mark's hands slipped away, and I instinctively leaned back, my palms settling awkwardly in my lap. My heart stumbled, bracing for a flicker of disapproval in her expression, but all I found was something soft—tender and understanding.
"You two are up early," she said lightly, a small smile touching her lips. "Come down and eat something. I'll make breakfast."
Mark stayed quiet, glancing at me for guidance. I swallowed hard and nodded, my voice barely audible.
"Okay, Momma. We'll be down in a minute."
She lingered just long enough for her gaze to soften even more, then turned and left, her steps fading down the hallway.
I exhaled shakily, running a hand through my hair, and glanced at Mark, who was watching me with a careful expression.
He shifted, glancing toward the doorway as if unsure whether to follow her. Then he started to stand, his movements careful, like he didn't want to disturb me.
Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his wrist, the same one I'd been holding onto moments before.
"Stay," I said softly, my voice raw. "With me."
He stilled, looking down at where my hand held his wrist. His expression softened, and when his eyes met mine, something flickered between us—affection, longing, something unspoken but deeply felt.
"Always," he murmured, the word barely audible but heavy with meaning.
For a moment, we just looked at each other, the air between us charged with something I didn't quite have the words for yet. Mark's wrist shifted under my hold, his hand turning until his palm pressed against mine. Slowly, naturally, our fingers slid together, intertwining in a quiet, deliberate gesture that sent warmth coursing through me.
"Come," he said, his voice low but steady. "Let's not keep your mom waiting."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and stood up with him. Then, gently, he gave my hand a light squeeze before releasing it.
But somehow, with him beside me, the weight I carried felt just a little lighter.
.
.
.
The air was heavy, laden with the scent of damp earth and wilting flowers. I moved carefully, guiding my mother to the chair closest to the coffin. She sank into it, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of her shawl. Rosalie was already seated on her other side, her face pale but composed, her hand resting protectively on our mother's arm.
I lingered beside them, hesitating before taking my place at my mother's right. The murmurs of those gathered faded to a hush as the officiant stepped forward. My eyes stayed fixed on the coffin, its polished surface catching the muted morning light. A knot tightened in my chest as I thought of him inside, still and silent, a man who had only just begun to let me know him.
A prickle at the back of my neck broke through the fog of grief. Someone was watching me. Slowly, almost unwillingly, I raised my gaze. Across the narrow gap separating my family from the rest of the mourners, behind Carlisle and Esme's familiar forms, stood Edward.
My breath caught, a sharp ache blooming in my chest. He looked the same as always—pristine, composed—but his presence hit me like a physical blow. The last time I'd seen him, he'd shattered me. And now, here he was, in the middle of my grief, uninvited but undeniable.
I couldn't look at him for long; it hurt too much. My hand moved instinctively, reaching back over my shoulder, searching for something—someone.
Mark.
The warmth of his hand found mine without hesitation, his fingers curling firmly around mine. His touch was steady, grounding, as if to remind me that I wasn't alone. A shuddering sigh escaped me as I turned my focus back to the coffin, letting the comfort of Mark's presence settle over me, and I felt like I could breathe a little better.
.
.
.
The house was quiet, though the occasional murmur of conversation drifted in from other rooms and the backyard. I stood on the front porch, gripping a glass of water that had long since lost its chill. The faint hum of cicadas filled the air, blending with the distant sound of cars on the main road.
I hadn't expected Edward to approach me after Carlisle and Esme had offered their kind words and warm condolences. But there he was, his calm, composed figure an affront that sent a wave of outrage crashing over me. He stepped forward as if nothing had happened between us, his voice low and deliberate.
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, pausing just long enough to add softly, "for everything."
The words had cut through me, sharp and disarming. A whirlwind of emotions had swirled in their wake: resentment for what he'd done, anger that he could stand there so calmly, and a pang of longing I couldn't suppress. It was a cruel combination, one I hadn't been prepared for. My tongue had felt heavy, uncooperative, and I'd stood there, mute, unable to summon a single word in reply.
Now, in the stillness of the porch, I could only replay the moment, over and over, searching for what I could've said—or should've said. The confusion of it all had left me raw and restless. And through it all, one thing stood out: how I had instinctively kept Mark close, as though he were my anchor.
Even when Mark moved—whether to greet someone or step aside to let another pass—I found myself trailing after him, like a ship tethered to its harbor, always returning to his side without thought. And each time, Mark had welcomed me back without hesitation, his presence a constant balm to my somber grief.
It wasn't until my mom called Mark to help her with something that I let him go, staying where I was to steal a few moments of quiet. No one stood nearby to greet or talk to, sparing me the need to feign gratitude for their condolences.
The screen door creaked behind me, and I turned instinctively, finding no one there. Probably just the wind. I drained the last of the water in my glass, the faint coolness fading almost as soon as it touched my tongue, and headed back inside.
Moving through the crowded rooms, I offered polite nods and fleeting smiles when necessary but didn't stop. I needed my anchor—I needed Mark—but he was nowhere in sight. On the back porch, a group of my father's cadets stood in a loose circle, their voices rising and falling as they shared stories. Their bittersweet laughter cut through the somber atmosphere, and I paused, listening as they recounted his sharp wit and relentless determination. A pang of pride stirred in my chest for the man I had only just started to understand.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of him.
Edward stood alone in the yard, hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched as he stared at nothing in particular. There was something unfamiliar in his stance, something unguarded that pulled me in despite myself.
I excused myself and stepped outside, the grass soft beneath my shoes as I crossed the distance toward him. But with each step closer, hesitation grew, tightening around my chest. What did I even want to say?
As if sensing my approach, Edward turned slightly, his gaze meeting mine. His expression was unreadable, but the silence between us felt charged, like a string pulled taut between two points.
For a moment, we simply stood there, caught in the weight of everything unsaid. And then, as if by some unspoken cue, we both spoke at once.
"I'm really sorry you lost him," Edward said, his voice quiet but steady.
"I'm sorry for earlier," I blurted out, the words tumbling from my mouth before I could stop them.
We froze, our overlapping apologies hanging in the air like fragile threads. Something flickered across Edward's face—recognition, maybe? For a fleeting second, it felt like old times, like the effortless synchronicity we once shared still lingered beneath the surface.
But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came, and my focus shifted to the faint furrow in Edward's brow.
"What about earlier?" he asked, his tone curious but cautious.
"When you offered your condolences," I said, glancing briefly at the ground. "I didn't answer or thank you. I should have."
Edward's eyes softened, and his voice lowered, quiet yet firm.
"You're allowed not to answer anything or anyone, Jasper. You've just lost your father."
The sliver of tenderness in his tone hit me like a gust of wind, sudden and overwhelming, catching me off guard. It stirred something deep—a longing so raw, so intense, it nearly brought me to my knees. For a split second, the urge to plead with him surged within me. I wanted to beg him to come back to me, fix the mess we'd made of us, try again.
But the distance between us was unrelenting, a chasm too wide to bridge. In my heart, I still clung to the belief that we were more than whatever this was now, that we were something unbreakable… I still saw us as one. Yet the ache of standing there, with him acting like we were little more than acquaintances, made my chest tighten unbearably.
Then I looked into his eyes.
They had once been an open book, offering me a glimpse into every thought and feeling. Now, they were shuttered, clouded, unreadable—stranger's eyes. The realization struck like a blow: the connection we'd shared, the intimacy that once made it so easy to understand him, was gone.
That broken link stopped me in my tracks.
Edward sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground. His posture shifted—subtle but unmistakable discomfort. I rushed to fill the silence, not wanting to drag it out.
"Thank you… for coming. That's what I wanted—should've said earlier."
The pause that followed was heavy, each second stretching unbearably long. Finally, Edward broke it.
"I'm transferring to Cambridge," he said, his voice low but clear.
At first, the words didn't register. Then he looked up, meeting my gaze and my focus just zeroed in on him.
"I'm leaving before the break. As soon as finals are over."
I nodded, though it felt like the ground beneath me was crumbling. A swell of emotions rose—desperation, anger, disbelief—but I pushed them down, keeping my expression neutral.
"I hope you find what you're looking for," I said quietly, hesitating before adding, "And I hope you'll be happy."
He stared at me, his gaze piercing, as if trying to read the effort it took to speak those words.
I wasn't sure why, but I suddenly felt the need to end the conversation on a high note—maybe to keep him from seeing the pain I was barely holding back. The smile I forced felt fragile, brittle, but I held onto it.
"Safe travels, Edward," I said, my voice steady despite the crack threatening to surface.
Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of something I couldn't identify—before he nodded.
"Thanks," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
He paused, then took a step back.
"Take care, love." The words were a whisper, a term of endearment so unexpected it left me momentarily stunned.
Before I could process it, Edward turned and walked away, slipping through the backyard gate without another word.
I stood there, staring after him, my emotions swirling into a maelstrom of confusion and longing. The casual way he'd said it, as though it were natural, made my chest tighten all over again. But I brushed it off, unwilling to dwell on it.
Instead, I stayed there for a moment longer, closing my eyes and forcing myself to pull it together.
When I finally turned to head back inside, letting out a heavy exhale in hopes of easing the tension in my chest, my eyes instinctively landed on him—Mark, standing by Bella, his head tilted slightly as she spoke.
But his eyes weren't on her. They were on me.
There was a softness in his gaze that made my heart clench, a quiet understanding that spoke volumes. I didn't need to guess—he had seen some, if not all, of my exchange with Edward.
Mark looked back at Bella seamlessly, his expression polite and engaged, but I could still see it—the sadness beneath the surface.
I felt a pang of guilt so sharp it almost made me wince. Mark had been nothing but present for me, and yet, there I was, pulling him into the orbit of my tangled emotions—hurting him without meaning to, when all he'd done was be there.
I didn't have the courage to go to him as I so desperately wanted earlier. Instead, I walked slowly along the yard, head down, circling the house until I found myself back at the front porch. Sitting on the short wooden railing, I sighed and let a few tears fall, trying to unburden some of the hurt.
Later, as the house grew quieter with the last of the guests leaving, I couldn't stop myself from looking for him. I needed to talk to him, to ease the ache I'd seen in his eyes.
"Did you see Mark?" I asked Rosalie, catching her as she headed toward the kitchen.
She glanced back at me, her brows slightly raised.
"I think I saw him head to the back of the house," she said softly, her voice tinged with fatigue.
I nodded my thanks, making my way out through the back porch and into the yard. It didn't take long to spot him.
Mark sat in one of the old chairs my father used to favor, his shoulders slightly slumped, his gaze unfocused as he stared out at the fading light of the horizon. Even from a distance, there was something about him that looked…disturbed.
As I got closer, he seemed to notice me and straightened up, shifting in the chair as if to mask whatever he was feeling. His lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Hey," he said, his voice calm but soft.
I stopped a few feet away, studying him in the dimming light. He was trying so hard to hide it, but I could see through the small cracks in his armor.
"Hey," I replied softly, stepping closer.
Mark's faint smile stayed in place as I sat beside him in my mom's chair, the heaviness of the moment settling quietly between us. I didn't want him to hide—not now, not ever, not from me.
"You seem… off," I said gently, keeping my tone deliberately casual, as though I wasn't pointing directly at the sadness I'd seen in him just moments before.
Mark gave a small shake of his head, his smile becoming just a little more convincing.
"You shouldn't be worrying about anything or anyone else right now, Jay. Just your mom, your sister, and yourself."
It wasn't the answer I wanted. His deflection only tightened the knot in my chest, but I let it go, nodding slightly.
"Grief feels… less heavy than I thought it would," I admitted, though the words felt strange as they left my mouth. "Or maybe my support system's just really efficient."
I glanced at Mark, letting the faintest smile curve my lips—a quiet, deliberate gesture meant to reassure him, to let him know that I saw him, that I appreciated him.
Mark's lips twitched, the corners lifting just a fraction more, but his eyes didn't quite match.
I needed him to be okay. If Mark wasn't okay, how could I be?
"Want to know some last-minute news?" I asked, my tone shifting to something tinged with sarcasm—the edge in it as much for my own protection as anything else.
He glanced at me, his brows lifting slightly.
"Sure."
"Edward's moving to another continent."
The pause that followed was heavy, awkward. Mark's lips parted slightly, but no words came right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, steady.
"I'm sorry," he said, his gaze flickering to mine briefly before settling on the horizon again. "I know that must be hard for you."
I shrugged, shaking my head instinctively.
"It's okay, I—" I faltered, words slipping through my grasp as Mark's hand shot out, curling around mine.
The suddenness of it startled me, but it was the look in his eyes that rooted me in place.
"Jay," he said, his voice low, deliberate. "It's okay to feel hurt about it. You're not going to stop loving him overnight."
His reasoning, and the undeniable truth in it, landed like a soft punch to my chest—not painful, but powerful enough to knock the breath out of me.
"You don't have to rush through it," he continued, his hand still holding mine. "Don't avoid it. Don't deny it. You'll get through it, but only if you let yourself feel it first."
I didn't respond, couldn't. My throat tightened as I stared back at him, the bluntness of his words pressing against my chest.
Mark's generosity was staggering, his understanding piercing through my defenses. It made my lingering connection to Edward even harder to bear, knowing—feeling—how much it must hurt him.
But that was Mark, wasn't it? Always giving, even when it cost him. And me—I was just taking, and taking, just as Kyle had pointed out so cuttingly.
Silently, I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction but the guilt in my stomach churning unmercifully. Mark was right. As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was right. And so was Kyle.
The soft crunch of footsteps on the grass drew our attention, and my mom appeared from the corner of the house. She rested a hand on Mark's shoulder, startling him slightly, though he looked up at her with that quiet openness he always seemed to have.
"Mark," she said, her voice gentle but full of meaning, "you've been a rock for Jasper. For me and Rosalie, too. The whole day. I don't think I can ever thank you enough for that."
Mark blinked, his face shifting into something touched and shy, though a soft smile curved his lips. He nodded.
"I'm happy to help," his voice barely above a murmur as he replied. Then, standing, he added, "By the way, I should head inside, see if Rosalie needs help in the kitchen."
He paused for a fleeting moment as if waiting for my momma's permission, and after she nodded, offering him a sweet smile, I watched him retreat, his shoulders straight, but his pace unhurried.
The weight he carried for me felt heavier in his absence, his quiet strength leaving behind an ache I hadn't fully acknowledged until now.
My mom eased into my dad's chair with a sigh, the wood creaking under her slight frame. For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze distant, fixed on the yard that stretched before us. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, wistful.
"Your dad used to love this chair," she murmured, her fingers brushing the armrest absently. "He'd sit here for hours at the end of the afternoon, just watching. The way the sky changed, the way the air seemed different as the day wound down. It was his way of finding peace, I think."
She glanced at me then, her eyes shining faintly in the fading light.
"He loved you, Jasper. Even if he wasn't always the best at showing it, he always loved you."
"I know," I said quietly, the words feeling almost too faint against the weight of her statement.
Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile before she chuckled softly.
"You know," she said, her tone shifting into something lighter, "I think your dad had a hunch about Mark. He mentioned that 'this Mark boy seems like a good friend for Alexander,'" she said, attempting to mimic my father's deep, measured tone.
A faint laugh escaped me, and I shook my head.
"Did he really?"
"He did." She smiled again, her expression gentler now. "Mark's a great boy."
I nodded slowly, my gaze drifting to where Mark had disappeared into the house. There was no denying it—Mark was more than I deserved, but also everything I needed.
"He is."
Her gaze softened as she leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.
"It's evident he cares deeply for you, Jayjay," she said carefully, her voice kind. "Truly. You can see it in everything he does—he's not even trying to hide it."
"I know," I admitted, my voice low.
She paused, studying me for a moment before continuing.
"Be careful with him, sweetheart. He's giving you so much of himself, and I don't think he'd recover easily if you broke his heart."
That caught me off guard, and I frowned.
"Why are you saying that?"
She sighed, her eyes meeting mine with that familiar mix of understanding and concern that always seemed to disarm me. I knew what she was about to say before the words even left her lips.
"Because, sweetheart, although you've told me you have feelings for him, and that's clear, it's even clearer that you still love Edward."
The truth of her words hit me like a dull thud in my chest. I couldn't deny it—not to her, not to myself. A small nod was all I managed, my gaze dropping to the ground as if the truth might feel less suffocating if I didn't meet her eyes.
She leaned closer, her voice softening further.
"You shouldn't be with Mark unless you're sure he's the one you want to be with. It wouldn't be fair to him—or to you."
I swallowed hard, the weight of her advice settling over me. After a beat, I nodded again.
"I know. You're right." I murmured.
She reached out, resting her hand lightly on mine.
"You'll figure it out, baby," she said gently.
I looked at her, gratitude flickering in my chest despite the heavy mix of emotions swirling inside me.
"Thanks, Momma."
She gave my hand a final squeeze before standing, smoothing her dress.
"I'll be inside if you need me," she said softly, casting me one last look filled with a mother's love before heading back to the house.
I stayed where I was, the fading warmth of her touch lingering on my hand as the late afternoon sunlight stretched long shadows across the yard. My gaze drifted to the empty chair beside me—my father's chair.
I'd lost so much. My father, Edward… pieces of myself I hadn't realized were so fragile until they shattered.
Yet, somehow, through it all, I'd come to have Mark.
He wasn't my salvation, or some magical fix for everything broken inside me. But he was steady, patient, and so sure of me even when I didn't know how to be sure of myself. He deserved more than someone stumbling through grief, tangled in the wreckage of what once was. He deserved certainty—and though I wasn't there yet, I wanted to be. For him. For myself.
I wouldn't lose him—not to my confusion, not to some reckless, unthinking move I'd regret later.
The ache in my chest deepened as I sat there, but it wasn't the same hollow void I'd felt before; it was something fuller, heavier, like an anchor pulling me back to solid ground, reminding me I wasn't entirely adrift.
The events of the day clung to me, dragging at my limbs. Exhaustion crept in, relentless and overpowering. My gaze lingered on the empty chair for a moment longer before I exhaled, the sound shaky in the quiet.
I'd had more than I could handle for one day and didn't want to face anything—or anyone—else tonight. Not my mom, not Rosalie, not even Mark. Whether it was shame, sadness, or simply the need to retreat, I couldn't tell. My feet moved on their own, carrying me into the house.
The soft murmur of voices drifted from the kitchen—my mom's, Rosalie's, even Mark's. Their words blurred into a distant hum, a life I wasn't ready to step back into. Without stopping, I made it to my room, closing the door softly behind me.
My shoulders sagged as I leaned against it, the quiet wrapping around me like a blanket.
No dinner. No goodnights. Just the faint hope that, in the solitude, I'd find a shred of peace—or at least the oblivion of sleep.
.
.
.
I woke with a start, my chest heaving, the remnants of a nightmare clinging to me like cobwebs I couldn't shake off. The room was steeped in darkness, faint moonlight from the window casting pale streaks across the ceiling. For a moment, I didn't know where I was, my mind racing to piece together the fragments of my dream.
My heart pounded erratically, the relentless rhythm feeding the sadness and fear twisting deep inside me. I blinked rapidly, the cool dampness on my face making me realize I'd been crying. My breath came shallow and fast as I struggled to pull myself out of the spiraling panic threatening to drag me under.
Sitting up, I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, trying to steady the chaos within me.
Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. But my thoughts refused to settle.
They swirled like a storm, each moment from the past day, week, and month surfacing with its own sharp edges, each one carving into me in a different way. The weight of it all bore down, suffocating, until I searched frantically for something—anything—that had helped me before.
And then, through the noise and confusion, one element broke through: Mark.
It was his voice I remembered, guiding me back to myself during the worst of it. His presence that had steadied me when I couldn't find my footing. Time after time, it had been Mark who pulled me from the depths, reminding me to breathe, to ground myself. Now, even in his absence, the thought of him was like a lifeline.
My breaths were still uneven, my heart still racing, but I forced myself to stand, legs shaky as I made my way out of the room. I didn't know exactly what I was doing, only that I needed him.
The guest room door was just down the hall, slightly ajar. I pushed it open without knocking, my desperation outweighing any sense of decorum. The room was quiet, the faint rhythm of Mark's breathing the only sound. He was lying on his side, facing the door, his features peaceful in sleep. There was just enough space in front of him on the mattress.
I crossed the room on unsteady legs and sat on the edge of the bed, clutching at my shirt as if holding myself together. The sheets rustled faintly beneath me, and my presence must have woken him because his eyes fluttered open. He sat up quickly, his gaze immediately finding mine.
"Jay?" His voice was soft but alert, and when he took in my trembling frame and tear-streaked face, concern filled his expression.
Mark didn't hesitate. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks as he met my eyes, his own steady and grounding.
"Breathe with me," he said gently, his tone firm but full of care. "Look at me. Just breathe."
I tried. It wasn't easy, but his presence anchored me, his voice guiding me back to a semblance of calm. My breathing slowed, the panic loosening its grip, and the room seemed a little less suffocating.
Before he could say anything else, the questions tumbled out of me, elicited by my lingering desperation.
"Can I stay with you?" I whispered hoarsely.
Mark's gaze softened further, and he nodded without hesitation, his seriousness tempered by a quiet affection. He shifted back on the bed, making space for me, and lay down, waiting patiently for me to do the same.
I lowered myself onto the mattress, the cool fabric pressing against my skin as I settled, still trembling faintly. Turning my back to him, I let out a shaky breath.
"Can you… would you hold me?" My voice barely audible as I murmured.
For a moment, I felt the hesitation—was it mine or his? But then Mark shifted, his movements careful, deliberate. His arm wrapped around me, gentle but firm—steadying, not encroaching. He didn't pull me closer or press too much.
That restraint—the way he held me as though the only thing that mattered was my comfort—undid me in the quiet. I found myself leaning into him, snuggling closer until the warmth of his chest was against my back. Only then did his hold tighten, a subtle but grounding reassurance that he was here, that I was safe.
The tension in my chest eased, my breathing evening out as the safety of his embrace enveloped me. His presence stilled the chaotic echoes in my mind.
In the silent darkness, my thoughts shifted.
Mark deserved so much—more than I'd given him until now. A better me, one who wouldn't let fear or doubt create distance between us.
As the intensity of the moment settled, I made a silent promise to myself: I would do everything in my power not to hurt him. Ever again.