Through the deepest scars of memories I once wished would fade—
somehow, they still linger.
My heart still can't bear it…
those same eyes,
that same smile—
the ones that once looked at me like I was everything.
And now—
they don't even pause to see if I exist.
The cruel paradox of time never stops.
There was a time when he begged me not to leave him—
that stormy, rain-soaked night where his voice trembled just for me.
And yet…
I still walked away.
So how could I ever expect—
that he would still be waiting for me?
He looks… happy.
At peace in a world he built for himself—
a life he can finally call his own.
A family.
…
So why the hell does it hurt this much?
I press my lips together, forcing the thought away.
It's just the past.
Just a timeline of memories that don't matter anymore.
Useless.
That's what I tell myself.
But even then—
I can't help but wonder…
Was it ever really useless?
The realization hits me harder than anything else—
this desperate need to feel something… anything.
I know it's wrong.
I know I shouldn't want this.
Maybe I really am the worst kind of person to exist.
…
But if I don't give in—
if I don't let this desperation consume me, even just for a moment—
the pain will.
It will swallow me whole.
My eyes burn, heavy with tears—
right on the verge of breaking again.
Here.
In his car.
In the aftermath of that desperate kiss I didn't stop.
Because for a moment—
it felt like the only thing that could drown out the pain.
Pathetic.
How cowardly of me…
to cry over a love I choose to walk away from.
And yet—
the second our eyes met again,
I couldn't even hold myself together.
The cold night air hits my face as the city lights blur past us.
I don't even remember the drive.
One moment I'm there—
and the next, we've stopped.
His mansion stands before me.
Elegant. Impeccable.
Almost unreal… like a piece of art carved out of perfection.
So far removed from my world that it almost feels suffocating.
His voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Come."
Before I can respond, his hand finds mine—
firm, steady—
guiding me forward toward the entrance.
And somehow…
I don't pull away.
His fingers brush against my cheek, wiping away the tears I couldn't hold back.
I stiffen.
"I've never seen you like this," he says quietly, studying me like I'm something unfamiliar.
Too closely.
"Was he really that important to you?"
There's no softness in his tone—only curiosity.
"Did he break you this badly?"
I look away.
His lips curl slightly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
"Interesting…"
A pause.
"Does love really exist like that?"
The question isn't mocking.
It's… genuine.
That makes it worse.
His hand moves to my hair, brushing a strand back with unsettling ease.
"You've ruined my perception of you," he murmurs.
"I never thought someone as cold… as unbothered as you—"
his gaze sharpens—
"would cry like this over a man."
A quiet scoff escapes him.
"I don't understand women."
Another pause.
Then, softer—
"And you… you never even cared about my existence."
"You know," he says, voice calm, almost too composed,
"as an actor… I don't really have to try that hard."
A faint smirk tugs at his lips.
"People already decide they like me before they even meet me."
He tilts his head slightly, studying me.
"They fall for the roles. The image. Whatever version of me they've created in their heads."
A pause.
"And there are plenty of women out there who wouldn't think twice about spending a night with me."
His tone remains casual—
almost bored.
"Messy or not… it's never been an issue."
Then, like an afterthought—
"I'm married."
A glance.
"Open marriage."
His eyes return to mine, sharper now.
"But you…"
A quiet exhale.
"You've never looked at me like that."
"No interest. No admiration."
"Half the time, you act like I don't even exist."
Something shifts in his expression—
subtle, but there.
"And now?"
His voice lowers.
"You're here… not because you want me."
A beat.
"But because you're hurting."
"Because you need something to numb it."
His jaw tightens.
"And that…"
another breath—
"is frustrating as hell."
"Why are women so complicated… and yet so simple?" he mutters, almost to himself.
Something in me snaps.
"Shut up."
The words come out harsher than I expect.
"Just—stop talking."
Before I can think twice, I grab his collar again and pull him down.
I don't give him a chance to say another word.
I kiss him.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Desperate.
Like I'm trying to silence everything inside my head—
the noise, the memories, the ache that won't leave me alone.
For a second, he stills.
Then he responds—
just as desperate, just as reckless.
And I hate it.
I hate this.
I pull back, breath uneven, my chest rising and falling too fast.
"You're the worst kind of person," I snap, my voice shaking.
A bitter laugh escapes me.
"And the worst part?"
I meet his eyes—
"I'm worse than you."
He cups my face, his touch firm, grounding—
but it only makes everything worse.
"Worse or not…" he murmurs, his voice rough, almost unsteady.
"Damn it…"
I can't think.
Not anymore.
Everything blurs—
the noise, the doubt, the weight I've been carrying all night.
We move without thinking, pulled into something reckless, desperate.
Too close.
Too fast.
Every line I swore I wouldn't cross… fading.
And somewhere in the back of my mind—
I'm still questioning it.
What am I doing?
This isn't me.
It shouldn't be me.
But even then—
I don't stop.
I don't want to.
Silence settles in—
broken only by the sound of uneven breaths lingering in the room.
The aftermath of something reckless.
Something we can't take back.
"You're… maddening," he mutters, his voice low, almost breathless.
His fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear—
a gesture too gentle for everything that just happened.
I go still.
My eyes sting, tears threatening to fall—
burning, insistent.
But I hold them back.
I refuse to let them fall.
As if they're the last piece of dignity I have left.
And I'm not ready to lose that too.
"It meant nothing," I say, the words coming out sharper than I intend.
"Do you understand?"
"Nothing."
The room falls quiet again.
And somehow—
I feel like I'm trying to convince myself more than him.
…
I turn away, pulling the sheets around me, facing the wall like it might shield me from everything else.
From him.
From this.
From myself.
Silence settles in—
thick, suffocating.
Louder than anything we said.
Before I can move any further away, his arm wraps around my waist—
pulling me back under the sheets.
Closer.
Too close.
"Maybe it meant nothing," he murmurs, his voice quieter now, stripped of that earlier edge.
"But you don't have to pretend."
His hold tightens just slightly—
not forceful, just… certain.
"You don't have to be strong all the time."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"Cry, if you want to."
My breath catches.
Because somehow—
that feels harder than everything else.
He leans in, his lips brushing lightly against my shoulder—
a touch so gentle it almost feels out of place.
"Erika…"
My name sounds different in his voice.
Softer.
Quieter.
"It's not your fault."
I close my eyes.
Because a part of me wants to believe him.
But the rest of me—
knows it is.