I Don't WANT You [ 𝑀𝑀 ]

Chapter 22

A high-pitched tone slices through the silence, dragging me out of unconsciousness like nails raking through my brain. My eyes flutter open, heavy and unwilling. Cold. Sterile. Wrong.

I try to move but agony erupts along my spine, pinning me like a butterfly on a specimen board. Then — like a tsunami crashing over a fragile coast — the memories slam into me.

Blood. Screams. His voice.

Tears spill out before I can stop them.

"Carlos?"

My voice is barely a ghost. A whisper clawed raw from my throat.

He should be here. He said he'd never leave me. So why . . . why is the space beside me so violently empty?

I don't want a nurse. I want him. His face. His lips. That quiet, soul-breaking way he said my name like it meant something.

But instead, I get footsteps — heavy and human — and a nurse with soft eyes and a tired smile.

"Oh, Mr. Cruz. You're awake. Do you need anything? Pain meds?"

"Yes", I choke. "Everything hurts"

She nods, clicks something on a machine. I don't hear the words. I don't care. I want to shut my brain off, silence the screaming inside.

Because I remember too well — the moment everything shattered. My blood. His cries. The way he held me, begging the world not to take me away.

And now he's the one gone.

"The pain will fade in a minute or two. Anything else?"

I hesitate. "Did anyone visit me?"

She tilts her head. "Yes. A man. Came after your surgery. Sat there for two hours. Left without a word"

Two hours? That's all I was worth?

I nod. My voice's gone.

She leaves. I'm alone again.

He'll come back. He has to. Maybe he had to work, maybe he asked someone to call him when I woke. That's all it is. It has to be.

I lie back. I try to believe. I try to breathe.

But hours pass. Sleep doesn't come. Only darkness. Thoughts that bite and tear, like wild dogs circling my soul.

When I finally drag myself out of bed, every step is a punishment. My body protests, but I move.

The room is expensive — private. Of course it is. Carlos. He did this. He always took care of me, even when I didn't deserve it.

A hollow smile flickers across my face. Then vanishes. Because love isn't enough. Not for him. Not anymore.

I see it then. On the small table near my bed.

A letter.

My name. His handwriting.

My lovely Juan,

I don't want to read it.

But I do.

And the first words splinter me open.

I'm so sorry for what happened. It's all my fault. I carry the weight of it in every breath, and I can't breathe anymore. I can't live knowing I hurt you. Knowing I failed to protect the only thing I ever truly loved.

My hands shake. My lungs burn.

I prayed for a second chance. I would've died for one. But this isn't a fairytale, Juan. This is reality. And in reality, I'm not the prince — I'm the villain. I broke you. I broke us. And I can't fix it.

"No . . .", I whisper. "No, please"

You were my light, my miracle. But I dragged you into my darkness. I made promises I couldn't keep. You said you hated broken promises and I broke every single one.

I do. I do hate them. But not from you.

I don't deserve you. I don't deserve redemption. But you — you deserve everything. Life. Joy. Peace. Even if none of it includes me.

Tears soak the paper. My sobs are silent at first. Then they aren't.

I'll burn in this hell I created, but know this: You were my heaven. And I'll carry that heaven in my chest until my last breath. My soul belongs to you. Keep it.

Happy birthday, Mi Amor.

I scream. Loud. Ragged.

He's gone.

I hit the nurse call button like it'll summon a miracle instead of just another pair of tired eyes.

She rushes in. "What's wrong?"

"Phone", I gasp. "I need . . . I need a phone"

She blinks. Nods. Brings one back, though it's against the rules.

I call his number.

Nothing.

I call again.

Nothing.

This number is not in service.

My scream is so raw it hurts my throat. It echoes around the room like it's mocking me.

He's gone.

He left. Disappeared. Erased himself like a ghost afraid of haunting the living.

I stumble. I run. I don't know how I get out of the hospital, barefoot and wild, but I do. I run through the night, through pain and blood and tears, all the way home.

Maybe he's there. Maybe it's not too late.

I crash through the door. "Carlos!"

Empty. Silence. I fall to my knees.

"You promised!", I scream. "You said you'd stay. You said I wouldn't get hurt again!"

But that wasn't the truth. Not anymore. Now, the truth is:

The pain I felt just hours ago, bleeding on that cold floor, was nothing compared to this.

This is heartbreak sharpened to a blade.
This is grief that doesn't end.
This is what it means to be left behind.

I curl on the floor, the letter clutched to my chest like it can bring him back. Like maybe, if I love him hard enough, scream loud enough, cry deep enough — he'll walk through that door.

But he won't.

He's gone.

And all I have left is a shattered heart and a promise carved into nothing.

Remember always, my soul is with you, even if I can't be.