We Were Delicate, Now Meet Me in The Afterglow (Stendy)

chapter three: is it over now...

Stan's POV

I wake up to the harsh light streaming through Wendy's bedroom window, my head pounding as if a marching band has taken residence in my skull. The room spins, and I struggle to piece together the fragments of memories from last night. A persistent ache in my chest adds to the disorientation, a reminder of the emotional storm that raged within me.
Wendy stirs beside me, and I cringe at the thought of facing her. The air in the room feels thick with the weight of unspoken words, regrets hanging like heavy clouds. I can't shake the memory of the things I said last night – words that slipped from my lips like shards of glass, cutting through the fragile moments we once shared.

As Wendy awakens, her eyes meet mine, and I can see the concern etched on her face. I'm drowning in guilt, anxiety gnawing at my insides. "Hey," I mutter, my voice barely audible, weighted down by the darkness that clings to my soul.

She searches my eyes, a silent plea for an explanation. "What happened last night, Stan?" Her voice is soft, laced with worry, and my heart sinks further.

"I... I don't know," I mumble, avoiding her gaze. The truth is, I remember it all too well – the numbing effects of alcohol amplifying my struggles, my demons taking control of the conversation. I said things I can't undo, words that cut deeper than any hangover.

Wendy's eyes fill with a mixture of hurt and understanding, and I can't bear to witness the pain I've caused. "Stan, we need to talk about this," she urges, her hand reaching out to touch mine. But I recoil, haunted by the echoes of my own despair.

" I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of remorse. "I don't know why I do these things. I'm just... broken."

Her eyes glisten with tears, mirroring the ache within me. "Stan, you're not alone. We can work through this together," she says, her words a lifeline in the storm of my self-destructive thoughts.

But the weight of my depression, the clutches of my alcohol addiction, pull me further into the abyss. "I don't deserve you," I confess, my voice raw with self-loathing. "I ruin everything."

Wendy's gaze holds a mix of love and pain. "Stan, you're not defined by your mistakes. We can get help, find a way to heal."

The room feels suffocating, my emotions spiraling out of control. I know I need help, but the darkness tells me otherwise. I push her away, unable to bear the thought of dragging her down with me.
"I can't," I murmur, my voice breaking. "I can't let you be burdened by me."

Wendy's eyes plead with me, but I retreat into the shadows of my own despair. The morning sun, once a symbol of hope, now casts long shadows over the shattered remnants of what we once had.

Wendy sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes weary but searching for an explanation. I could feel her confusion, and it only intensified the pit in my stomach.

I couldn't meet her gaze, my eyes fixed on the floor as I mumbled an apology, the words heavy with the burden of my struggles. "I can't keep dragging you into this mess, Wendy. You deserve better than someone like me."

Her soft touch on my shoulder couldn't dispel the cold loneliness within. "Stan, talk to me. We can get through this together," she pleaded, the vulnerability in her eyes piercing through the numbness that shrouded my heart.

But I shook my head, unable to articulate the internal storm that raged within me. "No, Wendy. You don't understand. I'm drowning, and I can't let you drown with me." The words hung in the air, an admission of defeat that tasted bitter on my tongue.

A heavy silence settled between us, the weight of my struggles casting a shadow over any semblance of happiness. Wendy's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her heart breaking for a man who couldn't find solace even in her embrace.

"I can't do this to you anymore," I whispered, my voice cracking with the weight of my self-loathing. With a final, remorseful glance, I turned away, leaving her bewildered and heartbroken in a room that felt emptier than ever.

The door closed behind me, sealing the wounds I had inflicted on both of us. As I walked away, I couldn't escape the haunting thoughts of what could have been, drowning in a sea of regrets and the knowledge that I was too broken to offer her the love she deserved.

Wendy's POV

I sat on the edge of my bed, the emptiness filling the room as Stan walked away, burdened by his demons. His struggles with depression and alcoholism had created an insurmountable gap between us. The weight of him leaving pressed heavily on my chest, and silent sobs escaped me.

As the door closed behind him, the room filled with the haunting finality of our shattered love. Tears streamed down my face, tracing the contours of my pain. I desperately reached for my phone, dialing his number with trembling fingers, but it only went to voicemail. Each unanswered call deepened the ache within me.

I couldn't comprehend how we had reached this point. Stan, the love of my life, was slipping away, leaving me in the wreckage of our once vibrant connection, that feels like a life time ago now. The echoes of our laughter and shared dreams now lingered as ghosts in the corners of the room, mocking the present reality.

The silence intensified, a deafening reminder of his absence. I replayed the moments when happiness surrounded us, but now those memories seemed like distant moments, fading into the void of despair. The room became a sanctuary of sorrow, and I clung to the fragments of our unraveling bond.

Love, once a beacon of warmth, transformed into a cruel tormentor. The air grew heavy with unspoken words and the weight of unrealized promises. I yearned for a chance to save him, to pull him back from the abyss that swallowed him whole, but he slipped through my fingers like sand.

I grappled with the harsh reality that love, despite its purity, couldn't always conquer the demons within. My heart shattered into irreparable pieces, mourning the loss of a love that was consumed by the darkness.

How could he ruin us?