See You Next Saturday

Tethered Roots

Alex lay on her bed, her chest heaving with each panicked breath. Her phone lay next to her, its screen dark, mocking her with its silence.

What had she done?

The weight of her words from earlier replayed in her mind, over and over again. The second they left her mouth, she regretted them.

The reason was simple, Alex wasn't ready to let him go, contrary—but his actions, his lies, the way he seemed to prioritize everything but her—it was all too much. She couldn't take it anymore.

She just wanted him to understand how deeply she was hurting. Maybe breaking up would show him how serious she was.

But it had been hours, why hadn't he called? Did he not care?

Yes, she pulled the trigger, but was it that easy for him to give up without even trying?

Tears welled up in her eyes. Every fiber of her being screamed to call him back, to apologize, to take it all back. But the fear of rejection, the fear that he wouldn't answer or wouldn't care, kept her paralyzed.

Her hand trembled as she slipped it under her pillow, fingers brushing against something sharp. The cold steel of the object brought a strange comfort, a control she desperately craved.

Without thinking, she pulled the blade out, pressing it against her thigh, drawing thin, deliberate lines. The sharp edge of the blade grazed her skin, just enough for the sting to bring her back to the moment.

It was the only way she could feel some sense of control.

Her breath steadied, but only briefly, and just as she indulged in the thrilling escape, a voice shattered the moment.

"Alex! You're going to be late for school!" her father's voice boomed from downstairs, pulling her back to the harsh reality, a ruthless reminder that she hadn't slept at all since the call with Ezra the night before—the call that may be responsible for her ultimate demise.

She didn't know what her next steps were. What was she supposed to do without him?

"Alex!" She heard her father call again, seemingly closer to her room this time.

Panic surged through her as she shoved the blade back under her pillow, quickly wiping her face and drawing the blanket over her head—trying desperately to still her trembling breaths.

When the door creaked open, Alex forced out a loud, exaggerated cough, hoping to sell her act. Even with her face hidden under the covers, she could feel the weight of her father's worry lingering in the air.

Since her mother's death, he'd tiptoed around her, always afraid of saying the wrong thing—afraid that one wrong word would break the thin wall she had built around her emotions, compromising her fragility.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, tender and cautious—as though her well-being rested entirely on his words.

She didn't respond to him. Alex knew if she spoke, her voice would betray the turmoil inside her, the real pain she was hiding.

Instead, she forced out another exaggerated cough, hoping it would be enough to push him away.

Her father sighed, the sound filled with reluctant acceptance. His daughter wasn't one to lie just to get out of school, so something bigger was going on, and perhaps a day off would help.