Elevator ➵ J.M.

28. Two Broken Pieces Don't Make Something Whole

"Did you really just run away?"

My breath hitches in my throat as I see the tall brunette sitting against the wall. His eyes show a mixture of frustration and anger, but most of all, betrayal. He held his heart out on his sleeve for once in his life, and I destroyed it again. Maybe people don't change that much. He was always reserved before I met him, but I thought he changed more. People are who they are.

"Just for a day," I answer. "I need some time to think."

He sighs, running his hands down his face. "And you didn't think to tell me? I thought you ran away from everything."

"And what even is 'everything'?" I sigh. "This can't happen. Two broken pieces don't make something whole. They just make it... bigger. And do you see how fucked up we are?"

"Two broken pieces that fit together might create something whole," he mutters. "And we've changed since then. We're not just stupid teenagers anymore."

"No, no we're not. We're just stupid adults now." I walk into my room as soon as the last syllable exits my mouth. I don't trust myself to just stand there and listen to it all.

I slam the door behind me, running to the bed. I launch myself onto the clean white bed without the usual joy I do. Every time, I jump into the bed to feel how soft it is. To feel each part cushion my aching body from the journey. All I feel now is the coarseness of the fabric. The hardness I couldn't bring myself to feel before because I was too eager to rest. I felt all the things I couldn't dare to feel before.

A wrangled sob escapes my mouth, releasing a weight from inside my chest.

A quiet knock on the door echoes through the room.

"Sorry," a gruff voice says through the door.

"It's not fine," I reply quietly. I don't think he's heard but I hear fabric sliding down the door and I know. I know he's heard.