Chapter 29: Another Door
This is it. First step to a whole new life. -Liana
Liana
Alex’s apartment was smaller than Elias’s house.
Brighter.
A little messier.
It smelled like coffee and vanilla lotion.
Alex said, “Bathroom’s down the hall. Your room’s on the left. I cleared the closet, but I left a few hangers. Hope that’s okay.”
I nodded.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her.
We’d met a few times, barbecues, movie nights, once when Elias sprained his wrist and she came over to yell at him.
She was tall. Loud.
The kind of woman who didn’t ask for permission to speak.
But right now, she was giving me space.
She didn’t try to hug me.
Didn’t comment on how small my suitcase was.
Just handed me a glass of water and said, “You don’t have to unpack tonight. Or talk. I’ll be in the living room.”
Then she left me alone.
My room was small.
A bed. A desk. One window with blinds that clicked when I touched them.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
watched all the stuff i had: clothes, some books, my laptop, and the necklace.
Not the blanket from my chair. Not the photo from the fridge.
Not the mug Elias bought me last winter that said “Let Me Overthink About It.”
This wasn’t home.
Not yet.
But it was a beginning.
I lay down and stared at the ceiling.
I could hear the music from Alex’s room. Not loud.
No familiar footsteps outside the door.
No soft clink of Elias cleaning the kitchen when he couldn’t sleep.
Instead, all the new sounds.
And somewhere beyond that, laughter from the living room.
Alex on the phone with someone.
A show playing in the background.
Life.
I didn’t cry.
But my throat tightened.
Not because I missed him.
Not just that.
But because being alone, truly alone, meant I had no excuse now.
If I failed—if I froze in class, or panicked on the bus, or forgot a lesson plan while tutoring—
It was all on me.
That should’ve been terrifying.
And it was.
But under the fear, something else stirred.
Something thin and warm and fragile.
Hope.
A whisper that maybe, this time, I could learn how to stand on my own feet.
Without running back.
Without needing to be rescued.
I reached for my phone.
No missed calls.
No texts.
That was good.
That was the point.
Still… I typed a message.
Then deleted it.
Then typed it again.
Then deleted it.
I stared at it.
Nothing happened.
I turned off the lamp.
Pulled the blanket to my chest.
But sleep didn’t come.
The room was too quiet in the wrong ways.
The air conditioner clicked every now and then.
A pipe in the wall groaned.
The fridge made a sound like something alive.
Each one made me flinch.
I knew it was nothing. But my body didn’t.
It waited.
For footsteps.
For a door slamming.
For a shout that wasn’t coming.
I sat up.
Turned on the light.
Looked around again. dresser, desk, blank walls.
This was fine. This was safe.
I repeated that in my head.
Safe.
Safe.
Safe.
I got out of bed and checked the door, twice.
Then curled up again under the blanket.
Not because I thought Alex would hurt me.
Not even close.
But because being in a new place still meant being alert.
Because my brain hadn’t learned yet that not all change was danger.
And that was okay.
I would teach it.
Eventually.
This was my first night somewhere else.
Somewhere mine.
Chapter 30: Storm Warning
I’ve always wanted to see her smile. I just didn’t know that smile could crush me from inside. -Elias
It wasn’t routine.
Not anymore.
But that Tuesday afternoon, Elias found himself parked near Glendale’s campus.
No reason. No plans.
He wasn’t here to pick her up.
Not like before.
She took the bus now. She was independent. He was proud of that.
Still… his hands had turned the wheel before he could think.
Just to check.
From a distance.
He told himself maybe she forgot something.
Maybe he could drop off the charger she left last weekend.
Maybe… he just needed to see her. Just once.
Even if she didn’t see him.
Even if she wasn’t his to worry about anymore.
He didn’t expect to see her walk out of the gate with someone.
A boy.
The same one as before, the tall one with the easy shoulders and sun-warmed skin. Hoodie, jeans, and a smile that probably worked on every girl in a two-mile radius.
He was carrying her books.
All three of them.
Liana wasn’t laughing.
But she was smiling.
Soft. Real.
The kind she used to only give him.
His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
He looked away.
Then looked back.
Just to be sure.
It wasn’t his imagination.
They kept walking. side by side, not touching.
The boy was talking.
Liana was listening, focused, not guarded.
Comfortable.
She didn’t flinch when he moved closer.
Didn’t step away when he adjusted the books in his arms.
Elias felt something dark and sour curl under his ribs.
She trusts that he won’t hurt her.
She used to only trust me.
He stayed until they turned the corner.
Then drove home.
At 6:30, he texted:
“Hey. I made too much food. You around?”
At 6:47, she replied:
“I can stop by for a bit.”
She arrived at 7:12.
Hair damp from the drizzle. Hoodie too thin. Backpack still over one shoulder.
And the necklace still around her neck.
The same one he gave her on her 16th birthday.
It was a simple silver pendant, nothing flashy.
But on the back, hidden from view, was a tiny button.
Inside, it held a GPS chip and an emergency signal transmitter.
She knew it was there. He told her when he gave it to her.
“If anything happens, press the button. I’ll come.”
She never used it.
But she wore it every day.
She trusted him.
Maybe too much.
Now she was here, sitting at his table like nothing had happened.
He served pasta. She thanked him. Ate in silence.
He watched her, trying not to show anything.
Then said, too casual to be casual.
“That boy. The one who walked you out. What’s his name?”
She blinked. “Julian.”
Of course it was Julian.
“He seems… friendly.”
“He’s nice,” she said. “He helped me carry some books.”
“That all?”
She looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he said. Jaw clenched. “He just looked like he enjoyed helping.”
She blinked. “Why are you saying that?”
Elias’s jaw tightened. “He likes you, Liana.”
She hesitated. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Yes. He does.”
She looked down at her plate. “I didn’t ask him to.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She raised her eyes, confused now. “Why are you upset?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at her like she’d missed something obvious.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she added, voice quieter. “He was just being nice.”
Elias set his fork down, slow, quiet.
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know he’s kind,” she said, a little shakily. “At least… he’s never made me feel scared.”
Something inside Elias broke loose.
“He could be pretending.”
“Why would he?”
“Because people don’t always show you who they are.”
“I’m not stupid, Elias.”
“I never said you were.”
“You’re acting like—like I belong to you.”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “Is that what this is about?”
He didn’t answer.
She pushed back her chair.
“I should go.”
“It’s raining.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have an umbrella.”
“I said I’ll be fine.”
She grabbed her backpack.
He followed her to the door.
And then said it.
“He’s not good enough for you.”
She stopped. Turned.
Her eyes were dry, but something about them looked like they’d already cried.
“That’s not your call.”
Then she left.
No door slam. No angry stomp.
But he heard it.
The storm outside picked up.
So did the one inside him.
He stood in the kitchen.
The plate was still on the table. Still warm.
The house too quiet again.
He glanced at his phone.
Her signal was still moving.
Still glowing.
Still walking away.
And he didn’t know if this time… She’d come back.
Chapter 31: Where Are You
I screamed your name. And you didn’t come. —Liana
It started with a scream.
Not loud. Not panicked.
But sharp enough to cut through walls.
Alex was brushing her teeth when she heard it. muffled, low, like someone fighting something in their sleep.
Then came the crying.
She didn’t hesitate.
The moment she stepped into Liana’s room, her heart dropped.
The girl was curled up tight on the bed, sheets tangled around her limbs, hair slicked to her forehead with sweat.
Her body was trembling violently. Her skin was flushed. Her lips were dry and pale.
But it was her face that scared Alex the most.
Terror.
Real, unfiltered, heart-wrenching terror.
And she was mumbling.
Over and over again.
“Elias… Elias… where are you…”
Alex didn’t freeze often. But she did now.
Only for half a second.
Then she reached for her phone.
“Elias,” she said when he picked up. Her voice was low but urgent. “Get over here. Now.”
Elias didn’t ask questions.
He didn’t even say a full sentence.
Just a clipped, “On my way,” before hanging up.
His keys were already in hand.
He didn’t bother with a jacket. Slipped into boots. Slammed the door behind him.
The drive was a blur of rain-streaked lights and barely-legal turns.
He didn’t stop for yellow lights. Barely slowed for red ones.
His eyes flicked between the road and the tracker signal on his phone, the soft blinking dot that hadn’t moved all night.
“She’s calling for me,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel like it could anchor his chest.
“She’s calling for me and I wasn’t there.”
Alex left the door unlocked.
He pushed it open and stepped inside.
“She’s in the room,” Alex said, voice softer now. “ I gave her something for the fever, but it’s bad. I already called 911.”
He didn’t answer.
Just moved.
Her door was half-open.
He found her curled in the blankets, a wet towel on her head.
Her skin looked too red and too pale at the same time.
She was shaking. Hard.
And still whispering through chapped lips.
“Elias… where are you…”
It felt like a knife in his chest.
He crossed the room in two steps.
“Where’s the ambulance?”he called over his shoulder.
“Two minutes,” Alex replied.
He sat beside the bed, his hand hovering, afraid to touch her too hard.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”
But her eyes didn’t open.
She didn’t hear him.
She was somewhere else.
Somewhere far, far away.
And he couldn’t reach her. Not yet.
The sirens wailed in the distance.
Elias stood when the EMTs rushed in.
“She’s burning up,” he said, stepping aside.
They moved quickly. Took her vitals. Lifted her onto a stretcher.
He followed without asking.
Didn’t look at Alex. Didn’t thank her.
He’d do that later.
Right now, he had one job.
Stay with her.
At the hospital, they didn’t let him into the treatment room.
“She’s in good hands, sir. Please wait outside.”
He paced. Then sat. Then stood again.
Alex arrived twenty minutes later, coffee in hand.
She didn’t say anything. Just sat beside him.
Hours passed.
At 4:37 a.m., the doctor stepped out. Young. Calm. Tired eyes.
“She had a high fever. Possible flu combined with exhaustion and exposure. Her body crashed a bit, but she’s stable now. Temp’s coming down.”
“Can I see her?”
The doctor nodded. “She’s still sleeping. But yes.”
The room was quiet.
Elias stood just inside the doorway for a long time before walking in.
The IV dripped steadily.
The monitor beeped.
She looked so small.
Smaller than she ever did at home.
He sat in the chair beside her bed, hands clasped together, elbows on his knees.
Watched the slow rise and fall of her chest.
She didn’t stir.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t whisper his name this time.
That somehow hurt more.
He stayed there until the first light of morning cracked through the hospital blinds.
And when she finally stirred, eyes fluttering open, lashes sticky with sweat.
She turned her head just enough to see him.
“You’re here…” she whispered.
He leaned forward. “I’m here.”
Her eyes welled, but no tears fell.
“I got lost again,” she said.
And his heart broke all over again.
“You found your way back.”
She reached for his hand without thinking.
He didn’t hesitate.
He took it.
And held on.
Chapter 32: After the Storm
Maybe I shouldn’t push her away so much. Look where it got us. —Elias
She woke at noon.
The hospital room was quiet. just the steady hum of the monitor and the drip of IV fluid.
Liana blinked her eyes once.
Then again.
Then slowly turned her head and looked at him.
Her voice came out hoarse. Fragile.
“You’re here…”
He looked up.
Their eyes met. She looked so small in that bed.
Pale. Drowned in blankets.
The shadows under her eyes darker than usual.
“Of course I’m here,” he said quietly.
Then forced a smile. “You scared the hell out of Alex.”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t.” He cut her off gently.
“You don’t need to apologize for being sick.”
She blinked again.
Her lips parted like she wanted to say more. But didn’t.
He poured water into the paper cup beside her bed.
“I should sit you up a bit.”
She didn’t argue.
He adjusted the pillow behind her back, hand brushing her shoulder, careful. too careful.
She winced slightly, then settled.
He held the cup to her lips.
She drank slowly.
Then, after a moment, whispered, “You look tired.”
“You were the one with a fever of 104,” he replied.
Tried to sound light.
But his voice cracked halfway through.
Her eyes stayed on him.
“I had a dream,” she said.
He stilled.
“You were calling my name,” he said softly. “In your sleep.”
“I remember.” Her voice dropped. “I couldn’t find you.”
His chest clenched.
“I was looking everywhere and… it was raining. And I thought maybe I did something wrong again.”
She looked down. “Like I messed everything up.”
Elias said nothing.
He didn’t trust himself to speak
Her hand moved slightly on the blanket.
Then, almost without thinking, it reached toward his.
She touched the back of his hand.
Not a full grasp. Just a brush.
But it was enough.
His entire body went still.
Her skin wasn’t burning anymore.
Just warm. Steady.
Alive.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t pull away.
His eyes dropped to where her fingers met his.
So small.
So trusting.
So damn easy to break.
He told himself to pull back.
Just a little.
Create space. Remember who you are to her.
But he couldn’t. Not today.
She leaned her head against the pillow, eyes fluttering again.
The medicine was pulling her back down.
Still, her fingers lingered on his.
“You don’t have to stay,” she murmured.
“I know.”
She didn’t let go. And neither did he.
Elias sat there long after she drifted off again.
His free hand clenched in his lap.
This wasn’t right.
It wasn’t wrong either.
That was the worst part.
It was something else.
Something terrifying and real.
She trusted him.
And he was starting to feel things he’d buried so deep he didn’t recognize them anymore.
He looked at her.
At the line of her jaw.
At the soft rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket.
He brushed her hair back from her forehead.
Then whispered,
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Even if he knew—
Eventually, he might have to.
Chapter 33: Like A Dream
He’s here. That’s enough. For now. -Liana
The doctor had been clear.
“One more day of rest. Just to monitor the fever. After that, she can go home, provided she’s not alone.”
Alex didn’t hesitate.
“She’ll stay at Elias’s. Just two nights.”
No one argued.
Not even Liana.
She didn’t speak much during discharge.
Just nodded when told to, walked slowly to the truck, and leaned her head against the window on the ride back.
She looked smaller than usual.
More than sick.
Drained.
Almost like being inside her own body was too much.
Alex helped her out of the truck with a short, “Take care of her, Wolfe,” and handed over a small duffel bag she’d packed earlier. Then drove off.
Elias carried the bag inside. Quietly. Carefully.
She followed.
Slow steps. Blank face.
Her fingers curled loosely around the necklace he gave her years ago, still worn. Still there.
They didn’t speak much that first night.
The house was quiet, but it didn’t feel cold.
Just… muted.
Like both of them were holding their breath.
It was late.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the hallway light bleeding through the open door.
Liana lay curled under the blanket, her breath still ragged with fever.
Elias sat nearby, flipping the towel in his hand before placing it gently against her forehead.
She didn’t flinch.
Her eyes opened slightly. Glazed. Unfocused.
“I’ll get you some water,” he murmured.
Her hand caught his sleeve.
Small. Cold. Shaky.
He froze.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then slowly, carefully, turned back toward her.
“Elias…” she whispered.
He looked down.
Her hand still clutched his sleeve, barely holding on.
“I’ll be right here,” he said.
She blinked once.
Then again.
“Don’t go.”
Her voice was barely audible.
His throat tightened.
He reached out, adjusted the damp cloth, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Her lips twitched. Not a smile, something softer.
Relief, maybe.
She exhaled. Fell back asleep.
He stayed.
Later, he sat on the bed.
There was a chair nearby. He could’ve used it.
But he didn’t.
She shifted once, half-turning in her sleep, and her head found his leg like it was instinct.
His whole body stiffened.
She pressed her face into the blanket, just enough to breathe, and murmured something unintelligible.
He should’ve moved.
He should’ve untangled himself gently and stepped away.
But he didn’t.
Because it was warm.
And because she was here.
And because part of him, every broken, lonely, flawed part, needed to be near her.
His hand hovered.
Just inches above her shoulder.
He didn’t touch her.
Not quite.
Just let it hover there.
Close enough to feel her warmth.
Far enough to pretend he hadn’t crossed a line.
His chest ached with how much he wanted.
How much he couldn’t have.
How much he’d always known that one day, she’d grow beyond him.
And he’d be left watching.
“You’ll be okay,” he whispered to the dark.
His voice cracked a little.
“I’m here.”
She didn’t stir.
But the way she breathed, slower, deeper, told him she heard.
Or maybe just felt it.
Morning came slowly.
He’d barely slept.
Still in the same clothes, still sitting in the same spot.
When she stirred, sunlight crept over the edge of the windowsill.
She blinked.
Looked up at him.
“You’re still here…” she said, voice raspy.
He tried to smile.
“Of course.”
She didn’t ask why.
And he didn’t say…
Because I was afraid you’d leave again.
Because I needed to know you were real.
Instead, he reached for the water cup and held it steady.
She drank.
Then leaned back, eyes already closing again.
His hand lingered on the cup longer than necessary.
Then pulled away.
