Chapter 39: No Denial
I can’t fight it anymore. -Liana
Liana
I was back at Alex’s place in the afternoon.
She’d already left for work.
A note on the counter said, Eat something. Call me if Elias tries to kill someone today.
I smiled. Barely. But the smile didn’t last.
Because as I stared at the mug in my hand, a different memory slipped in.
The warmth of his jacket.
The curve of his arm, steady against my cheek.
The way I’d leaned into him like I belonged there.
Like it was safe. Like it was normal.
I touched my necklace. The one with the hidden tracker. I wore it every day.
But yesterday was the first time I’d felt it burn, not from heat, but from awareness.
He held me. And he didn’t pull away.
I didn’t dream it. He was there. Solid. Quiet.
His hands gentle as he wiped my face, tucked the blanket closer, whispered, “I’m here.”
I wanted to stay. I wanted him to touch me again.
I wanted—
God.
I buried my face in my hands.
What was I doing?
His voice.
His warmth.
His presence.
It used to mean protection, just safety. But now it meant something else, more.
I didn’t know when that changed.
Maybe during that night on the couch.
Maybe the first time I saw him look angry when another man talked to me.
Maybe even earlier.
But now… I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.
This wasn’t just comfort. Or gratitude. Or the relief of having someone I trusted.
This was—
I want him.
The words echoed like a scream in a cathedral.
I pressed a hand to my chest. My heart felt loud. Too loud.
What am I supposed to do with that?
I thought of Scott again. Her confident hands, her easy laugh, the way she walked into his space like she belonged there.
I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t know how.
He kissed people like her. Not me.
Still… I remembered the way he looked at me in the hospital.
Not like I was fragile. Not like I was his responsibility.
Like I mattered.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe I’m just desperate to be wanted.
But even if that were true, it didn’t change the fact.
I like him.
Not in a childish, distant way.
Not as a father figure.
Not as a hero.
But as a man. As Elias.
And I didn’t know whether to run from that. Or fall into it completely.
Chapter 40: Out of Control
I’m losing it. -Elias
Elias
He’d been punching the heavy bag for thirty minutes straight.
His knuckles ached. Sweat dripped down his neck. His lungs burned.
But none of it helped. Not even close.
Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.
Liana.
Last night. This morning.
The way she smiled when he handed her a glass of water.
The way she looked at him like she didn’t remember anything. But some part of her did.
And he remembered all of it.
The way her body curled into his in sleep.
How he’d wrapped his arms around her without thinking, like his body already knew what to do.
Her breath warmed the fabric of his shirt. The way her fingers had clutched his shirt.
She fit.
Too well.
God, why did she have to fit?
He slammed another punch into the bag. Harder this time.
“Focus,” he muttered to himself. It didn’t work. His brain was a traitor.
Because right now, all he could think of was how she looked the night before.
Bare shoulders under a thin blanket. Hair mussed. Lips parted.
She’s not yours.
He punched again.
She’s not yours. You don’t get to want her.
Again.
You don’t get to think about her like that.
Again.
His breath hitched. He leaned his forehead against the bag. Eyes squeezed shut.
But her voice echoed in his head “You smell like Elias.”
What the hell did that even mean?
And why did it make his entire chest feel like it was going to split open?
He let out a low groan and pulled off his gloves. Tossed them to the floor.
Walked to the sink. Splash of cold water. Didn’t help.
He gripped the edge of the counter.
This has to stop.
She trusted him. She leaned on him. And if he reached back—
If he so much as touched her now with the kind of thoughts he’d been having—
He’d ruin everything.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he said to the mirror. Voice low. Sharp.
But his reflection didn’t listen.
Because his body didn’t care what his brain was screaming.
It remembered. The warmth. The closeness.
Her voice in the dark. “I like when you’re here.”
And all he wanted to do, was go back.
Hold her again. Press his mouth to her hair and stay there forever.
But that wasn’t what she needed. She needed safety.
And he was becoming a danger to that.
He dragged a hand through his hair. Stepped back. Chest rising too fast. Hands shaking.
This was bad. He was slipping.
No. Worse… He had already fallen.
And for the first time, he didn’t know if he could pull himself back up.
Chapter 41: Close Enough
I don’t know how much longer I can fight this urge. -Elias
Elias
Alex was out of town for the weekend.
Liana texted earlier “Hey, I need to finish this assignment for class. I left some stuff at your place. Can I stop by and grab it?”
He replied, “I’ll drive you.”
Now they were in his living room. Sitting on the hardwood floor.
Two pieces of foam board, scissors, ruler, glue gun.
She said it was a psych class presentation. Some “visual representation of internal states.”
She wanted to build it herself. Of course she did.
But she wasn’t good at measuring. So he helped.
Kneeling beside her. Drawing lines. Holding the edges down while she cut.
Her hair brushed his shoulder more than once. She didn’t notice.
He did. Every. Time.
“Hold it here?” she asked, leaning closer.
He nodded. Mute.
She placed the ruler. Bent forward. And her knee slipped.
Not far. Just enough. Her balance tipped. Her weight hit his shoulder.
And then she was in his lap.
Just for a second. Just long enough for every alarm in his body to go off at once.
She froze.
He didn’t breathe.
“Sorry—sorry,” she said quickly, pushing off him.
She sat back on her heels. Flushed. Eyes wide.
“It’s fine,” he said, voice tight. “It’s nothing.”
Except it wasn’t. The touch, the smell, everything about her.
His pulse was in his throat.
She looked at him. Really looked. Not afraid. Not embarrassed. Just… curious.
She reached out, slow, tentative, and touched his forearm. Light. Barely there.
“You’re warm,” she said. “Are you… are you shaking?”
His whole body locked.
No.
Yes.
God, yes.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
He swallowed. Hard. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t pull her hand away. And he didn’t tell her to.
Her thumb brushed his skin. A slow, unconscious gesture.
He nearly flinched. But didn’t. He told himself to pull back.
Now. Just move. She’s not yours. She never was.
But he didn’t. Couldn’t.
She was here. Inches away. And everything in him screamed to stay.
She trusts me. She thinks I’m safe.
And if I touch her now, if I hold her what I’m thinking.
That all disappears.
He let out a slow breath. Said, “You should keep working.”
She blinked. “Right. Yeah.”
But her voice was breathy.
And her hand… lingered another beat before it dropped.
She turned back to the board. Started gluing edges in silence.
He sat back against the wall, watching her. Not saying anything.
Trying to calm the war in his chest.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s just… close.
That’s all.
And he’d survive it. He had to.
But as she leaned over again, her shirt shifting just enough to expose the soft line of her shoulder, the edge of her collarbone…
He looked away. Fisted his hands.
And thought,
I’m going to break if this keeps going.
But he said nothing.
Because she hadn’t crossed a line. Not really. And neither had he. Not yet.
Chapter 42: No More Lies
I just can’t keep lying to myself. -Elias
Elias
The message came in at 10:37 p.m.
He was in bed already, lights off, one hand behind his head, pretending he was going to sleep at a decent hour for once.
The screen lit up.
Liana: “I finished my psych report! Wanna see?”
He blinked. Then sat up.
Another message followed.
Liana: (image attached)
A screenshot of her presentation slides, simple, clean, clearly done with care.
The first page said: “Behavioral Conditioning and Trauma Recovery – Liana Chen”
His chest tightened. He stared at the photo longer than necessary.
Not because of the formatting. Not the title.
But because she sent it to him. Because she thought of him first. Like she always did.
Liana: “It’s not perfect but I’m kinda proud 🫣”
He read that sentence five times. Then again.
He didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Because he was smiling.
The kind of quiet, helpless smile that made his face hurt and his gut twist.
What the hell was this?
He’d watched her relearn how to walk through crowds.
He’d taught her how to scramble eggs and hang a picture straight.
He’d seen her terrified. Broken. Brave. Brilliant.
And now she was texting him like this. Like she wanted him to be proud.
And God, he was. More than she would ever understand.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone still glowing in his hand.
A whisper rose in his mind before he could stop it.
I’m in love with her.
There it was. The one truth he couldn’t shove back down anymore.
It wasn’t about protection.
It wasn’t about guilt or history or the years they’d lived under the same roof.
He was in love with her.
With her laugh that rarely came but meant everything when it did.
With the way she said “okay” like it carried weight.
With the fact that she never called herself brave, even after surviving hell and learning how to breathe again.
He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead.
“I’m so screwed,” he whispered. Because this changed everything.
He couldn’t un-feel it.
Couldn’t ignore the way his heart jumped when she leaned on him.
Couldn’t pretend his skin didn’t burn when she touched his arm, or shoulder, or goddamn sleeve.
He’d kissed a hundred women and never once thought about their breathing.
But with her,
Every time she exhaled near him, it was like a fucking miracle.
He threw the blanket off, stood up, and paced.
She’s too young. She’s been through too much. She trusts you.
Every reason not to feel this way screamed in his head.
And none of them mattered anymore.
Because feelings don’t wait for permission. They just happen.
Like her.
Like this.
His phone buzzed again.
Liana: “Okay sorry if that was lame haha I’ll stop bugging you now 🙈”
He stared at it.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Deleted again.
What could he even say?
How do you tell the girl who sees you as a home…
That she’s the only place you’ve ever wanted to stay?
He didn’t send anything. Just pressed the phone to his chest and sat down again.
In the dark. In the quiet. With only one truth left.
He was in love with Liana. And he had no idea what the hell he was going to do about it.
Chapter 43: To Be Seen
I don’t want him to just see me. But really see …me. -Liana
Liana
I shouldn’t have sent it. I knew it the second I hit send. But it was too late.
I stared at the screen like maybe it would blink back at me.
Nothing.
A minute passed. Then five. Then ten.
My stomach twisted itself into a knot.
He’s busy.
He fell asleep.
He didn’t see it yet.
Lies, all of them. But I said them anyway.
Because the alternative? He saw it. And didn’t care.
Or worse. He saw it. And knew exactly what it meant.
I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow.
This is stupid. It was just a school assignment. Just a message.
Except it wasn’t. I wanted him to see it. Not the slides.
Me.
I wanted him to be proud.
To tell me I did good.
To say something soft with that voice he only uses when it’s just us.
I clutched the blanket tighter.
Why did I do this? Why did I care so much?
I opened my phone again.
Still nothing.
Typed: “Sorry if that was weird. Forget I sent it.”
Deleted it.
Typed: “Nvm lol I was just excited.”
Deleted it.
I turned the screen off.
Tried not to think about his face.
The way he’d looked at me in the kitchen. The way he’d held me after the bar.
How close his hands had gotten before he pulled away.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything wrong.
But something changed. I felt it.
And now I couldn’t stop wondering what he was thinking.
If he was lying in bed like me.
Staring at the ceiling.
Wanting to say something. But scared of what it would mean if he did.
I closed my eyes. Whispered into the dark: “Please say something.”
But my phone stayed quiet. So I fell asleep with it in my hand.
And dreamed of a message that never came.
