Page 84 of Back to You
Love you.
Love you.
The words ring through the room, through my head, through my entire fucking body. I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving my fists into my hair, fighting the way my whole chest feels like it’s caving in.
This is too much.
This is too fucking much.
She loved me.
She loved me, and she still walked away. Not once—twice.
The screen goes dark, and the silence is deafening. In that moment, I realize—I can't stay here. If I stay, this house will destroy me.
I push up from the bed so fast my vision tilts. I need to move, I need to go. I grab my keys, and I leave.
It’s past midnight when I pull into my sister’s driveway. The house is dark except for the glow from the living room window, I don’t know why I came here.
Maybe because it’s the only place that still feels familiar, or because Analyse is the only person who’s ever been able to read me without me having to say a word. Maybe because I’m so fucking tired of being alone.
I kill the engine and sit there, gripping the steering wheel, my hands still trembling, my body still bracing against something that already hit. I take a slow breath, but it doesn’t help.
Then, the porch light flickers on. I watch through the windshield as Analyse steps onto the porch, arms crossed, brow furrowed. She doesn’t look surprised; I think through some sibling telepathy, she knew I was coming.
I rub a hand down my face, sighing. I don’t have it in me to pretend I’m fine. Not tonight. I open the door, step out, and before I even make it up the steps, she’s pulling me into a hug.
It’s not soft or careful. It’s fierce, tight—a hug only Analyse can give, one that says, I see you, I know you, and you don’t have to say anything. She doesn’t let go for a long time.
When she finally does, she tilts her head toward the house. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
I drop onto the couch, elbows braced on my knees, head hanging forward. Analyse disappears into the kitchen. When she comes back, she hands me a glass of water. I stare at it.
“I was hoping for something stronger,” I mumble.
She sits beside me, pulling a blanket over her legs. “You need water more than you need whiskey.”
I huff a tired breath, dragging a hand through my hair. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
Finally, she sighs, shifting to face me. “You look like hell, Seb.”
I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “I feel worse.”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t tell me to move on, or that she wasn’t worth it. She just waits. The dam breaks.
“I don’t know how to do this.” My voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to live in a world where she doesn’t want me.” Analyse’s expression softens, but she stays quiet.
I shake my head, staring down at my hands. “I thought I could handle it, that I could just… exist without her. But I can’t.” My throat tightens. “I don’t know how to let her go.”
Analyse exhales slowly. “Do you think she really wanted to let you go?”
I swallow, shaking my head. “She made her choice.”
“Did she?” Analyse raises a brow. “Or did she just convince herself she didn’t have another option?”
I don’t respond, deep down, that’s the thing that’s been eating at me the most.
Analyse leans forward, voice quieter now. “Seb, I know you. And I know you don’t give up on the people you love.”
