Page 57 of Midnight Between Us
And maybe that’s what undoes me now.
She looked at me and loved me anyway.Not blindly.Not without frustration.But wholly.Like I was someone worth fighting for.Someone she could hold in the dark without recoiling.Someone who could be more.
I wasn’t.I’m still not sure I am.Probably never will be.But now ...
Now, I’d trade every scar on my body, every broken piece of me, just to see her look at me like she used to.
One more second of that expression that made me feel like I belonged to something good.
One more glance where her eyes softened like I hadn’t ruined everything.
One more breath where she allows me to believe—for the briefest, most beautiful lie—that I could be enough for her.
And for what?
Why the hell do I need that?
I don’t need anyone’s permission to exist.I’ve survived this long with grit and silence.Love doesn’t keep people alive—if it did, I wouldn’t be the last man standing.I learned to live on my terms.Alone has always been easier.
Still ...I can’t sit in this damn house for another minute.
I push through the screen door and let it slap shut behind me.The clap of it cracks through the still morning like it’s announcing something, though there’s no one around to hear it.
The air outside is thick, sun-warmed, and lazy, clinging to my skin like sap.Somewhere in the trees, insects are droning.The lake down below shimmers like spilled glass, and pale light stretches across its surface.You can smell the pine in the heat—earthy, green, alive.A summer breeze stirs just enough to brush against my neck and remind me I’m still here.
I follow the stone path that curves past the house, taking careful steps.Last time I did this, it was under orders.Two days ago, when the therapist said I needed to build stamina, her voice had that clinical lilt to it—measured, distant, like she wasn’t talking to a person, just reading off a checklist.
Today, I’m doing it because I don’t know what else to do with myself.
The stones are uneven, and my muscles still ache when I shift incorrectly, but I welcome it.Every stretch and pull are proof that I’m not trapped in that bed anymore.That I can still move.Still choose.Even if everything that ever mattered has already walked away.
I tell myself I’m walking for strength.For discipline.For the part of me that wants to recover and not rely on anyone because that’s not who I am.The only person I can trust to get shit done, including keeping me alive, is myself.
But really, I think I’m looking for her.
Maybe it’s something as simple as finding a trace of her on the path she used to take.At least, that’s what I imagine she’s done while living here.She’d sometimes go down toward the lake around midnight with a blanket and read a book.Is it stupid that I still believe we meet at midnight, even while apart?
Probably.I’m delusional, though no one should blame me.Delusion is what kept me alive while I was trying to figure out a way to make a name for myself.
Maybe today, I’m just trying to remember what it felt like to be loved.
The water’s quiet.Still.But it doesn’t give me peace.
It reminds me too much of her.
Of all the nights we spent by lakes like this one.Birchwood Springs is practically made of water and regret.Somehow, the regret feels like mine alone.
I sit on the edge of the dock, brace my hands behind me, and breathe.
That night—three days ago—I haven’t stopped thinking about it.The sound of her voice when she said, “I can’t afford to remember any of it.”The way she bolted.Probably afraid of what she might say next or what I would do.
I keep turning it over.If I replay it enough, I might unlock something that changes everything.But the only thing it does is remind me how badly I fucked up.
Because I did fucking love her.
I still do.
And I didn’t say it then—not when it would’ve mattered—and now it’s definitely too late.
