I try not to notice.
I really do.
But I can't help it.
The difference.
The absence.
The silence where he used to be.
Because I remember him.
Not just who he is—
but how he was with me.
The way Zane held me that night in the garden, like the world had narrowed down to just us. The way his hand felt against my waist—firm, steady, like I wasn't allowed to slip away.
The way he kissed me—
like he meant it.
Not for show.
Not for power.
Not for a deal.
Like it was real.
And then—
the way he held me when I got shot.
Like nothing else existed.
Like I wasn't allowed to fall.
Like he wouldn't let me.
That version of him…
feels so close in my memory.
And yet—
so far from where we are now.
Because now—
all I see is distance.
Zade comes.
Annoying, loud, impossible to ignore. He talks too much, jokes too easily, acts like this hospital room is just another place to hang out.
But he watches me.
Carefully.
Like he's carrying someone else's concern in his eyes.
His mother comes sometimes.
Soft.
Gentle.
Bringing flowers that don't belong in a place like this. She talks to me like I'm already part of something I haven't agreed to yet.
Even his grandfather came once.
Looked at me like I was part of a problem he intends to fix.
But Zane—
doesn't.
At least not when I'm awake.
Not when I can see him.
Not when I can ask him why.
And I hate that it bothers me.
More than the pain.
More than the slow healing.
More than the endless quiet of this room.
I exhale sharply, shifting slightly on the bed.
The movement pulls at my wound, a dull ache spreading through my side, but I ignore it.
This place—
it's suffocating.
The sterile walls.
The constant beeping.
The way time doesn't move properly here.
It feels like I've been stuck in the same moment for days.
Like I'm not living—
just… waiting.
For what, I don't even know.
My gaze drifts toward the couch.
Adrian is there.
Of course he is.
Laptop open, eyes focused, posture tense even when he's pretending to work.
He hasn't relaxed once this entire week.
Not really.
Even now, his attention flickers toward me every few seconds, like he doesn't trust anything in this room not to fail again.
I stare at him for a moment.
Then—
"I'm fine."
He doesn't look up.
Of course he doesn't.
He already knows where this is going.
"I'm fine," I repeat, louder this time.
Still nothing.
My irritation spikes.
"Why aren't the doctors discharging me?" I snap, sitting up slightly before the pain reminds me that's a bad idea.
I ignore it anyway.
"I want to go home."
The words come out sharper than I intended.
Louder.
Less controlled.
Not like me.
More like—
a kid stuck somewhere she doesn't want to be.
Adrian finally looks up.
Slowly.
Too calmly.
"No."
Just one word.
Flat.
Final.
My eyes narrow immediately.
"What do you mean no?"
"You're not ready," he says, turning his attention back to the screen like the conversation is already over.
That only makes it worse.
"I've been here for a week," I argue. "I can walk, I can breathe, I'm not dying—what else do they want?"
He doesn't respond.
That silence—
it pushes something in me.
Frustration.
Something deeper.
Something I don't want to name.
"Or is it not the doctors?" I say, my voice quieter now—but sharper. "Is it you?"
That gets his attention.
His eyes lift again.
Cold.
Measured.
"Don't start," he says.
"I'm not starting anything," I shoot back. "I just want to understand why I'm being treated like I'll break if I step outside this room."
"You almost did," he says.
The words hit harder than they should.
For a second—
I don't have a response.
Because he's not wrong.
But that doesn't make this easier.
I look away, jaw tightening.
"I'm not weak," I say quietly.
"I didn't say you were."
"Then stop treating me like I am."
Silence again.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
And then—
before I can stop myself—
"Or is this about him?"
The words slip out.
Too fast.
Too honest.
Adrian's expression doesn't change immediately.
But I see it.
The shift.
Small.
But real.
"Zane has nothing to do with this," he says.
I let out a small, humorless laugh.
"Really?"
My eyes meet his again.
"Because he's been very involved in everything else."
That lands.
Adrian doesn't respond right away.
And that—
that tells me enough.
I swallow slightly, looking away again, my voice softer now.
"He hasn't come to see me."
Not properly.
Not like before.
Not like I expected him to.
The room feels quieter after that.
Adrian closes his laptop slowly, setting it aside.
"He's here," he says.
I frown slightly. "What?"
"He comes," Adrian repeats. "You just don't see him."
My chest tightens slightly at that.
I don't like the way that sounds.
"Why?" I ask.
Adrian watches me for a moment, like he's deciding how much to say.
Then—
"Because people are watching," he says.
A pause.
"And because right now, you're the easiest way to get to him."
The words settle slowly.
He's protecting me.
By staying away.
The logic makes sense.
Of course it does.
This is our world.
This is how things work.
Distance.
Control.
Strategy.
And yet—
it still feels wrong.
I look down at my hands, fingers tightening slightly against the blanket.
"So I'm just supposed to… what?" I murmur. "Pretend none of that happened?"
The garden.
The kiss.
The way he looked at me.
The way he held me.
The way everything felt like it meant something.
Adrian doesn't answer immediately.
Because there isn't a simple answer.
"There are bigger things happening," he says finally.
Of course there are.
There always are.
I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the pillows.
The room feels just as suffocating as before.
Maybe more.
Because now I understand.
And somehow—
that makes it worse.
"Great," I whisper.
"Love that for me."
Adrian almost smiles at that.
Almost.
But it doesn't reach his eyes.
Nothing does anymore.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle again.
Letting the weight of everything press down where I can't escape it.
Zane is here.
But not with me.
He's protecting me.
By staying away.
And I—
I don't know if I hate that…
or if I hate how much it affects me.
Either way—
I'm still here.
Still healing.
Still waiting.
And I'm starting to realize—
waiting might be the hardest part of all.