Page 87 of Glass Jawed
My reaction was instantaneous and violent. I flinched so hard my laptop slid off my lap and landed on the floor with a dull thunk. I didn’t even care. I grabbed my phone with both hands like it might disintegrate if I didn’t hold it properly.
I messaged her back. Simple. Respectful. Then I just sat there. Frozen. Staring at the wall.
Thinking. Planning.Processing.
I’d spent the past few weeks learning how to do that. How to sit with emotion rather than drown in it. How togaugemyreactions instead of letting them drive the bus off a cliff. Therapy twice a week had helped. AA meetings, too.
I wasn’t optimistic about today. But I had to try.
I’d thought about calling Liam—maybe getting his read on things.
But that bridge? Still slightly on fire.
I could still hear the venom in his voice from a couple weeks back.
“You weren’tthere, asshole!” He’d spat. “Iwas the one who held her when she fucking shattered in my arms.Iheld her when you broke her.Iwas the one cleaning up your mess. So don’t just sit there, moping around, saying you need to meet her.Youare the last thing she wants to see.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d taken every word. Let it stab me in the gut because I knew I deserved worse.
Still, I couldn’t not try. I had to send her that one message—no matter how inadequate it felt.
It wasn’t enough, not even close.
There was so much more I wanted to say. To explain.
Which is why now, at 3:55 PM, I’m standing at her building’s front entrance, typing in her buzzer code.
I’ve been sitting in the park nearby for the past hour. Yes—thatpark. Thatsamebench.
The bench that held one of the most painful moments I had ever witnessed.
God, I’mpathetic. Love-sick, patheticmoron.
By the time I reach her floor, I’m sweating through my shirt. My palms are clammy. My pulse is erratic. I’ve rehearsed what I want to say a hundred times, but every word now feels shaky, slippery.
Is this withdrawal jitters?
Or just... the weight of what I’ve done?
Probably both.
I raise my hand and knock.
Three soft raps. Like I’m asking the door to be gentle with me.
And then—she opens it.
And I forget how to breathe. My heart drops to my feet. The urge to join the pitiful organ on the floor is overwhelming.
She’s stillher. Still Rohi. Still beautiful in the way that rewired my brain.
But her eyes...fuck.
They’ve held joy. Tenderness. Playfulness. Lust. And my favorite—that look she’d get seconds before she’d mock me into the next dimension.
What I’ve never witnessed is this look of...nothing.
Just a blank acknowledgment.
