Page 81 of We Can Stay
“I need some space.”
The words hang between us like a diagnosis I don’t want to hear.
“Oh.” It’s all I can manage past the tightness in my throat.
She sighs, and I see how much this is costing her. “I like you, Sebastian. And you’ve been incredible since I told you about thearthritis and the stalker. You’re always checking in, making sure I have what I need, that I’m safe.”
Like.The word stings when what I feel is so much more. But I haven’t told her I love her. Haven’t found the right moment, or maybe I’ve been too scared to make myself that vulnerable.
“But yesterday at the doctor’s office, I realized something.” Her voice wavers. “You’re trying to manage my life, and I can’t... I can’t do that again.”
“I don’t understand.” But even as I say it, I know that’s not true. “I’m trying to support you.”
“No.” She meets my eyes finally, and the pain there takes my breath away. “You’re trying to fix me. When I said I didn’t want to take NSAIDs, you didn’t hear me. You just started listing ways to make taking them easier. Like my decision didn’t matter, just the outcome you’d already decided was best.”
Each word lands like a blow. “That’s not... I didn’t mean...”
“I know you didn’t.” Her arms wrap around herself, a barrier I helped build. “But intent doesn’t change impact. When you do that, I don’t feel heard. I feel like a project. A problem you’re trying to solve.”
The truth of it guts me. All my efforts to help, to make her life easier—I’ve been doing exactly what drove Jessica away. Different circumstances, same pattern. Using action to avoid connection. Fixing instead of feeling.
“Flick, I’m sorry. I had no idea. Can we?—”
“I need space to figure out what I want.” She cuts me off gently but firmly. “We’re both drowning in work anyway. Maybe it’s better to stop now before we get too emotionally involved.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “I’m already emotionally involved. Completely. And I thought you were too.”
I’m in love with you.The words burn in my throat, but saying them now would be manipulation, not confession.
“I’ll check in if and when I’m ready to talk again.” The words sound rehearsed, like she’s been practicing them in the mirror. It’s the same flat tone she used when telling me about her diagnosis—emotional armor against vulnerability.
Which means this is killing her too. She’s choosing to walk away even though it hurts, because staying hurts more.
“Flick, please. Can we talk about this? Work through it together?”
“That’s just it, Sebastian. Not everything needs to be worked through or fixed. Sometimes people just need space to breathe.” She takes a step back, and I see her hands trembling in her pockets. “I’m sorry. I just... I can’t do this right now.”
“Wait.” The desperation in my voice makes her pause. “The ‘if’ in what you just said. Are you saying we might never...”
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracks slightly. “I honestly don’t know. Bye, Sebastian.”
She turns and walks away quickly, each step measured and careful like she’s holding herself together through sheer will. I stand frozen on the sidewalk, watching her disappear around the corner, taking every future I’d imagined with her.
In one conversation, she’s exposed every flaw in how I approach relationships. How I use helping as a shield against real intimacy. How I’d rather research treatments than sit with someone’s pain. How I’ve turned love into a series of problems to solve instead of a person to truly see.
The clinic door opens behind me. “Sebastian? You okay?” Rach’s voice sounds distant.
“Yeah.” The lie comes automatically. “Just need a minute.”
But I don’t take a minute. I go back inside, back to work, back to the one thing I’m good at. Fixing animals is straightforward. Their problems have solutions. Their pain has endpoints.
Unlike the ache in my chest that feels like it might never heal.
The afternoon crawls by. Pixie’s cat is indeed pregnant—no surprise there. Two routine vaccinations. A rabbit with an abscess. Cases that usually center me now feel like I’m moving through thick fog.
“You look terrible,” Rach observes when I emerge from the last appointment.
“Thanks.”
