Page 143 of When the Storm Breaks
I can’t take it.
I start pacing, back and forth, energy clawing beneath my skin. My thoughts slam into each other, tangled and desperate, chasing words that won’t come.
There’s too much to say, and none of it feels like enough.
She watches me, unmoving. Her face gives nothing away. Just a single nod. No expression. No forgiveness.
She’s making me earn it.
Frustration claws at my ribs. I rake a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Calla tilts her head slightly, her voice quiet but unwavering. “Try anywhere.”
It wrecks me—but I’m proud of her. For standing her ground. For not letting me off easy.
But fuck, it’s killing me to see her like this. So stiff. So guarded. Like she’s bracing for impact. Or worse—like she’s already halfwayout the door.
Her voice drops, frayed at the edges. “Why did you leave, Haiyden?”
I let out a long breath, shaking my head at how pathetic the truth sounds—even to me.
“Because I didn’t know what to do,” I admit. “And I just—”
My fingers flex at my sides before curling into fists.
“I keep throwing more shit on your plate. More for you to deal with. And it’s not fair to you.”
My throat tightens.
“I felt guilty, Calla. I couldn’t handle my own shit, so I dumped it on you. You were already grieving—and I made it worse.”
Her lips part slightly, like she’s letting the words settle, testing their weight. But her expression hardens, jaw tight, shoulders squared.
“So what?” she says, something bitter winding through her voice. “You thought running away would make me feel better? That leaving me alone in my apartment for a week was going to somehowhelp?”
I grind my teeth, shame threading through the exhaustion.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I admit. “I thought…”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out.
“I thought if I walked away, maybe you’d be better off. That if I left, I could stop hurting you.”
She steps forward—not much, but enough to make the space between us feel thinner.
“And now?” she asks, quieter this time.
I stop pacing. I stop everything. I look at her—standing so close but still feeling miles away—and I tell her the truth.
Or, at least, as much of the truth as I can manage.
“Now I know I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”
Her eyes search my face, but she doesn’t back down.
“And Tyler?” The question cuts clean, like she already knows there’s more.
The words knock something loose in my chest. I exhale slow, jaw clenched.
