Connection | 18+

ETHAN:

   I shouldn’t be here. 

   The thought churns in my head as I steer my car through the narrow streets leading to Olivia's place. I’ve never been the type to hover, to care about anyone outside the tight circle of my family. Hell, despite spending countless hours in Daniel’s presence, I’ve never shared a damn thing about my family with him, nor do they know a single thing about him.

   I’ve always kept my life private—separate. Compartmentalized. I’ve built my entire existence around keeping people at arm’s length. 

   But then there’s Olivia—chaotic, rude, sharp-tongued Olivia—and for some absurd reason I can’t explain, I find myself breaking my own rules. Telling her things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. Like talking about my parents. Or admitting, out loud, that I wanted her to succeed. 

   Or maybe the most absurd of all—showing up uninvited. 

   It’s not just a concern; it’s something deeper, more unsettling. A gnawing, unrelenting need to make sure she’s okay. That she hasn’t done something reckless—or worse. The memory of her face—defiant, yet dangerously close to shattering—sticks with me, gripping my thoughts like a vice.

   I wanted to take her to the nutritionist after she’d eaten— two days ago, to keep things on track, but I stopped myself. She already looked too overwhelmed, like one wrong move could push her over the edge. And for reasons I can’t quite name, the idea of being the one to push her—whether intentionally or not—makes my chest feel too tight.

   I grip the wheel tighter, trying to shake off the irritation bubbling under the surface. She’s a grown woman. It’s not my job to fix her or drag her out of whatever dark pit she’s determined to throw herself into. 

   But that doesn’t stop me from pulling into her building's driveway. 

   It feels unnatural, this level of concern. Like I’ve stepped out of my own skin and into someone else’s. Someone weaker, more susceptible to... what? Guilt? Sympathy? No. Those don’t fit. This is something else entirely, something I can’t name, and I hate it. 

   I unlock the door as if walking into my own place and step inside without knocking, ignoring the fleeting notion of politeness. The thought of entering her space uninvited lingers for a moment, but something in me resists. That darker part of myself, the one she stirs so effortlessly, craves to see her unguarded. To catch her in her rawest, most unfiltered state—no walls, no biting words, just the truth of who she is when she’s alone.

   It’s selfish, maybe even cruel, but the pull is undeniable. And as much as I hate to admit it, part of me relishes the idea of witnessing what she doesn’t show the world.

   She pretends to be the picture of composure—organized, polished, and sound-minded. But I know the truth. I know that beneath the surface lies chaos she can barely keep tethered. It’s not just the snarky remarks or the fire she spits at everyone around her; it’s the cracks I see when she thinks no one’s looking. The way her hands tremble when she’s fighting herself. The emptiness in her eyes she tries to hide behind sharp words and feigns indifference. 

   She’s the opposite of what people think—what Daniel thinks—, and for reasons I can’t explain, I’m the one who sees it. Or maybe I'm the one she lets see.

   Or maybe that is all just in my head.

   I enter unannounced, like a thief, and the sight of her almost knocks the air out of my lungs.