Invisible String | Lovertation

December 30

I don't know how long I've been sitting here.

Could be minutes. Could be hours. Could be fucking days. It all blends together, a mess of heavy silence and the constant, unbearable weight in my chest.

I can't stop seeing it.

Her.

Him.

The bed.

The way she looked at me, all wide eyes and panic, like she actually thought she could explain her way out of it. Like she wasn't caught. Like I was the one who was confused.

I scoff under my breath, but there's no humor in it. Just bitterness. Just anger.

I dig my palms into my eyes and exhale sharply, trying to shove the thoughts away, but it's fucking useless.

Everything still smells like her.

Vanilla and something soft, something floral. The scent is on my hoodie, my pillows, my fucking skin. It makes me sick.

I should've burned the damn thing the second I got home.

Another breath. Another sharp inhale that doesn't quite make it all the way to my lungs. My fists clench against the fabric of my sweatpants, my nails biting into my palms.

I should sleep. Or eat. Or do anything other than sit here stewing in my own fucking misery. But my body won't move. My brain won't shut the fuck up.

And then—

A knock at the door.

I flinch.

For a second, I think I imagined it.

But then it happens again.

Three sharp knocks.

Louder. More insistent.

I don't move.

Maybe if I ignore it, whoever it is will just fuck off and leave me alone.

But no. Another knock.

Then a voice.

"Rep?"

My stomach twists so fucking fast I feel like I might throw up.

No. No fucking way.

I already know who it is before I even stand up, before I even reach for the door. And for some stupid fucking reason, I still open it.

And there she is.

Lover.

Standing in the dim hallway, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes wide and desperate and fucking shiny.

Like she has the fucking audacity to be sad.

I freeze.

Everything in me goes tight, like a rope being pulled too hard, too fast. Like if she says one fucking word, I'll snap.

I don't think. I just move.

I try to slam the door in her face.

But her hand flies out, pressing against the door, stopping it before it can close.

"Rep—please," she says, her voice breathless, like she ran here.

I push harder. "Get the fuck out."

She doesn't move.

"I just want to talk," she says quickly. "Please. Just—just let me talk."

I laugh. A sharp, broken sound that doesn't feel real.