Within Amelia's Mind

Amelia didn't sleep.

Her mind was racing—reliving everything that had happened, trying to make sense of it all, but the more she thought, the more tangled the thoughts became. Her body was physically exhausted, but her mind wouldn't let her rest. She couldn't shake the feeling that the moment of peace, that brief connection with Ryan, had been nothing more than a fragile illusion.

The next morning came too soon. The sunlight streamed through the window, too bright, too painful, and Amelia groaned, pulling the covers over her head to block it out.

But it was pointless. She had to face it.

She had to face everything.

Derek was already up when she made her way downstairs, the smell of coffee heavy in the air. He was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a stack of papers, his expression unreadable. The tension from last night still hung between them, a quiet reminder of all the things unsaid.

"Morning," he said without looking up. His voice was neutral, but there was something behind it—something that told Amelia he wasn't done with the conversation they had started.

"Morning," she muttered, not meeting his gaze.

She grabbed a mug from the cabinet, pouring herself a cup of coffee, her hands shaking just slightly.

"So," Derek began, his voice softer this time. "You want to talk about last night?"

Amelia froze, the mug halfway to her lips.

"No," she said quickly, a little too quickly. "Not right now."

Derek's gaze finally lifted from the papers, locking onto her with an intensity that made her stomach twist. "Amelia..."

"I'm fine," she lied.

Derek didn't say anything for a moment, studying her like he was trying to figure out what was going on behind her eyes. It made her uncomfortable, like she was being peeled open for all to see. But she couldn't let him see—couldn't let anyone see how broken she was inside.

"You're not fine," he said finally, his voice a little softer now. "You've been running from everything for so long, and I'm not going to just let you destroy yourself."

Amelia's heart hammered in her chest, a rush of panic pushing its way up her throat. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight. She needed to get out of here—out of this house, away from the expectations, the pressure, the damn conversations she didn't want to have.

"I need some air," she blurted out.

Without waiting for a response, she pushed past Derek and rushed out the door. The cool morning air hit her face like a slap, but it didn't feel real. Nothing did.

She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care. All that mattered was that she was moving, her feet hitting the pavement with a steady rhythm as her mind spun further out of control.

She found herself walking down the same alleyways, the same streets she had walked a million times before, but this time, everything felt different. There was a heaviness in her chest that wasn't there before, a dark weight pressing against her ribs with every step.

She needed to do something. She needed to feel something—anything to stop the spiraling.

It didn't take long before she found herself standing outside a small bar on the corner, the neon sign flickering weakly in the early morning light. Her pulse quickened, and without thinking, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The place was mostly empty, the only sounds the clink of glasses and the low murmur of voices. She spotted the bartender, a guy she vaguely recognized from around town, and walked up to the counter without hesitation.

"What'll it be?" he asked, a casual smile on his face.

"I'll have something strong," Amelia said, not even bothering to hide the edge in her voice.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but didn't question her. He slid a glass across the bar.

She grabbed it, downing it in one gulp. The burn felt good, sharp and real.

She needed more.

"You want another?" the bartender asked, eyeing her warily.

Amelia didn't even hesitate this time. "Yeah."

As she took the second drink, she felt the familiar fog settle in, the edges of her mind blurring just enough to dull the sharpness of her thoughts. It wasn't a fix, it wasn't even a solution—it was just a way to keep the noise from overwhelming her.

For a moment, everything felt quiet.

But that quiet didn't last long.

The door swung open behind her, and she didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Ryan.

She didn't know why, but the sight of him made her heart skip a beat. It wasn't guilt, not exactly. It was something else—a strange mix of gratitude and confusion. He made it seem so easy, like he knew how to just be.

She didn't know how to just be.

He spotted her at the bar and made his way over, his gaze flicking to the empty glass in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.

Amelia forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "I'm fine. Just needed a drink."

Ryan didn't buy it. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying her with those steady eyes that always seemed to see through her defenses. "You don't have to pretend with me, Mia."

For the first time that day, her carefully built walls began to crack.

"I don't know how to stop, Ryan," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the bar.

Ryan's expression softened, his gaze never leaving hers. "You don't have to stop everything right now. Just take a breath. You don't have to do it alone."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that there was still a way out of this mess she had made of her life.

But somewhere deep down, Amelia knew it wasn't that simple.

Nothing ever was.