Crumbling

I let out a slow breath, watching it dissolve into the cold air. I glance to the side; a hint of uncertainty flits across my face before I can stop it.

Enough that he notices.

His shoulders shift. Like he’s bracing himself. Why doesn't he just say what he wants? Why do I have to drag everything out of him?

“For someone who ‘can’t’, you're pretty persistent,” I say quietly. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

He looks past me, out toward the city. Like he’d find the answer somewhere out there buried in all those flickering lights.

“It’s not that simple.”

That sounds condescending. I don't like it when he treats me like a child who needs to be shielded from unpleasant truths.

I snort. “From where I’m standing, it looks pretty simple. You see someone, you want them, you take them… and that’s it.”

Why don't you want me? I think, but don't say it out loud.

He shakes his head. “That’s not how it works.”

“No?” I tilt my head. “Then why does it seem exactly like that?”

Silence.

This tightness in my chest sharpens. I understand; it would be a mistake to keep pressuring him.

I should stop.

I can almost see the moment where this turns into something I can’t take back. Like standing too close to an edge and pretending I’m not aware of the drop.

The cliff’s right behind me.

Still, I don’t move away.

My gaze stays locked on his. I’m daring him to make the first move. Toward me—or away from me. To finally get things straight.

“Sina…”

“What?” I cut in. “You said you can’t. That’s not the same as you don’t want to.”

My heart is beating too fast. I can feel it in my throat, in my fingers. My knees are trembling.

There’s a flicker of clarity, uncomfortable and sharp: This isn’t about him.

It’s about the way my mom doesn’t even try and still gets him. The way Kathy looked when she sucked him. The way I stood there, hidden, watching like I wasn’t part of their world.

Like I didn’t matter.

It made me feel insignificant and overlooked.

“Am I not worth your time?” No sarcasm this time. I just have to know.

No answer.

I lift my chin, refusing to break eye contact.

His jaw tightens, and I can see the conflict under the surface now. He's struggling internally.

Still holding back.

He is a storm about to break.

Suddenly I’m not sure what I want him to do. My confidence is starting to crack. Something in me wavers. I take a step back. It’s only a small movement. Gravel scrapes under my feet.

I scream before I understand what’s happening.

Weightlessness.

Then he’s there.

Fast.

He pulls me back hard enough that I stumble into him.

Rocks break away behind me, clattering down into the dark.

He holds me close, so tight and so hard that I can feel the heat of him, the rise and fall of his chest.

My own heart is racing, and I realize I’m covered in sweat.

“I’ve got you,” he says, low.

His arms wrap around me as if he never wants to let me go.

Something has changed.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I lean against him. He is tall and strong—an anchor I can hold on to.

The wind picks up again, colder now, rushing past us, tugging at my jacket, my hair. The city lights flicker below us, distant, unperturbed.

I exhale slowly as I understand: I’m not standing at the edge.

I’ve already leaned over it.

Am I falling?