Chapter47 Letting go is louder than holding on
I stared at the cracked mirror above the sink.
My face wasn't tired.
It was… finished.
And that scared me more than any wound ever had.
Because when you're finished,
you stop looking for ways to escape.
You just wait for the story to close itself.
---
He came into the bathroom without knocking.
Again.
Always like he owned the air around me.
> "You haven't touched your breakfast," he said.
> "I'm not hungry."
> "It's your favorite."
> "So is silence."
He flinched.
Good.
---
I wiped the mirror with my sleeve.
The reflection was still blurry.
Maybe it wasn't the mirror.
Maybe it was me.
Maybe I had stopped being someone the glass could recognize.
---
> "You can't keep doing this," he said suddenly.
"Acting like I'm the villain."
I turned slowly.
> "You're not the villain," I said.
"Villains know what they are. You? You still think you're the protagonist."
---
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Sometimes guilt is louder than confession.
He didn't apologize.
He never really did.
Because he believed feeding me was an apology.
Keeping me alive was forgiveness.
And letting me sleep in his house was love.
---
But I wasn't interested in staying alive if I had to stay silent.
So I spoke.
And this time, my voice didn't shake.
> "The part of me that needed you is gone," I said.
"Now I'm just collecting the parts that you didn't break."
He stared at me like he wanted to cry.
But he wouldn't.
Because men like him only cry when someone's watching.
I didn't look away.
Let him feel it.
Let him drown in it.
---
I walked out of the room.
Not fast. Not slow.
Just… finally.