Juliana’s Point Of View
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees, head bowed like I was in prayer, except there was no god listening. Just the soft, hollow sound of my own breathing, echoing back to me in a room that felt too big, too empty.
For weeks now, I hadn’t slept. Couldn’t.
Not properly.
When I did, her face always came back to me, eyes wide, lips trembling, voice breaking as she called my name one last time before they dragged her away.
Pathetic.
I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached, until I could feel the dull pounding behind my eyes threatening to break loose into something violent.
“I didn’t even love her,” I muttered. “She was weak. Always was.” My hands fisted against my knees. “She was in the way. A distraction. I had bigger things planned, better things.”
And yet… And yet I could still see her in the back of my eyelids every time I blinked. That soft, broken expression when I told her I didn’t want her. That hollow look when I spoke the rejection aloud
