Going Home

Jules~

The moment Matteo’s car disappears from the university parking lot, I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I let it out slowly and stare at the empty road ahead of me, trying to convince myself that I’m overreacting.

I’m not.

I know Matteo.

I know what that look means, and I know what “We’ll see tonight” means even better. Julia is still inside the rink, Enzo is probably somewhere on the university grounds, and somehow I’m supposed to go back to practice like my life hasn’t just turned into one giant fucking disaster.

I rub both hands over my face and take a deep breath. I need to get through the rest of the day.

That’s all.

I can deal with everything else later. I turn around and head back inside, but I barely make it through the doors before Julia catches up with me. She grabs my arm and lowers her voice, glancing toward the entrance before looking back at me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I force a smile. “I’m just tired.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Considering who just showed up, I basically did.”

She studies me for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but Coach’s whistle cuts through the rink before she can question me again. I’m grateful for the interruption because the last thing I need is Julia asking questions I can’t answer.

I spend the next few hours doing what I always do when I need to disappear from my own thoughts.

I skate. I push myself harder than I should, throwing every ounce of frustration into every movement until my legs ache and my lungs burn. It helps for a while, but eventually even exhaustion can't drown out the thought waiting at the back of my mind.

I have to go home.

By the time practice ends, the sun is already beginning to disappear, and I stand outside the rink with my bag hanging from one shoulder while I stare at my phone.

6:47 p.m.

I could stay somewhere else.

A hotel, maybe.

Or Julia’s place. I could tell her I’m sick and ask if I can crash on her couch. She’d probably say yes without asking too many questions, and for one night I could pretend I don't have a home waiting for me.

But Matteo would know.

He would call and would come looking. Somehow, I know that would make things worse.

So I get on the bus. The entire ride feels longer than usual. I sit beside the window and watch the streets pass by while my fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. Every time the bus stops, I check the time. Every time someone gets on, I look up.

I keep thinking about turning around.

Just getting off somewhere and disappearing for the night but eventually the bus reaches my stop, and I have no choice but to get off. My apartment building comes into view, and my stomach twists.

There’s a car parked outside and it was Matteo’s car.

Of course.

I stop walking for a moment, staring at it from across the street.

He’s already here. I consider turning around, but my phone vibrates in my pocket. I don't even need to look at the screen to know who it is.

I force myself across the street.

The moment I unlock the apartment door, I know he’s awake.

The lights are on. Matteo is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, and the television is playing quietly behind him. He turns his head toward me as I step inside, and his eyes immediately travel over my face before settling on the clock hanging on the wall.

“You're late.”

I close the door carefully behind me. “Practice ran late.”

“You finished practice hours ago.”

I swallow. “I stayed around for a while.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing.”

His jaw tightens. I know I should stop talking, but silence makes him angrier too and I needed to pick a struggle if I wanted to avoid getting hit today.

“I was tired, Matteo. I just needed some time before coming home.”

He stands and I instinctively take a step back as his eyes follow the movement.

“Why are you backing away from me?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You keep saying that.”

He walks toward me, and I can feel my body preparing before my mind even catches up. My shoulders tense, my hands go cold, and every instinct tells me to make myself smaller. Matteo stops directly in front of me.

“Where were you?”

“I told you. Practice.”

“With who?”

“My teammates.”

“Which ones?”

I stare at him.

“Jules.”

“Everyone, Matteo. Coach was there too.”

His hand closes around my arm. The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt yet, but I know better than to pull away.

“You think I'm stupid?”

“No.”

“You’ve been lying to me all day.”

“I haven't.”

His grip tightens, and I wince.

“You disappeared last night, ignored every call I made, showed up late to practice, and then my father appears at your rink while you act like you've seen him before.”

My heart drops.

“I told you, I’ve seen him online.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

The answer comes out too quietly and his expression changes.

“You're making me angry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You always say that after you make a mess.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

He steps closer, and I press my back against the door without meaning to. Matteo notices and gives a humorless laugh.

“Look at you.”

I don't answer.

“Every time you do something wrong, you stand there looking scared and expect me to fix it.”

“I’m not asking you to fix anything.”

“What did you say?”

My throat tightens.

“Nothing.”

He raises his voice. “You think I don't know when you're lying?”

I flinch before he even touches me and it only seems to make him angrier. His hand comes up, and the strike catches the side of my face hard enough to turn my head. For a second, everything goes quiet.

I stare at the floor and I don't fight back because I never fight back. Fighting only makes it last longer.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“You should be.”

My cheek burns, but I keep my eyes down.

“You make everything difficult,” he says. “Do you understand that? I do everything for you, and this is how you repay me.”

I nod.

“I understand.”

“You don't.”

“I do.”

He releases my arm with a shove that makes me stumble against the door.

“You're lucky I love you.”

The words make something inside me go completely numb as he walks past me, grabs his jacket, and heads toward the door.

“Matteo,” I whisper.

He pauses.

“I'm tired. I just want tonight to be quiet.”

He looks over his shoulder.

“Then stop giving me reasons to be angry.”

The door closes behind him. I don't move. I stand there for several seconds, staring at the place where he disappeared, before my legs finally give up and I slide down against the door.

My hands are shaking. I press them between my knees and breathe slowly, trying to get my body under control.

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I've done this before.

I can get through it. Eventually, I force myself upstairs and lock the bedroom door behind me. The bathroom light hurts my eyes when I switch it on, and I stare at myself in the mirror.

There’s already a faint red mark along my cheek.

I touch it carefully and immediately pull my hand away. I turn on the tap and splash cold water over my face, then clean the small split at the corner of my mouth before changing into an old shirt.

Tomorrow will be better and it has to be. I repeat it until the words almost sound believable.

Tomorrow, Matteo will calm down.

Tomorrow, everything will go back to normal. I think to myself as my phone vibrates on the bed. I glance at the screen.

Matteo: Where are you?

I stare at the message without replying and a second notification appears.

Matteo: Don't ignore me.

My thumb hovers over the screen, but I still don't answer. Then another notification appears, and this time my breath catches.

It isn't Matteo.

It's Julia.

Julia: Jules, I don't know what's going on, but I saw your face when you left today. Please tell me you're okay.

I stare at her message for a long time. How was I supposed to fucking answer that?