Chapter 7: Unsteady Ground

The glass in her hands rattled slightly. It wasn’t enough to spill, but enough that I noticed.

“Slow down,” I said quietly. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not—” she started, but then she stopped, as she glanced down at her hands, and a small, almost embarrassed exhale left her.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

I leaned back slightly, studying her. She was trying to hold herself together, that much was obvious. The careful posture, the controlled breathing, and the measured responses. It was deliberate, and completely ineffective.

“Tell me what happened,” I said, as she hesitated. Her fingers tightened around the glass once again.

“I already told you,” she said softly. “I found him.”

“That’s the outcome,” I replied, flatly. “Not what led to it.”

Her brows pulled together slightly, like she couldn’t understand why it mattered, but to me, it did. Details mattered. They always did.

“I… went to surprise him,” she admitted after a moment.

Of course, you did.

I didn’t say that out loud, but internally, the conclusion had already taken form.

When something was unplanned and emotional, it always came with high expectations, and with that, an even higher fall.

“I wasn’t even supposed to go,” she continued, her voice gaining a slight edge, almost defensive. “I told him I wouldn’t. I promised my parents.”

“Yet you went anyway.”

It wasn’t judgment, but an observation, but she still reacted to it.

“I just wanted to do something nice,” she said, as she looked up at me. “Is that so wrong?”

No, but it’s predictable.

I exhaled quietly.

“No,” I said. “It’s not wrong.”

It was just risky, and risks, when unmanaged, lead to exactly that.

“I thought he’d be happy,” she added, quieter than before.

There it was. Expectation. I didn't say anything, I just listened.

“And instead...”

“I got there, and he wasn’t downstairs,” she cut in quickly, like if she kept talking, she wouldn’t have to feel it as much. “Daniel said he went upstairs, and I didn’t think anything of it and I just...”

Her voice faltered, but I didn’t interrupt her.

“I heard her laugh,” she finished, followed by a moment of heavy silence.

“And you still checked,” I said.

She gave a small, broken laugh.

“Yeah. Because apparently I'm an idiot.”

“No,” I said immediately, probably a little too quickly, and too firm because it made her blink at me, clearly surprised by my response.

“That’s not what that means,” I elaborated.

“It kind of feels like it,” she muttered.

I leaned forward slightly, while my gaze locked onto hers.

“It means you trusted him.”

She held my gaze for a second before she looked away again.

“That didn’t work out very well.”

“No,” I agreed. “It didn’t.”

The Real Wound

Silence settled once again, but this time, it was different. It was closer, and more contained.

“Can I ask you something?” She said softly, which made me adjust my position.

“You just did.”

Despite everything, the corner of her mouth slightly lifted, just barely.

“Why are you like this?”

That question made me raise a brow.

“Like what?”

“So... Calm,” she replied. “Like nothing surprises you.”

Because nothing should.

Because control prevents that.

Because I don’t allow situations where I’m unprepared.

“Experience,” I answered simply, while she studied me like she didn’t really believe that was the full truth, and to be honest it wasn’t, but it was enough.

“I don’t like this,” she said suddenly.

“This?”

“This feeling,” she gestured vaguely toward herself. “Like I’m not enough.”

There it was again. The actual problem.

“That’s not a feeling,” I said. “That’s a conclusion.”

My answer made her frown.

“What’s the difference?”

“One is emotional,” I explained. “The other is a decision.”

“And I decided that?” she asked, clearly unconvinced.

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as she seemed slightly offended by my statement, but I wasn’t going to change my statement.

“That seems unfair.”

“It’s accurate.”

My answer made her let out a quiet, frustrated breath.

“He chose her.”

“And you’re assigning meaning to that choice,” I countered back.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Not internalize it.

That was what I wanted to say, but I didn’t say it, not like that at least.

Instead, I decided to rephrase it.

“You’re supposed to recognize that his decision reflects him,” I said, more measured. “Not you.”

She looked at me like she wanted to believe me, but she clearly didn’t.

Too Close

She shifted slightly on the couch, carefully moving closer.

I didn’t really remember her deciding to move, or maybe I did, but chose not to acknowledge it.

“Does it ever stop?” She asked quietly, as she looked at her hands.

“What?”

“Hurt like this.”

I paused, weighing my words carefully.

“Yes,” I replied.

“How?”

Time - Distance -Control.

Those were the first words that came to my mind, but none of those would be helpful to her. I knew that already.

“You stop giving the person who caused it the ability to define how you feel,” I said instead, as she watched me carefully.

“Do you do that?”

“Yes,” I replied instantly.

Always, without exception.

“And it works?”

“Yes.”

There was a short pause, before she spoke again.

“I don’t think I want to be like that.”

That wasn’t the answer I expected. I tilted my head slightly, as I observed her.

“Why not?”

“Because it sounds lonely,” she said simply, but the answer landed harder than it should have, because it wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t respond immediately, which she noticed.

“You didn’t answer,” she said softly, as I looked at her again.

“I don’t need to,” I replied.

“Because I’m right?”

Because you’re observant.

Because you’re saying things, I don’t usually allow people to say.

Because you’re making this... Uncomfortable.

“Yes,” I said finally.

The Pull

Julia had moved closer. She was close enough that I could see the slight redness around her eyes, the uneven way she breathed when she was trying not to cry again, and close enough that I should have moved away. Created the much-needed space to reestablish distance, but for some reason I didn’t.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked again, softer than before. The question lingered, because I still didn’t have a clean answer to that.

“I’m being reasonable,” I corrected.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” I agreed.

“It feels different,” she said.

That word again — Feels.

I should’ve redirected it. Shifted the conversation. Created boundaries, but instead, I continued to push forward, like I had no clue what was happening.

“How?” I asked, and for a short moment she hesitated, before she finally answered.

“Like you actually care.”

That right there, should have been a warning, a sign for me, that the situation was becoming a problem.

Because I did – I cared, and that was not something I was used to doing that quickly, or that strongly... Or at all.

“You’re in my house,” I said, choosing control over honesty. “That makes it my concern.”

She watched me carefully, like she knew that wasn’t all of it, but she let it go.

“Can I ask you something else?” she said.

“You don’t seem like the type to wait for permission,” I commented, and once again, a faint smile was hinted. Small, but real.

“Have you ever... Done something you knew was a bad idea?”

Yes, I’m doing it right now.

“Of course,” I said.

“Did you regret it?”

“Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

I held her gaze, as the answer formed before I could filter it.

“No.”

It slipped out, as her breath caught slightly, and I realized too late that the tone had shifted.