Semua Bab Breed Me Raw, Daddy: Bab 81 - Bab 90

The decision to leave didn’t come in a single dramatic moment. It built slowly over the days following my health recovery, like cracks spreading across ice until the surface could no longer hold weight. Lisbon departure was two weeks away. The penthouse, once my sanctuary, now felt like a beautiful cage I had helped design. Every corner held memories of surrender, of intense connection, of the slow erasure of the man I used to be. Aiden sensed the shift. His therapy had sharpened his awareness, and my growing restlessness was impossible to hide. We spent the morning after my successful downtown shoot in quiet conversation on the terrace. The city stretched below us, indifferent to the war inside me. “I need to leave for a while,” I said finally, the words tasting like ash. “Not forever. Not even for Lisbon yet. Just… space. A hotel. Somewhere I can breathe without your schedule, without the routines, without feeling like I exist only in relation to you.” Aiden went very still. The

The separation stretched into its third week, each day layering new shades of grief, clarity, and tentative hope onto the raw wound between us. Lisbon was now ten days away, and the hotel room had started to feel less like neutral ground and more like a cocoon where I was slowly molting out of the skin I had worn for Aiden. Physically, I was the strongest I had been since the collapse. The doctor had cleared me for travel with caveats about stress management. Emotionally, I felt like a half-rebuilt house, foundation reinforced but walls still missing in places. I spent long mornings walking the city with my camera, no schedule dictating when I had to return. One particularly clear day, I took the train to an older neighborhood on the outskirts and shot an entire series on generational contrast: elderly residents on stoops next to new street art, children playing in alleys framed by gleaming high-rises in the distance. The work flowed in a way it hadn’t in nearly a year. For hours, I

The flight to Lisbon had been long and quiet, giving me too much time to think. Three months stretched ahead like an open road after years on a closed track. I landed with a mixture of excitement and bone-deep exhaustion, the kind that came from weeks of separation and self-reckoning. The fellowship apartment was small but bright, overlooking cobblestone streets and the Tagus River in the distance. For the first few days, I threw myself into orientation, workshops, and initial shoots, letting the new city wrap around me like a balm.But Aiden was never far from my mind. Our calls had become shorter but more frequent as the separation settled into something almost sustainable. He sounded steadier, more grounded in his therapy work. I felt clearer, more like myself. Yet the ache remained—a constant pull toward the man who had both broken and rebuilt me.Three weeks into the fellowship, the pull became too strong. I booked a flight back for a long weekend. No dramatic announcement. Just

The new rules looked clean on paper.Living them was messier.The first real test came on the third morning after I returned from Lisbon. I woke early, the new thinner collar still fastened loosely around my throat, and felt the familiar pull toward the studio. Aiden was already awake, sitting against the headboard with his laptop open, reviewing something for the board. When I slipped out of bed and started dressing, his eyes tracked me.In the old days he would have said, “Stay.” Or simply pulled me back under the sheets and reminded me who I belonged to until the thought of leaving evaporated.This time he only watched.“Going to shoot?” he asked.“Yeah. There’s good light in the Meatpacking District this morning. I want to catch it before the crowds.”A silence stretched. I could see the old instinct flicker across his face, the need to know exactly where I would be, how long I would be gone, whether I would come back the moment he called. He closed the laptop with deliberate care

The first real crack in the new rules appeared on a Sunday. I had spent the night at the studio apartment, my third night there since signing the lease, and woke to a string of missed calls from Aiden. Not the old barrage of demands, but five calls over the span of two hours in the early morning, followed by a single text: 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯. 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. I stared at the screen for a long time, heart doing that complicated twist it still hadn’t unlearned. Part of me wanted to feel irritated that he hadn’t managed a full night without reaching out. The larger part recognized the effort it had taken him not to show up at my door. I called. He answered on the first ring. “Kai.” Just my name, rough with sleeplessness. “I’m here,” I said. “I’m okay. I slept. I was working late and turned the phone down.” A long breath crackled across the line. “I figured. I still…