I Got A Feeling That I Just Can't Erase Novels & Stories

Let her rummage around in my brain and heart. With a sinking feeling, I shook my head. I couldn't do it. No one got that close. Not anymore.

*** Hyacinth *** I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off, like the air around me is thick with uncertainty. My eyes keep flicking back to the screen of the phone, where the memory of those photos lingers, elusive. I swear I saw them, a quick flash of images sent by someone I didn’t recognize—someone who clearly wanted me to see them, only for them to vanish in a heartbeat, as if erased by some invisible hand. But why? Why delete them right away? My heart’s racing a little now, and I find myself scrolling aimlessly, hoping for some explanation that never seems to come.

Everybody knows that soul-crushing, earth-cracking, heart-shattering, feeling. That’s what I’m feeling now, I know I have no right to feel like this but I can’t help it. I did not think he would move on so quickly, I mean it hasn’t even been that long and he just shoved me aside like I’m an old pair of broken and worn-out shoes. My phone bounces from the bed as a tear run down my cheek, my mind is trapped in a maze of confusion and I can’t seem to find the exit.

There was a long pause on the line. “You don’t know what it feels like,” I said quietly. “To hear your Clara say she doesn’t know you.” Mike didn’t interrupt. “It was like… like I got erased,” I continued. “Like I never existed in her life. So yeah. I needed something to shut that off for a minute.” “And what happens when it wears off?” Mike asked. Silence. “You walk into that hospital smelling like alcohol,” Mike went on, “and what do you think that does? To her? To the doctors watching you?”

A tired, hollow sound. "Every person I trusted keeps telling me impossible things." "They're impossible until they happen." I looked out the window. Buildings blurred past, people hurried along sidewalks. None of them knew that somewhere inside this city someone had apparently erased part of me. Someone had taken an entire day from me. Maybe more. I looked back at the photograph. There was something strange. Not obvious, tiny. Something near the edge. I frowned. "Stop." Adrian looked up. "What?" "The picture."

“There is something else.” “What?” “I never stopped having complicated feelings about what happened.” He nodded slowly. “I am not saying I trust him,” I added. “I do not. I am not saying I would go back to him either, because I would not. But what happened between us was not something I could erase just because it ended badly.” “You do not have to erase it.” “I know.” “What exactly did he do?” I hesitated. “I do not want to go into every detail tonight.” “You do not have to.”

I pursued my older sister’s best friend relentlessly for three whole years before she finally agreed to a secret relationship with me. However, after five hidden years together, right as I was preparing to propose, I overheard a conversation between her and her friends. "Your first love is about to return to the country. How do you plan to handle that substitute boyfriend of yours?" "Make sure you have a solid excuse when you break up with him. Don't make it too ugly, or Cora will never forgive you if she finds out her little brother got hurt." After a long silence, she made her decision. "Then I'll just fake amnesia. I'll pretend I forgot the past five years. Since it was a secret relat

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” The cursor blinked at me, accusing, expectant. Every folder, every file I had spent years cultivating, every digital footprint of my existence… it was all about to vanish. Permanently. I gritted my teeth, forcing my trembling hands to type the commands I had rehearsed in my mind for days. “Erase. Delete. Purge. Obliterate.” The idea should have terrified me. It did. But what terrified me more was staying. Staying in a world where every glance, every message, every shared secret with Drake reminded me of what I had lost...and what I could never claim.

What the hell is going to happen now? The water runs hot over my skin, but it doesn’t help. I wash. Again. And again. Until my skin feels raw under my hands—but it doesn’t matter. Because it’s still there. The memory of his touch. The imprint of his hands. The way he felt—still inside me. I stop. It’s useless. This isn’t going anywhere. I let out a quiet breath and straighten. Fine. If I can’t erase it—I ignore it. I get dressed, fix what I can of my appearance, piece myself back together enough to be seen.

What is it about her that claws at something I thought was long buried? I dragged a hand down my face as if that would somehow erase the memory. I need to pull myself together. Fast. But the only problem now is the fact I have no idea how to purge her out of my head. “I’m so fucked…”