Romans & histoires When I Try To Walk Away You Hurt Yourself

I even heard them calling my name, but I continued walking away. I’m not mad at Paul; I'm just mad at myself. I don't know, but I'm not ready for his answer because I know it will hurt me again. I'm tired of getting hurt. I'm so done with that feeling.

My gaze inevitably hardened, feeling a little repulsed by the glint of hope in his eyes, not caring about the consequences when it would be me who got hurt in the end. “Stay the fuck away from me”, I said, jogging off in the woods - this time running away from myself.

He shook off my grip, his movement sharp and final, and I watched helplessly as he walked away, leaving me kneeling there, broken and abandoned. The cold floor felt even colder beneath me as his footsteps grew distant. It was as if he was walking away with my heart, leaving an emptiness inside me that I feared would never heal. I wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, but my voice was lost, choked by the pain that gripped my throat.

When I heard the sound of their clothes hitting the ground, I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved my feet with difficulty and walked away without looking back. I walked away from the scene, but my heart still remained on the floor— shattered and alone.

It was bittersweet, and my heart broke all over again when I pulled away. He stood, staring at me, his eyes burning a heartbroken hole into my back. I walked to the door, every part of me hurting, my soul being ripped to shreds by my own words, and opened it. “I don’t want fucking perfect. I want you. Just you.” “I’m sorry,” I whispered one last time before stepping through the doorway. Walking away from pain into pain. Because that was addiction. A never-ending circle of pain and devastation. If you have the object you crave, you hurt.

I’ve been called the monster, devil, the personification of darkness, and yet, here I am breaking at her words. Breaking at the sound of her pain. And as she cries in her pain, my pain kills me too. It kills me enough to walk away. “ You know where to find me,” I murmurs and walked away. Victoria Stephens is right. I am a monster and I tried not to be.

he added and turned away to leave. “Whatever. Such an asshole." I mutter and turn to walk away, but mistakenly hit my leg on a rock and missed my step there by falling down. I winced in pain. I think I sprained my ankle. That dude is not even stopping to help me out. “Hey! Are you going to leave me here like this! I just hurt myself and I don't think I will be able to walk!" I holler. It took him a while to stop and he walked back to me.

he said finally. “That’s a lie.” I snapped. “It’s not.” he retorted, and tried to touch me. “It is,” I insisted, stepping back slightly, needing space, needing distance from the way this was starting to feel too familiar, too dangerous. “Because every time you step in, it pulls me back into something I’m trying to leave.” Something flickered in his eyes then, it disappeared immediately. “And you think walking away fixes it?” he asked. “Yes,” I said immediately.

I close the door and slide down against it, chest heaving. Stopping felt worse. Because now I know exactly what I’m risking. And exactly how much it would hurt to walk away. The page doesn’t turn yet. But it’s about to.

I say over my shoulder, throwing the words like daggers. I walk away, leaving Silas on the floor. Does it hurt to walk away? Yes. I know that ache all too well. The burning, twisting guilt. The helplessness. He did it to me because of Beatrice and now I'm doing it to him for the very same reason. Let him stew. Let him drown in his mistake the way I did.