The state I'm in COMPLETED

Desolation

Broken. Broken. Broken.

That was all I knew.

I stepped into my room, kicked off my heels, and headed straight to the shower. The cool water did nothing to soothe the burning in my chest. I splashed my face, leaned against the sink, and stared at my reflection. My eyes were swollen, my face pale, the truth etched across every exhausted feature—I was a mess.

One day, I was wrapped in Harry's arms, pampered by his attention, tangled in white sheets after a couple's massage in one of the most luxurious hotels. The next, I was standing in a club, watching him with another woman, his hands roaming over someone else's body, his lips whispering words that used to be mine. And he didn't care—didn't even care that our friends, my co-workers, could all see.

If it had been just a ploy to make me jealous, he wouldn't have left with her. But he did.

I changed into an oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling as if I could find answers in the cracks. They say when you're happy, you enjoy the music, and when you're broken, you understand the lyrics. That night, every song felt like a personal attack.

My stomach twisted. The thought of him—his hands, his mouth, his body—on someone else made me sick.

I barely made it to the bathroom before my stomach emptied itself, violent sobs shaking my body as I clutched the porcelain. When there was nothing left, I rinsed my mouth, splashed my face, and avoided the mirror.

Back in bed, I curled up, pulling the covers tight over me. Thank God I hadn't woken Rose. I just needed this night to end. Maybe in the morning, it wouldn't hurt as much.

I closed my eyes, silent tears slipping down my face.

Then I felt it—warmth beside me. A body shifting under the covers.

I froze.

"I couldn't do it."

His voice was low, raspy, wrecked. He was lying next to me, staring at the ceiling, just like I had been.

"I couldn't go through with it."

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

"Val, I'm sorry."

I turned my head, my vision blurred with tears.

"Why?" My voice was barely above a whisper. "We're not together. You can do whatever you want."

"Stop saying that, Val." His voice cracked. "Stop saying that."

"I didn't. You did. You decided for both of us."

He exhaled sharply, frustration evident. "Jesus, what do you want from me?"

"Nothing."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Why did you pay our bill?"

I didn't answer.

"I thought Pete covered it. When I asked him, he thought it was me. Then I realized—it was you. Of course, it was you."

I turned away, my back to him.

His fingers trailed down my spine before resting gently on my hip.

"You saw me with her... and you still paid for our drinks. Why?"

I swallowed hard. "I think you should go."

"Do you really want me to?" His voice was barely above a whisper.