Subdue-X

Gasoline On A Fire

Christian stormed into the room like a gust of rage, his footsteps puncturing the air, but I didn’t flinch. I remained seated on the couch, my gaze fixed ahead, almost willing myself to ignore the crackling energy that followed him. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my skull, searching for something—anything. But I wasn’t offering him that today.

"I'm surprised you're still here." His voice was dark, almost mocking, like the weight of my presence irritated him.

I barely blinked, my voice cold and steady. "And if I wasn't?"

The silence hung between us, thick and loaded. His hesitation lingered before he finally answered, "It would be what it would be."

His words were like a noose tightening around my throat, choking out any logical response. I felt them settle over me, casting a shadow on every last bit of resolve I had left. My eyes slowly turned to meet his, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade.

"I assume you want me to leave," I said, rising to my feet deliberately slow, as if to say, I don’t need your permission. I didn’t, and he knew it.

Christian scoffed, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. His eyes flicked over me before he muttered, "I don't know what I want."

I froze mid-step, his words digging into my spine. A bitter laugh almost bubbled up from my throat. I pivoted, my eyes narrowing on him. "Christian, what are we?" The question came out sharp, like the strike of an axe, splitting the room in two.

His phone blinked, distracting him, but I wasn’t done. He glanced down, scrolling through the flood of texts that clearly meant more to him than whatever we were. His face was unreadable, that cool mask of his still firmly in place. "Why bother asking that now?" He started, his tone dismissive. "Who knows how long you’ll be—"

I finished the sentence for him in my mind. Alive. It twisted inside me like a knife. His unfinished words were a death sentence he didn’t even have the guts to say out loud.

I stared at him, my jaw clenched. “I didn’t think it would hurt to figure it out before I’m dead.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, the bitterness curling around every syllable. "Pin told me to make a list of good. I thought figuring us out would’ve been the first good thing to add to that list."

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, each beat a hollow reminder of everything that had already crumbled between us. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands, feeling small in that moment, like a child who couldn’t navigate the vast hallways of a school they didn’t belong in.

Had I become meaningless to him? Had I been reduced to just another burden—something to be discarded, like a check with no value? I couldn’t remember the last time he looked at me like I mattered, like I was anything more than a shadow.

Not three minutes ago, I had imagined us laughing together—really laughing, like we used to when something, for once, actually went right. But those moments were a distant memory, locked in a past where things could still feel good.

Now, his gaze wandered around the room like he was bored of this conversation—bored of me. The light from the sunset bled through the windows, painting everything in hues of pink and orange, but it was a poor disguise for the cold, lifeless reality we were standing in.

I took a step back, the weight of the room pressing down on me, suffocating. I wanted to tell him I still loved him, even now, even when I shouldn’t. I still wanted him around, even when I hated him for what he’d become. But what was the point? It was like trying to plant flowers in scorched earth.

His bloodshot eyes finally landed back on me, but there was no warmth in them, no recognition of the love we once shared. He picked up his phone, and before answering it, he glanced at me one last time. “Your list can wait.”