EIGHTEEN || SEVENTEEN spin off ||

Chapter Seven || Confession

Staring at her through the mirror, I'm confronted with a version of Nat that I scarcely recognize. The image before me is a stark departure from the girl I once knew. Her dark under-eye circles suggest sleepless nights, and her choice of attire, so different from her usual wardrobe, hints at a shift in her self-presentation. The absence of eyeliner and mascara reveals a vulnerability that I've never seen in her before.

In this moment, a whirlwind of emotions engulfs me. The raw hurt of betrayal mingles with a deep yearning to understand what led to this point. It's as if my heart is caught in a tug of war between wanting to demand answers and wishing to avoid any interaction with the person who has caused me pain.

Memories of our shared moments flood my mind - the laughter, the inside jokes, the plans for the future. It's a painful contrast to witness the person who was once so intertwined with my life now standing as a stranger in the mirror. The weight of unanswered questions bears down on me, urging me to break the silence and seek clarity.

Our eyes meet in the mirror, a tense and charged connection that seems to bridge the gap between us despite the physical distance. As she approaches, a reflexive instinct propels me backward until the cold, unyielding wall presses against my back. The physical space mirrors the emotional chasm that has opened up between us.

Her words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken apologies and regrets. "I miss you," she utters, her voice a fragile plea that tugs at the remnants of my affection for her. It's a sentiment that resonates deeply within me, a reminder of the shared moments and the genuine bond we once had. I'm momentarily tempted to let my guard down, to embrace the familiarity of her presence.

But then reality resounds like a warning bell in my mind. The pain, the shock, and the shattered trust rush back, drowning out the nostalgia. I gather the shards of my broken heart and find my voice, a mix of bitterness and sadness coloring my words. "Maybe you should've thought about that before you cheated on me," I retort, the words laced with a blend of anger and hurt.

As she attempts to speak, a torrent of thoughts floods my mind, each wave crashing against the fragile wall of my emotions. "I didn-" She begins. I can feel my heart racing, my pulse quickening as I grapple with the flood of conflicting feelings. Anger, sadness, a desperate longing for answers - they all collide within me, vying for my attention.

"If you didn't, then what was that back at the party?" My words cut through the air, a mixture of accusation and disbelief. It's a question that demands an explanation, a justification for the pain that has consumed me.

Seeing her about to respond, I decide to seize control of the conversation. I can't bear the thought of another devastating revelation, another layer of deception that might unravel before me. "Actually, don't tell me, I don't want to know if you never liked me or that you just used me so you didn't mean like such a burnout." I interject, my voice laced with a combination of vulnerability and self-preservation. The fear of hearing her words crush me, of discovering that our connection was built on a lie, is almost too much to bear.

In that moment, a flicker of empathy washes over me as I witness the hurt etch itself onto her face. Regret whispers at the edges of my consciousness, but it's quickly drowned out by the overpowering sense of betrayal. She needs to know the impact of her actions, the depth of the wounds she's inflicted upon my heart.

"I really like you." I admit, the confession a raw admission of my feelings. The words hang in the air, laden with the weight of the truth they carry. But then, with a sense of urgency, I escalate my confession. "Hell, I love you, Nat. But you hurt me, you hurt me and broke my trust." The vulnerability of admitting my love in the midst of this turmoil is almost too much to bear, but it's a truth that needs to be spoken.

Her eyes, wide and wounded, meet mine, and I can see the turmoil within her. The urge to hear her side of the story, to understand her perspective, wells up within me. But the pain that courses through my veins, a reminder of the sleepless nights and endless questioning, is a barrier I can't easily overcome.

"I don't want to hear what you have to say," I declare, my voice firm and resolute. "I just wanted you to know how much you've hurt me." With that, I turn and storm out of the bathroom, my steps heavy with the weight of my emotions. It's a retreat, a withdrawal from a conversation that threatens to unravel the tenuous hold I have on my emotions.