Trial And Error

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Kian's POV

Kian pushed her body to the brink, feet slapping the pavement in a relentless rhythm. Running. Kian was no stranger to the action, both literally and metaphorically. For years she had relied on physical exertion to clear her restless mind. But some problems couldn't be outrun, no matter how fast or far her feet carried her. ​​Lately, her thoughts had been consumed with indecision over telling Madison the truth. The temptation to keep running from vulnerability was strong. Opening up meant surrendering control, exposing her deepest pains and fears.

Concealing this part of herself was proving more damaging than Kian anticipated. She was exhausted from constantly running from her past, tired of the pretenses not just with Madison but everyone around her. The nonstop charade of normalcy weighed on her like a lead cloak.

In her mind, she endlessly weighed the pros and cons in a never-ending back-and-forth. Though the benefits of confession outweighed the risks, the dangers felt infinitely more terrifying.

The fear of genuine vulnerability paralyzed her. Letting down her guard and fully exposing the truth felt infinitely more terrifying than living a lie. The mere idea of openly acknowledging those wounded parts of herself made Kian want to recoil and withdraw further.

She could feel herself splintering under the strain of concealment. She kept coming back to the idea that confessing now, before she was ready, could shatter the fragmented pieces completely. As much as Kian longed to let Madison in, she knew it wasn't the right time. Not until she had begun piecing herself back together.

Thinking back to their lunch last week, Kian remembered how effortlessly their old rapport had resurfaced. As the afternoon progressed, it felt almost normal between them again, the strain and awkwardness fading.

In the days since their relationship felt like it was back on track. They saw or spoke to each other nearly every day. Kian thought she'd be happier because of it, that somehow mending their relationship would make all the bad in her life vanish. But it hadn't, and Kian realized she was stupid and naive to think so. Mending one broken bond, as meaningful as it was, could not instantly fix all that was fractured within her.

Just because they could now joke freely again did not erase the memories that stole Kian's sleep and peace of mind. Most of all, it didn't remove the sting of grief and guilt embedded under her skin.

Lost in thought, Kian didn't realize how fast she was running until she was gasping for air, lightheaded. She stumbled, catching herself against a building as her vision blurred and sounds faded. Struggling to stay upright, she knew collapsing would make getting oxygen even harder.

Taking slow, deep breaths, Kian steadied herself enough to stand. Glancing at her watch, she saw she had gone 8 miles - it was time to head home. She couldn't risk passing out on the street.

Pushing too hard in her distracted state had been unwise. But Kian felt compelled to keep pushing her body to its limits. The rush of adrenaline and endorphins granted a fleeting sense of relief, as did the burning in her muscles and light sheen of sweat.

Fortunately, in her distracted state, Kian had looped back around, ending up not far from her apartment. The walk back was unnervingly silent, her typical internal monologue switched off. She was too busy vigilantly tracking her surroundings, hyperaware of each person who passed by. Kian mentally cataloged every face, every idling car or alleyway, constantly on alert for some unnamed threat. It was an exhausting pattern of anxiety she couldn't seem to break.

This hypervigilance was a habit ingrained from her time overseas - one she hadn't even realized she was doing until recently. The constant threat assessments and analysis of bystanders for any sign of danger had become second nature. In the desert, it was essential for survival. She could recall countless times this situational alertness saved the lives of her fellow Marines and herself.