OFFSIDE

89

❝ But I can't forget the way you made me heal. ❞
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Elena's POV
The night stretches endlessly as I toss and turn in bed, my mind refusing to settle. The image of that photo keeps flashing in my head—the one of Pedri and me at the club, caught in the middle of that heated argument. I haven't slept a wink. Every time I close my eyes, I see Pablo's face when he showed me the tweet Violet sent him, his eyes filled with confusion and concern.

I feel a knot in my stomach as I replay the conversation in my mind. How could this have happened? How could someone have taken that photo at the worst possible moment? And now, Pablo is left with questions I'm not sure how to answer.

I look sideways at how Pablo is sleeping peacefully. He has no idea how I feel.

When we got into a relationship, eight years ago, I really felt like it was forever. There were many relationships around me that ended after a while. I was sure that wouldn't happen to Pablo and me.

But right now I'm not so sure about that. I don't understand it, because I love Pablo. Truly, with every piece of my heart.

Sleeping with Pedri again was really wrong. And I really, really regret it.

Flashback to last night

The night air is cool against my skin as I hastily pull on my clothes, the room around me still dimly lit by the soft glow of Pedri's bedside lamp. My heart is pounding in my chest, but it's not from excitement or passion—it's something else. A nagging discomfort, a need to escape before everything we've just done catches up with me.

Pedri is lying on the bed, watching me with a concerned expression. He's already realized that something's wrong. I can see it in the way his eyes follow my every movement, as if he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking. But I can't stop to explain, not now. I need to get out of here.

"Elena, wait," he says, sitting up and reaching out for me. "Where are you going? Stay the night."

I shake my head, not meeting his gaze as I zip up my dress. "I can't, Pedri. I need to go home."

"But it's late," he protests, his voice tinged with concern. "Let me drive you."

I finally look at him, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. He's not just worried about me going home alone—he's worried about what this means, about what happens next. But I can't deal with that right now. The room feels too small, too suffocating, and I just need to be by myself.

"You've had too much to drink," I remind him gently, trying to keep my voice steady. "You can't drive."

Pedri hesitates, then nods, realizing I'm right. "Okay, then I'll call a taxi. I'll come with you."

"No," I say quickly, almost too quickly. I can see the hurt flash across his face, and I hate myself for it, but I can't help it. "I just... I need to be alone, Pedri. Please."

His hand falls back to his side, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. The silence between us is heavy, filled with all the words we're not saying. I can see him searching for something to say, something to make this less awkward, less painful, but he comes up empty.

"Are you sure?" he asks finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, my throat tight. "I'm sure."

Pedri sighs and reaches for his phone, his movements slow, almost reluctant. He calls for a taxi, giving the address quietly, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see the disappointment in them, the worry, and it makes me want to cry, but I hold it back.