Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 15

The morning after feels like a slow-motion car crash. The kind where you see everything coming, but you're powerless to stop it. The sunlight streams through the window, too bright, too harsh, as if mocking the darkness swirling inside me. My bed feels colder, emptier, a stark contrast to the warmth that lingered on my skin just hours before. My mind races with the events of last night, with the decision I made—a decision that feels like it's already unraveling everything.

I sit up, clutching the sheets to my chest, my heart heavy with regret and a gnawing sense of dread. My room, once a sanctuary, feels suffocating, the walls closing in on me. Every corner of this space reminds me of Brooks, of the way he looked at me with a mix of hope and despair, of the way his lips felt against mine, like a desperate plea for something we both knew was slipping through our fingers.

I made the choice to end things, to protect myself, and to protect him from the inevitable fallout that would come if we kept pushing against the boundaries. But now, as I sit here in the deafening silence, all I feel is the sharp sting of loss. The thought of never seeing that spark in his blue eyes again, of never feeling his arms around me, of never hearing his voice whispering my name in the dead of night, is like a knife twisting in my gut.

The clock on my nightstand ticks loudly, each second a reminder that time is moving forward, even as I feel frozen in place. I know I need to get up, face the day, and face the consequences of my choice. But the weight of it all presses down on me, making it hard to breathe. The idea of going to work, of facing my father, of pretending that everything is normal, is almost unbearable.

I drag myself out of bed, my movements sluggish and robotic. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet, grounding me in the reality I've created. I shuffle to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror, not wanting to see the reflection of the girl who just threw away the one thing that made her feel alive. The girl was too scared to fight for what she wanted.

The water from the shower hits my skin like needles, but I don't flinch. I let it scald me, hoping the heat would burn away the numbness, the regret, and the fear. But it doesn't. It only makes the ache in my chest more pronounced and more real. I stand there, the water cascading down and mixing with the tears I've been holding back since last night. I press my forehead against the cool tile, my body trembling with the force of my silent sobs.

When I finally emerge from the shower, my skin is red and raw, but the pain in my chest remains. I dry off mechanically, my mind numb, my thoughts circling around the same question: Did I make the right choice? The answer eludes me, slipping through my fingers like sand, leaving me with nothing but emptiness.

Dressing feels like an afterthought, my hands moving on autopilot as I pull on jeans and a simple sweater. My hair hangs limp around my shoulders, and I can't bring myself to care. I look at my reflection in the mirror, finally facing the girl who stared back at me. Her green eyes are dull, lifeless, and devoid of the spark that Brooks used to bring out in them. She looks like a ghost, a hollow shell of the person she was just yesterday.

I tear my gaze away, unable to stand the sight of myself any longer. I need to leave this room, this house, before it suffocates me. I grab my keys, my purse, and head downstairs. The house is eerily quiet, with my parents still asleep, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I step out into the cool morning air, inhaling deeply, hoping it will clear the fog in my mind. It doesn't.

As I drive to the office, the city moves around me, indifferent to the chaos in my heart. People go about their lives, unaware of the turmoil raging inside the girl in the car next to them. I envy them for their ability to move forward and keep going, while I feel like I'm stuck in a nightmare I can't wake up from.

When I arrive at the office, I'm greeted by the usual routine—emails, meetings, paperwork—but everything feels different. The familiar comfort of my work, the thing that used to ground me, now feels like a burden. I can't focus, my mind drifting back to Brooks and the way his eyes darkened with pain when I told him it was over.