after the death of her mother, leighton's father sends her to a boarding school halfway across the world to be taught a lesson. she knows no one and no one knows her.
but the cherry on top is who her roommate is.
#2 in ptsdawareness
#2 in anxiety
#...
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"baby be my pretty boy."
-pretty boy by isabel larosa
⎯⎯⎯
I watch Leighton as she sits across from me, her eyes locked on that book—the one she always reads when she's feeling low.
She's been spending a lot of time in my dorm.
I think she wants to move back, but she's just not saying anything.
I know this story too well.
It's the one where everything falls apart, and it gets to her every time.
She's doing that thing where she pretends not to cry, biting her lip and blinking too quickly, like it'll stop the tears from falling. I sit there, hands in my lap, not sure if I should say something or just let her feel it. I hate seeing her like this, even now—especially now.
We haven't spoken much since the breakup. But I couldn't just watch her struggle from a distance. That's why I brought her here, hoping a familiar place might help her, even if we're not in the same place anymore.
She finally closes the book, her fingers lingering on the cover. When she looks up, our eyes meet for a second, and I see it—the same sadness, the same weight, but now it feels like there's a wall between us.
"Sorry," she mutters, wiping at her eyes. She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I always cry at this part. You know how it is."
I nod, feeling the awkwardness between us like a physical thing. "Yeah... I remember." I don't tell her that I hate seeing her cry, even if it's over a book. That used to be something I'd say, back when I could still comfort her, but now it feels different. Like I've lost the right.
Leighton shifts in her seat, hugging the book to her chest. "It's stupid, right? I've read this a hundred times, but it still hits me."
"It's not stupid," I say, my voice soft, careful. "It means something to you. That's not stupid."
She gives a small, almost bitter laugh. "Yeah, well. Sometimes it's easier to cry over someone else's pain than deal with my own."
I want to reach out, to hold her hand like I used to, but I stop myself. We're not there anymore. Instead, I just sit there, watching her hold on to the book like it's the only thing keeping her together.
"I get it," I say quietly. "But you don't have to carry it all alone, Leighton. Even if... you know, things are different now."
Her eyes flicker toward me, and for a moment, there's something there—something almost like the way she used to look at me, back when things were simpler. But it fades just as quickly.
She shakes her head, giving me a tight smile. "Thanks, Kai. But... I think I do."
I feel the distance between us more than ever, and it stings. I want to tell her that I'm still here, that I still care, but the words get stuck in my throat.
