Illegally Drawn

Cutback

I can feel her slipping away from me. It's not like Isabel to distance herself. Not from me, not from us. Two weeks. Two long weeks where she barely speaks, where she's always just out of reach. She leaves class before I can stop her, ignores my calls, and when we do see each other, there's a gap between us that wasn't there before.

I've tried to let it go, to give her the space I think she needs, but it's driving me insane. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. The way her lips curve when she's teasing me, the light in her eyes when she's laughing. Now, though? Now, I don't see any of that. Her smile has been replaced with avoidance. I see the cold edge of her back as she walks away, always walking away, leaving me to wonder what I've done.

It has to be the job. I told her I'd drop it, didn't I? I said I'd decline the offer in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her. But maybe she doesn't believe me. Maybe she thinks this is bigger than her. And I hate that she could ever think that.

I'm not going to wait for her to come to me. I need to fix this now, before it spirals into something we can't come back from. I grab my keys, barely aware of the steps it takes to get to my car, my mind running wild with possibilities. What if I'm wrong? What if it's something else entirely and I'm too late? The thought grips me like a vise, tightening around my chest with every turn of the steering wheel.

By the time I arrive at her apartment, the air feels thick, suffocating. I don't care. I need to see her. I need to make sure she's still mine.

I knock once, twice, before my patience snaps and I shove the door open. It's not locked. And she always locks it. The apartment smells like her. Soft, faint traces of vanilla. I follow it like a damn addict, my feet moving on instinct until I find her sitting on the couch, her knees tucked to her chest, staring blankly at the TV. She doesn't even flinch when I barge in. It's like she expected me, or maybe she's too far gone to care.

That thought makes me pause, but only for a second. I stride across the room and pull her into my arms, hugging her so tightly I'm surprised she doesn't gasp for air. The second her body touches mine, I feel it. The tension. Her muscles are stiff, her breathing shallow, but I don't care. I don't let go.

I can't let go.

If someone would have told me 4 years ago that I would be chasing a woman, I would have laughed in their face.

Now?

Now I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent that's been haunting me for days, weeks. I've missed this. Missed her. My arms tighten around her, as if by holding her closer I can stop her from slipping away.

"Isabel," I breathe, my voice rough and raw with emotion. She doesn't respond, and that silence? It's worse than anything. It's like she's not even here with me.

Without a word, I push her down onto the couch, laying her beneath me, my head resting on her chest. I can hear her heartbeat, the soft thudding rhythm that should calm me, but it doesn't. Not when I know something's wrong. I wrap my arms around her tighter, as if holding her close will fix everything. As if it will bring her back to me.

I kiss her neck, gently at first, trying to coax a response from her, any response. But she's stiff beneath me, like she's trying to keep her distance even though we're pressed together. I feel the tears before I see them, the dampness on her cheeks as they fall silently.

"Don't," I whisper, kissing her tear-streaked skin. "Don't cry. I'm here. I'm right here."

She shakes her head slightly, her breath hitching as more tears slip out. I feel them wetting my shoulder, and it guts me in a way I can't explain.

"Leonardo," she whispers, her voice so broken it shatters something inside me. "You need to leave."

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My body tenses, the air around us thickening. Leave? No. I won't leave. Not like this. Not when she's hurting, when we're both hurting. But I don't argue with her. I kiss the top of her head and pull her tighter against me.