Into her Darkness

Chapter 4: Cracks in the Fortress

The restaurant was quiet, the soft murmur of distant conversations blending with the clinking of silverware on plates. Isla sat across from Caleb, her fingers wrapped tightly around her glass of wine, as if it were the only thing grounding her in the moment. She had agreed to this dinner against her better judgment, and now she was paying the price. Every second felt like a battle between the instinct to flee and the strange pull Caleb seemed to have on her.

She glanced up at him, trying to gauge his thoughts, but his expression was calm—infuriatingly calm. His dark eyes were fixed on her, but not in a way that made her feel exposed or threatened. Instead, he looked at her like he was waiting, with a patience that unnerved her. How could anyone be this patient?

Caleb smiled, soft and easy. "You look like you're about to bolt."

Isla stiffened. "Maybe I should."

He didn't laugh, didn't make light of it. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes still holding hers. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to be, Isla. But I'm glad you came."

Her chest tightened, her mind racing. He was too much—too understanding, too kind, too... present. Most men would have tried to dazzle her by now, or at least throw out a line or two to break through her defenses. Caleb wasn't playing any games. He was just there, waiting for her to decide if she wanted to stay or go.

"I don't do this," she said, her voice coming out sharper than intended.

"Do what?"

"Dates. People. Letting someone in. It's not... me."

Caleb nodded, not looking surprised. "I figured as much."

"You don't know me."

"I don't have to know everything about you to understand a little." He shrugged, his gaze unwavering. "You've been hurt. You don't trust easily. But that's okay. I'm not asking for more than you're willing to give."

Isla's grip tightened on her glass, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy blanket. He wasn't pushing, wasn't trying to pry into the parts of her she kept locked away. But his quiet confidence, his acceptance of her boundaries, was almost worse. It made her want to open up, and that terrified her.

"You make it sound simple," she muttered, her heart pounding in her chest.

"It can be simple. Doesn't mean it's easy."

Isla stared at him, the sincerity in his voice disarming her. Her instinct was to push him away, to throw up the walls she had perfected over the years, but something in his gaze held her back. She could feel the cracks forming in her defenses, tiny and barely noticeable, but there.

She forced herself to look down at her plate, her mind spinning. This was too much, too soon. She wasn't ready for this—whatever this was. Caleb's calm patience was only making it harder to keep her distance, and she needed that distance. She needed control.

"I think I should go," she said, standing abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor.

Caleb didn't stop her. He didn't protest or ask her to stay. He simply looked up at her, his expression gentle but understanding. "Okay."

That single word made her chest ache. She had been prepared for resistance, for a fight. But Caleb was giving her space, even when it meant watching her walk away.

Isla turned, her heart pounding as she made her way to the exit. She could feel his eyes on her back, but he didn't call after her. He let her leave, and somehow, that hurt more than anything.

Back at her apartment, Isla paced the floor, her thoughts in chaos. She had made the right decision. She couldn't let herself get attached to Caleb, not when she knew how things would end. Men like him didn't stick around. They couldn't handle her baggage, her scars.

But the image of Caleb's face, the way he had looked at her without judgment, without expectations, kept replaying in her mind. He had been kind, too kind, and that kindness had scared her more than anything else.

Why did he have to be so calm? Why couldn't he have been like every other man, pushing her for more than she was willing to give?

She sat down on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. What was she so afraid of?

The answer came to her in a whisper, a truth she had been avoiding for years: she was afraid of being seen. Truly seen. Because once someone saw the real Isla, the broken, damaged parts of her, they would leave.

Just like everyone else had.