To Be Continued...

EIGHTY ONE

I froze when my father said that someone had called him. How did they know I wasn't at the institute earlier? My heart pounded in my chest as I quickly thought of something to say.

"I—I was just a bit late today, that's all," I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm here now, see? I sent you the picture."

He didn't sound convinced, but thankfully, he didn't press me further. "Alright," he said finally, though his voice still held a note of suspicion. "Just... stay focused. Don't get distracted."

"I will," I promised, even though my mind was far from focused. I hung up, feeling the weight of the lie pressing down on me. My thoughts were all over the place. I couldn't believe how close I had come to going to Portsmouth—to chasing after Nicolas like that.

But even after everything Mira had said, even after Nicolas's vague reassurances, I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that I was losing him, that I was slipping away from something I couldn't control. And now, I was spiraling even more—fighting the urge to run to him, to beg for answers that he kept withholding.

After class, I slipped back into the routine of checking my phone obsessively, waiting for a message, a call, anything that might make me feel like I wasn't completely alone in this. But the silence continued to stretch between us, growing louder and louder until it was all I could hear.

Days passed like this, with me sending messages, leaving voice notes, and trying to convince myself that he would respond, that he was just busy. But as the days turned into weeks, his responses became even more sporadic, more detached. He was slipping away from me, and I was helpless to stop it.

I couldn't tell anyone how badly it was affecting me. My parents wouldn't understand—they'd just lecture me about focusing on my studies, about not letting a boy ruin my future. And Mira, despite her best intentions, would probably tell me to move on, to stop obsessing. But they didn't understand. Nicolas wasn't just a boy. He was my anchor, the one person who had made me feel something after everything I'd been through. I needed him in ways I couldn't explain, and now I was losing him.

I didn't know how to handle it anymore. I started expecting some answer to the silence that was suffocating me.

But nothing worked. The silence remained. Nicolas remained distant.

And I... I was falling apart.

I started to blame myself for everything. I thought about the fights we'd had, about the messages I'd sent, wondering if I had been too much for him, if I had scared him away with my neediness.

The physical pain was a temporary distraction from the emotional agony. It was something I could control, unlike the growing distance between me and Nicolas.

One night, after another long stretch of silence from him, I found myself staring at my phone, debating whether to send another message or call him again. But before I could decide, my fingers began to shake uncontrollably, and the tears I had been holding back for so long finally spilled over.

I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't keep chasing after someone who didn't care enough to stay.

But I also couldn't stop.

I was trapped in this endless loop of waiting and hoping, of punishing myself for things I couldn't change, and all I wanted—more than anything—was for him to make it stop.

Just one call. One text. One sign that I still mattered to him.

But the silence dragged on, and I was left with nothing but the echoes of my own desperation.

That's when the numbness started to creep in. Not just emotionally, but physically, too. I'd wake up and barely feel my hands after hitting them so many times. I'd sit in class, completely dissociated, unable to focus on anything but the empty notifications on my phone.

I didn't tell anyone about the self-harm. I didn't want to explain why I was hurting myself, why I felt like I deserved it. But deep down, I knew why. I knew that it was because I felt like I was being punished for trusting him, for giving myself to him completely, only to be left in the dark.

I was sinking into a depression that I hadn't anticipated. I was losing myself—piece by piece—and the worst part was, I didn't even care anymore.