𝐂𝐇𝐋𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓 the embodiment of sunshine, always with a bright smile and an easy laugh. She was the one everyone turned to, the friend who never faltered, always radiating positivity. But behind that cheerful exterior, how much darkne...
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A week had passed, and I was running on fumes. My body was stiff, aching from nights spent slouched against the walls of Chloe's hallway, determined to stay close, even if she didn't want me there. Her parents didn't question it anymore, and the maids moved around me like I was just another piece of furniture. It was pathetic, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. Not when Chloe was locked away, unreachable, and hurting.
I couldn't take it anymore.
The next time the maid opened her door to bring in tea, I took the chance. Before she could even turn around, I slipped past her into Chloe's room, shutting the door quietly behind me. The room was dimly lit, curtains drawn tight against the sunlight. It was exactly as I imagined it—still, quiet, and heavy with the kind of sadness you could feel in the air.
Chloe was curled up on her bed, her small frame almost swallowed by the covers. Her blonde hair was messy, spread across the pillow, and her face was turned toward the wall. She looked so fragile, like a single touch might shatter her. My chest tightened at the sight, guilt and helplessness mixing into a knot in my stomach. I'd never seen her like this before—so distant, so completely shut down.
I didn't say anything. I just moved toward her bed, slipping off my shoes and sliding under the covers. My heart was pounding as I carefully wrapped my arm around her waist, spooning her from behind. I half-expected her to wake up and push me away, to tell me to leave, but she didn't. She stirred slightly, shifting in her sleep, but then her breathing evened out again.
"Chlo," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "it's me."
I felt her tense for a moment, and then she slowly rolled over to look at me. Her baby blue eyes, normally so bright and full of life, were dull and red-rimmed, her lashes wet from tears she'd probably cried herself to sleep with. They locked onto mine, and I felt like my heart cracked clean in two right there in my chest.
"Jayden," she murmured, her voice raspy and weak. There wasn't anger or frustration in her tone—just exhaustion. Pure, bone-deep exhaustion.
I braced myself for her to tell me to leave, to tell me she needed space. But instead, she sighed softly and leaned back against my chest, letting herself melt into my arms. I tightened my hold on her, resting my chin lightly on the top of her head.
"It's okay," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm here, Chlo. Just sleep. I've got you."
She didn't say anything, but her body relaxed completely against mine, her breathing slowing as she started to drift off again. I could feel the warmth of her tears soaking through my shirt, but I didn't say anything. I didn't try to stop her. If she needed to cry, I would let her. If she needed to fall apart, I would be there to catch the pieces.
Minutes passed, maybe hours—I wasn't sure. Time didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was in my arms, finally letting herself lean on someone else for a change. Finally letting me be there for her the way she had always been there for everyone else.
