Unwritten Obsession - Joe Goldberg

Chapter Fifteen: Cracks in the Armor

Joe

The silence between us feels almost sacred now, like the fragile calm that follows a storm. Juliet's words echo in my mind: I'll try. They're small, hesitant, but they carry a weight I've been waiting to feel—a crack in the armor she's worn so tightly.

I want to reach out to her, to hold her hand and anchor her to the promise I've just made. But I don't. I know better than to rush her, even if my heart is urging me forward. Instead, I lean back into my chair, giving her the space she needs to process, to breathe.

"That's all I could ever ask for," I say softly. My voice feels steady, but inside, I'm anything but calm. Her walls may not be down, but they've shifted, even just a little. It's enough for now.

Juliet doesn't look at me, her gaze still fixed on her hands. The quiet isn't uncomfortable, though—it feels like she's unraveling the knots in her chest, one by one.

Finally, she speaks again, her voice more sure this time, though still quiet. "You make it sound so simple, Joe. Like trusting someone is just... a choice."

"It's not," I admit. "I know it's not. It's messy, and it's scary, and sometimes it doesn't make sense. But that's what makes it real, isn't it?"

She lifts her head then, her eyes meeting mine for the first time since I started speaking. There's something there, something raw and unguarded that I haven't seen before.

"I don't know if I can do real," she says. Her voice breaks slightly, and she looks away as if ashamed. "Not the way you want me to."

I feel a pang in my chest, but I swallow it down. This isn't about me—it never was.

"You don't have to do anything a certain way, Juliet. There's no script for this." I pause, letting the words sink in before I add, "We'll figure it out together. At your pace."

She exhales sharply, like the weight of my patience is harder to bear than anything else. Her fingers stop fidgeting, and for a moment, I think she might get up and leave. But she doesn't. Instead, she shifts slightly forward, as if testing the waters of what comes next.

"Why, Joe?" she asks, her voice barely audible. "Why are you still here? Why do you care so much? I'm not... worth all of this."

The words cut deeper than I expect, and for a moment, I'm at a loss. How could she not see it? How could she not know?

"You're worth it to me," I say, my voice steady. "And that's enough."

Her lips part, as if she wants to argue, but no words come out. Instead, she just stares at me, her eyes brimming with something she's trying to hold back.

"Juliet," I say softly, leaning forward again. "I don't see you the way you see yourself. And I'm not here because I think you're perfect, or because I'm trying to fix you. I'm here because I see you. And I want to be here. That's it. That's all."

Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, her breathing unsteady. For a moment, I think she might cry, but she doesn't. She just looks at me, her expression caught somewhere between fear and hope.

"I don't know how to believe you," she whispers.

I nod, accepting the honesty in her words. "Then don't. Not yet. Just... let me show you. Let me be here. One day at a time."

She nods back, slowly, like she's testing the idea in her mind. Her fingers find the hem of her sleeve again, but there's a slight difference in the way she moves now—less nervous, more deliberate.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Juliet

His words linger long after he's finished speaking, weaving their way through the cracks I've tried so hard to seal shut. I hate how much I want to believe him. I hate how good it feels to hear someone say those things and mean them.

But it also terrifies me.

The walls I've built aren't just for show. They've kept me safe. They've kept me from feeling the kind of hurt I don't think I could survive again. Letting them down, even a little, feels like a risk I'm not ready to take.

And yet... here he is. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just waiting.

I glance up at him again, and for the first time, I let myself really look at him—at the softness in his expression, the steadiness in his gaze. He's not perfect, and I know he knows that. But he's here.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I say again, my voice stronger this time.

"You don't have to," he replies, his tone as patient as ever.

For the first time, I allow myself a small, hesitant smile.

Maybe, just maybe, he's right. Maybe I don't have to do this alone.