Heart Me

39

Iris steered her car to a halt in front of Chris's house, her headlights cutting through the veil of Seattle's morning rain. The quiet neighborhood lay under a canopy of dense, evergreen trees, their branches heavy with mist, bending in a way that made the entire street feel shadowed, hidden, almost like a secret. Drops of rain clung to the car windows, blurring her view of the house. Chris's familiar home, now a distant shape with its softened edges, its details lost in the drizzle that traced down the glass like veins. She could just make out the glow from his living room window, casting a pale, warm light into the gloom of the morning. A part of her found comfort in that light, a small, stubborn hope that maybe, even after all this tension, he might listen to her. But another part knew the risks of what awaited her inside. The thought of his reaction made her stomach twist, and she tightened her grip on the wheel, listening to the rhythmic drum of raindrops pattering against the roof, like faint, relentless whispers urging her forward. The sound was hypnotic, a steady pulse against the car that seemed to echo her hesitation, her pulse quickening as she tried to gather her resolve.

What if he shuts me out?

What if he blames me more than he already does?

These thoughts looped in her mind, tying knots in her confidence. She sat there, clutching the wheel, watching as the rain blurred everything around her. But Zane's face flickered into her thoughts, his look of confusion, the way he had tried to express feelings he didn't fully understand. That image was enough to tip the scale. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the key, twisting it out of the ignition. She took a deep breath, grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, and, bracing herself, pushed open the door. The rain met her instantly, cool and sharp, like a rush of icy pinpricks on her skin. She hurried through the downpour, the cold, wet drops soaking her hair and shoulders as she made her way to Chris's porch. By the time she reached the shelter of the awning, a shiver wracked her body, her clothes damp and clinging to her. For a moment, she simply stood there, her breath visible in the morning chill as she caught her breath, reaching up to wring out her hair. But the real weight pressing on her wasn't the rain. It was the uncertainty. She couldn't help but feel as if she were trespassing into something sacred, something beyond repair.

Her gaze drifted to the door. She raised her fist to knock but held it there, hesitating, her knuckles inches away from the wood. The sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears, louder even than the pattering rain behind her. She strained to listen, hoping for a hint of movement within, a muffled voice, any indication that Megan wasn't here. The silence from inside felt thick, amplifying her reluctance. She couldn't tell if she wanted him to be alone or if, secretly, she hoped he'd refuse her entry. But there was no more room for doubt. She took a steadying breath, her hand trembling slightly as she finally let it fall against the door in a tentative knock, the sound muffled by the rain.

Iris waited, her heart pounding in her chest, but even with the steady beat of rain behind her, an unsettling quiet settled over her. She couldn't keep still; her legs shifted restlessly, her fingers clutched her purse strap, as if holding onto it might somehow ground her. Yet the longer she stood there, the more painfully aware she became of just how far they'd drifted from each other. She couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore, couldn't feel that once-familiar presence that used to be like a second pulse. Tears prickled in her eyes, the realization cutting deep. Whatever bond they'd shared had been stretched to the breaking point. Her lips started to tremble, and she closed her eyes, swallowing back the ache rising in her throat. But then, the door opened with a quiet creak, drawing her gaze up. There stood Chris, his frame filling the doorway, his hair tousled and slightly damp. His eyes met hers, a blend of surprise and resignation, as if he had expected her and yet hadn't prepared himself for her arrival. His mouth was set in a tight line, lips pressed together with a kind of guarded tension that made him seem somehow both familiar and distant. His arms hung by his sides, fists loosely clenched, his body language radiating an uneasy restraint. He looked at her as if waiting for her to speak first, unwilling to reveal even a sliver of what he might be feeling. For a moment, the air between them felt heavy, the tension stretching out like an invisible thread, binding them in the silence.