God's way

Part 17

I staggered into the hallway, my vision still blurred, heart pounding like it was trying to escape my chest. The corridor stretched out before me, dimly lit, quiet except for the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors. My breaths came in ragged gasps, and my hand trembled as I wiped away the tears still streaming down my face.

My mind was racing, a chaotic whirl of fear, pain, and disbelief. I kept moving, almost tripping over my own feet as I stumbled down the stairs. I had to get out. I had to put as much distance as possible between me and Sayjan before he could follow.

Behind me, I heard the faint sound of his voice calling my name, but it was distorted, almost like a distant echo. It was pleading, broken, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. I couldn't face him again, not after what had just happened.

I burst out of the building and into the cold night air. The chill hit me like a slap to the face, cutting through the haze of panic. It was dark, the streets quiet and empty, but I kept moving, my legs carrying me blindly forward. I didn't know where I was going—I just needed to get away.

I'd come here to see him. I'd convinced myself that maybe I could help, that maybe I could be the one to pull him out of whatever dark place he was in.

But I was wrong. So wrong.

I felt the anger bubbling up, hot and fierce, mixing with the sadness and fear that had been strangling me moments ago. I came to see if he was okay, and it ended like this? Me choking on my own tears, running out into the night, my heart bruised and battered from his words and his hands?

I turned and looked back at the building, glaring at it as if it could somehow understand my rage. The same place I used to visit with a smile, feeling a spark of hope every time I stepped through its doors, now felt like a prison I barely escaped from. The memories of quiet mornings, stolen kisses, and whispered promises felt like they belonged to someone else—someone naive and foolish who believed love could be enough to fix this.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. It wasn't fair. I didn't deserve this. I was trying to be there for him, trying to be the person he could lean on, but it was never enough. No matter what I did, it was never enough for him. He wanted me to change, to mold myself into something I wasn't, just to fit the image of what he thought could save him from his own demons.

The street was quiet, only the occasional passing car breaking the silence. I forced myself to keep walking, to keep moving forward even as a part of me wanted to turn back, to confront him one last time, to scream at him for what he'd done, for the way he'd twisted everything that used to be good between us.

But I knew it would be pointless. We were past the point of words, past the point of any kind of reconciliation. Whatever love had existed between us was suffocating under the weight of his desperation, his control, and his fear. And tonight proved that if I stayed, it would crush me too.

I kept walking, one step at a time, until the building was far behind me. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold onto the small, flickering flame of strength that was keeping me upright.

This isn't my fault, I told myself. I came because I cared. I came because I couldn't bear the thought of him being alone, of him sinking deeper into that darkness. But he'd made his choice. He'd chosen fear, anger, and control. And now, I was choosing me.

I walked until the familiar glow of a 24-hour diner came into view. The neon lights buzzed softly, casting a warm glow onto the empty street. I needed a moment to collect myself, to breathe without feeling like the walls were closing in. I pushed open the door, the bell chiming softly as I stepped inside.

The place was nearly empty, just a tired-looking waitress leaning against the counter, flipping through a magazine. She glanced up at me, her eyes flicking to my tear-streaked face, but she didn't say anything. She just gave me a small, sympathetic smile, as if she'd seen people like me—lost and broken—many times before.