Heartbeat // JK

15 - Echoes and Knives

The door clicked shut behind me like it was finishing a sentence I didn't remember starting.

I didn't turn on the lights.

Just walked straight to the kitchen, dropping my bag on the floor halfway there. It hit the hardwood with a thud I didn't react to — like maybe if I didn't acknowledge it, it wouldn't echo so loud.

The silence wasn't peaceful.
It was too much.
Too wide.
Too full of him.

The blanket from this morning was still crumpled on the couch. I folded it, methodical. Found his empty mug on the windowsill, still faintly warm from where the sun had hit it. Washed it. Dried it. Put it away.

Then I found the sock he left — the one I said wasn't my fault. It was tucked between the windowpane and my half-dead succulent like some kind of souvenir.

I stared at it for a full three seconds.

Then walked it to the laundry hamper.
Stopped.
Turned back.
Carried it to the nightstand and set it there like it belonged.

My hands wouldn't stay still. I grabbed the sponge, dropped it, picked it up too fast. Tried to rinse a cup and splashed water everywhere. My fingers felt wrong. Like they were buzzing under my skin.

I wasn't cold.
I was just... off.
Unsettled. Unraveling.

But I didn't say that out loud.
Didn't even let myself think it fully.
Instead, I muttered something at the faucet and wiped down a counter that didn't need wiping.

Music.
That would help.

I turned on the playlist I used when I didn't want to feel anything — all bass lines and bright synths. Nothing with meaning. Just noise.

I wiped down the kitchen counter even though it was clean. Rearranged the magnets on the fridge by color.

I opened my laptop like it might save me.
Maybe I'd write. Maybe I'd start something. Something smart. Something brave. Something that proved I belonged in this.

The audition.
The maybe.
The almost.
It all sat there like a weight I wasn't ready to lift.

I stared at the blinking cursor until it felt like it was judging me.
Closed the screen.

I picked up my phone instead.

Typed.
I miss you.

Too much.
Too needy.
He'd just left.
Literally three hours ago.

Typed again.
I don't know why this hurts so much already.

Deleted.
Because I did know.
And that made it worse.

Typed.
I've never felt like this before.
And I'm terrified.
But it's also the first time I feel like... me.

I sat with it. Read it twice.
Almost hit send.
Didn't.

I locked my phone.
Dropped it on the couch.
And folded myself in half like I could squeeze the feelings smaller.

The thoughts came fast then — like a reel someone left on loop inside my skull.

What if this doesn't lead anywhere?
What if I ruin the audition before it starts?
What if he forgets about me the second he lands?

I told myself it was just adrenaline. Just nerves. But my chest felt too tight and my skin didn't fit right and no amount of distraction was fixing anything.

I caught my reflection in the microwave door.

Hair wild. Eyes glassy. Mouth clenched too tight.

I didn't mean to sit down — the floor just happened. My legs folded under me like someone pulled the strings.