Desolate Love

Chapter 29: In My Head

Vaughn POV

The office was quiet, almost unnervingly so. The low hum of fluorescent lights above me and the distant clacking of keyboards didn't quite drown out the noise in my mind. It felt like my thoughts were drowning out the world. I sat at my desk, staring blankly at the sketchpad in front of me, the half-finished drawing a useless distraction from the chaos inside my head.

Why was I doing this? Why was I still here? I hadn't asked for any of this. I hadn't asked to be dragged back into a place where my past was suddenly alive again, where the people who had destroyed me were once again in my orbit. Why couldn't I just escape from it?

I glanced at the clock on the wall—just shy of noon. My stomach twisted, but I didn't know if it was from hunger or something else entirely. Every time I thought I had a handle on it, every time I told myself I could handle being here, it all fell apart.

I couldn't stop thinking about the past. About them. About Alec and Toby. I didn't want to. I didn't want them to have any space in my mind anymore. But it was like they had found a crack in my defenses, and now they were slowly but surely crawling their way back into my thoughts.

Every glance, every fleeting moment when I caught one of them looking at me—intent, hopeful, remorseful—sent something stirring deep within me. I hated it. I hated how easily it happened. It was like I was trapped, stuck between wanting to rage at them, to scream at them for the hell they put me through, and this other part of me—the part I didn't want to acknowledge—that wanted to reach out.

That stupid, pathetic part of me that still wished, somewhere deep down, that they would show me something, anything that proved they were truly sorry. That they could really change.

But that part of me was a fool. I knew better.

It was the same thing every time. Every time I let myself get close to the idea of forgiveness, it fell apart. They could say all the right things. They could apologize a thousand times, but the damage was done. They left me behind when I needed them the most. They stood by and let it happen. And now, after all these years, they thought they could just waltz back into my life like nothing had ever happened.

I scoffed bitterly under my breath.

You can't just undo it, I reminded myself. You can't pretend that everything is fine when it's not. When it's never going to be.

I tried to focus on the work in front of me. It was a commission, a design for some company I didn't even care about. It should have been easy, just another project to finish. But my hand felt stiff as I held the pencil, unable to concentrate. My thoughts kept slipping back to them. Their faces. The way they both looked at me now. I could still see the remorse in their eyes, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

But no, I couldn't let them back in. I couldn't fall for it again.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, rubbing my temples, trying to clear the clouded thoughts.

When was I going to stop feeling this way? When was I going to stop allowing them to hurt me over and over? Why couldn't I just get it through my thick skull that they didn't deserve any part of me anymore?

I wasn't some kind of savior. I couldn't fix everything with a single conversation. And the more I thought about it, the more it became clear: I didn't want to fix anything with them. I didn't want to go back to the way things were before.

They had their chance, and they threw it away. All of it.

I took a deep breath and focused again on the sketch in front of me, trying to push all the emotional noise out of my head. But it wasn't working. It never worked. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of my own feelings. The weight of the past.

I missed the innocence of when everything was simple—when I could just be a kid without worrying about the tangled mess of relationships and regret. But even that wasn't something I could return to. The past was gone. And no matter how badly I wished I could forget about it, it clung to me like a shadow, refusing to let go.

The idea of forgiveness felt like a joke. It sounded like something other people did—people who didn't have to suffer through the kind of betrayal I had. But still, the thought lingered. What if I did forgive them? What would happen then? Would it make the pain go away? Or would I just find myself right back in the same position, unable to stop myself from falling into the same traps?

I clenched my fist, nails digging into my palm. The pain from the pressure grounded me for a moment, reminding me of my resolve. I wouldn't go back. I couldn't go back.

But why does it still hurt?

The question echoed in my mind, louder than the others. It was a simple question, one that cut through all the complicated layers of my feelings and forced me to face the truth: no matter how much I tried to fight it, I still cared. And that hurt more than anything.

I exhaled shakily and opened my eyes, staring at the half-finished design once more. But this time, I didn't see the lines or the shapes. I didn't see the work I needed to complete. All I saw was the reflection of everything I had tried to bury—the ghosts of the past that wouldn't let me go.

And it made me want to scream.

But I didn't. I stayed still, clenching my jaw and holding my breath, waiting for the storm inside me to subside.

But it didn't. It never did.