Desolate Love

Chapter 31: The Space Between Us

Vaughn POV

The door clicked shut softly, the sound lingering in the quiet room long after Alec had left. I remained standing at my desk, paintbrush still in hand, but no longer moving it across the canvas. My thoughts were too loud, too jumbled to focus on the work in front of me.

I could still feel the tension in the air, the weight of his words pressing against me like a heavy blanket. He was sorry, he said. Toby was sorry. They both were. But what did that even mean? What could those words possibly be worth after everything they had done? After everything they had put me through?

I didn't have answers. All I knew was that I was tired. Tired of the hurt, tired of the confusion, and tired of the constant pull between wanting to shut them out and wanting to let them in. The space between us—between me and Alec, me and Toby—had never felt wider, even though it was only the third meeting.

That's what this was all about, wasn't it? Space. The distance between us now, and the distance they had created back then. The distance I had created by running away.

I leaned back in my chair, rolling my neck to release some of the tension building there. My mind wandered back to the early days when we were all friends, back when I used to think that maybe—just maybe—I had a chance with them.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories, but they wouldn't stop coming. Their voices. Their laughter. Their touch. The warmth of the friendship we had, back when it was real. Before everything changed.

I had been so naïve back then, hadn't I? So sure that the three of us had something special, that we could always be together. But I was wrong. I had been wrong all along.

I ran my fingers through my hair, frustrated with myself. I knew what they were doing. I knew why they were trying so hard now. They wanted my forgiveness, yes, but they also wanted something more. They wanted to fix things between us, maybe even rebuild what was lost. And I didn't know if I could let them.

It hurt to admit it, but I wasn't sure if I even wanted to forgive them. I wasn't sure if I could trust them again. They had been a part of my life for so long, but their abandonment—their silence during the worst of it—had left scars. Scars that weren't going to disappear just because they apologized.

The knock on the door, their apologies, the quiet sincerity in Alec's voice—it was all too much for me to handle at once. Maybe I should have kicked them out the moment they showed up. Maybe I should have kept my distance like I had done so easily before. But instead, I had let them in. Just like I had before.

I stood up from the desk, pacing around the small room, trying to keep the panic that was bubbling inside of me from rising to the surface. I couldn't let myself get lost in this. I couldn't afford to be pulled back into something that had once destroyed me.

The feeling of anger bubbled up inside of me, but it was tempered with something else. Sadness. Maybe even longing. A part of me still wanted to believe that Alec and Toby could be a part of my life again, but I wasn't sure I was ready for that. I wasn't sure if I could handle the risk.

I stopped pacing and walked over to the window, staring out at the quiet street below. The sky was darkening, and the world outside felt so distant. So separate from the chaos inside my head. It was easier to lose myself in the quiet of the night, to pretend that everything was fine.

But I couldn't escape the fact that I had made a promise. I had agreed to let them try, to give them a chance to make things right. And I couldn't go back on that. I had to see this through, even if it felt like I was losing myself in the process.

I ran a hand over my face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in. It was only the third meeting, but it already felt like too much.

I didn't know what Alec and Toby expected from me. I didn't know what I expected from them, either. But I knew one thing for sure: I couldn't just forgive them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The past was too heavy. The pain too raw.

I turned back to the desk, eyeing the unfinished commission in front of me. The brush in my hand felt like a lifeline, something I could hold on to. Maybe if I focused on this, on my art, I wouldn't have to think about them anymore. I could drown out the noise, push away the doubts, and let myself get lost in the work.

But even as I picked up the brush, I knew I couldn't ignore the truth for much longer. They were here to stay—at least for now. And I had made a choice.

The third meeting was soon to be over, but this—this mess of feelings, of unresolved anger and hurt—was far from finished.

I dipped the brush into the paint, the bristles making a soft sound against the palette. And for a moment, I tried to focus only on the task at hand. But the thought of what was still to come—the next two meetings—lingered at the back of my mind. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I knew deep down that things were never going to be the same again.