𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 ~| 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘴

Delicate

~'~

𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝?

'𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?

𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐭?

'𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Cassi

I missed him.

Not just his presence, but him. Just him. The way he always seemed to know when I needed silence, when I needed distraction, when I needed nothing at all. He had only been gone a week, and yet the absence of him felt like a thread tugging at the edges of me.

I had never been good at letting people in. It was easier not to. Safer. People left, people disappointed, people hurt you whether they meant to or not. I had spent years perfecting the art of staying just out of reach, of keeping my distance, of never needing anyone enough to let them ruin me. And yet, somehow, without permission, he had settled into the spaces I swore I would never let anyone touch.

I didn't know why it had to be him.

But it did.

The first day, I thought I would wake up and see him outside. I caught myself listening for the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, the way they slowed just slightly when he passed my door, like maybe, for a moment, he thought about knocking.

He never did.

The second day, I told myself it didn't matter. That it was better this way. I had asked him to leave, hadn't I? And he had. There was nothing to be upset about. Nothing to dwell on.

By the third day, I admitted to myself that was poppycock.

I even whatched the race. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. Other than having a glimpse into his world, I got to see him. And when he crossed the line, I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath. P6. I didn't know much about racing, didn't know what he would have wanted, what would have been enough for him, but I thought he had done incredible.

He didn't look like he thought the same.

When he climbed out of the car, I saw the way he ran a hand through his hair, the frustration in the set of his shoulders, the disappointment in the way he barely acknowledged the cameras. I wished, for a fleeting moment, that I could tell him how well he had done. That he was incredible. That I had watched him and I had thought...

I had thought about him.

The fourth day, I told myself I wouldn't think about it anymore.

The fifth day, I failed spectacularly.

And now, a full week later, I was still failing.

He should be home by now. The race had been a week ago. A weekend, that's how long he was supposed to be gone. So where the hell was he? Did something happen? Had he just decided not to come back?

Regret settled deep in my bones. I should have never said it. I had meant it in the moment, but not in the way he probably thought. I had been scared, not of him, but of the way I wanted to kiss him. Of how close we had been. Of how easy it would have been to let go and just let it happen.