SKYFALL, Johnny Kavanagh

Run, run, run

Maeve's Point of View

I didn't cry.
Not even when the cold wind hit my face like a slap the second I stepped off Johnny's porch.
Not even when the sound of the door closing behind me echoed down the street like a funeral bell.

I just walked.
Fast.
Hard.

Like I could outrun the weight in my chest.
Like I could escape the taste of him still on my lips.
Like I could pretend I hadn't just wrecked the one thing that had ever felt real.

I kept walking.

Didn't even know where I was going – didn't care.
I just needed distance.

Space.
Air.

Because inside Johnny's house it felt like I was suffocating.
Not because of him – because of me.

Because he was safe.
Because he was steady.
Because he made me feel like maybe I was something worth holding onto – and I couldn't handle that.

Not when all I'd ever known was the feeling of being let go.

I turned a corner too fast, stumbling a little when my ribs twinged again.
The bruising was still fresh, deep enough to throb with every breath, every heartbeat, every goddamn memory.

I kept going anyway.

Because the physical pain was easier to handle than the rest.

Than this.
Than the look on Johnny's face when I said it.

I'm falling in love with you.

God.

What the hell was wrong with me?
Who says that mid-fight?
Who drops a bomb like that between two curses and a slap of reality?

I'd meant it.
Every word.
Every syllable.

And I hated that more than anything.

I wasn't supposed to feel like this.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.

I wasn't supposed to want his arms around me.
His voice in my ear.
His warmth in my goddamn bones.

I wasn't supposed to fall in love with him.

Because that's what it was now, wasn't it?

Not a crush.
Not a stupid flutter in my chest.
Not a phase.

Love.

Real and raw and terrible.

It had been growing in me quietly for weeks – hidden under sarcasm and distance and fear – and I hadn't even noticed it until it broke me open.
Until it tore itself out of my chest and landed at his feet, still beating.

And what did I do?
What I always did.
I ran.

Because I didn't know how to stay.
Because love wasn't something people like me got to keep.

Love was something that left bruises.
Love was something that twisted into control, violence and silence.
Love was something you paid for.

And I've paid enough.

I found a bus stop and sat down hard, pulling Johnny's coat tighter around me like that would fix anything – like it hadn't already betrayed me by being his.

I buried my face in the collar and inhaled, hating the way it smelled like him.
Like safety.
Like comfort.

I should've left it behind.
But I couldn't.

Because I was weak.
Because I was selfish.
Because even after everything, I still wanted a piece of him.

Even if I didn't deserve it.
Even if he deserved better than me.

I stared at my shoes, trying to breathe through the mess in my head.

Trying to un-feel everything that had been said.
But the truth was still there, raw and bleeding.

I'm falling in love with you.

And I hate it.

I hate that you make me feel safe.

God, he had looked at me like I'd ripped him in two.
And I had.

I'd cut him open and then left.
Because that was what I did.
That was what I was good at.

Leaving before someone else did it first.
Burning everything before it burnt me.

But now?

Now all I could feel was the ache in my chest and the hollow behind my ribs where all the words I hadn't said still lived.

You make me feel seen.

You make me feel real.

You make me feel like I could be something more.

But I wasn't more.
I was broken glass.

And he didn't deserve to bleed for me.

The bus came, but I didn't move.
Didn't get up.
Didn't even lift my head.

Because I didn't know where to go anymore.

Not back to Johnny's.
Not home to that house full of silence and scars.
Not anywhere.

I was just floating now – suspended between panic and guilt and longing.

And underneath it all, a voice I couldn't silence:

What if?
What if I'd stayed?
What if I'd kissed him again instead of pulling away?
What if I'd let myself believe, even for a second, that something good was possible?

But I couldn't.

Because if I let myself believe it – if I let myself want it – and he left.

It would kill me.
So I stayed silent.
Stayed gone.

Because it was easier to live with heartbreak I'd caused than risk the kind I couldn't survive.

And maybe one day I'd be brave enough to go back.
Maybe one day I'd learn how to stay.
But not today.

Because right now, love still felt like danger.
And I'd spent too long surviving to start hoping now.