"You said you love me? Then beg for it. Beg for my love. Show me-prove it again and again until I say yes."
Beatrix is a girl of few words, someone who keeps her emotions locked away, unwilling to let anyone close. After experiencing deep trust issu...
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Beatrix :
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As I wake, a sleepy haze still clinging to my thoughts, I stretch out a hand instinctively to the side—only to find empty sheets. The space beside me is cold.
A crease forms between my brows as I sit up slowly, blinking against the mellow light. Silence lingers in the room, undisturbed and far too still. My eyes scan the space, hoping for a glimpse of him—
"Where is he...?" I murmur, my voice barely more than a whisper, swallowed by the silence.
The bed creaks slightly as I push myself upright, limbs heavy with sleep. I sway a little, unsteady, before planting my feet on the floor.
I wish I could get used to this. To him. To the quiet assurance of his presence. I know he's here—right here, within reach. And yet, my heart still hasn't learned how to believe it. There's always a whisper of doubt nestled somewhere deep inside me—a quiet, persistent fear that one day, I'll open my eyes and he'll be gone.
Just... gone.
Disappeared like a dream that fades too fast.
I step out of the bedroom, my bare feet brushing against the cool floor, and my breath catches.
There he is—Ethan—standing in the morning light, his back to me, haloed by the gentle warmth spilling in through the window.
A small smile ghosts across my lips, unbidden. I don't know what it means. Maybe it's relief. Maybe it's love trying to push through the cracks. Or maybe it's something else—something hollow and cruel. A defense mechanism. A smile forged by the part of me that still believes he'll leave. That still believes all good things are temporary.
I watch him for a moment, caught in the stillness, unsure of what I feel.
I smile. Not because I trust he'll stay— But because I'm still afraid he won't.
Ethan turned at the sound of my footsteps, as if sensing my presence before even seeing me. Our eyes locked— He stepped forward, closing the space between us in a heartbeat.
"Bee...?" he said, my name barely leaving his lips. There was a pause, stretched thin by everything unspoken. Then, softer, like the question cost him something to ask—"Do you regret it?"
The question, though soft, landed with the weight of all our unspoken anxieties. He was still tethered to the idea, the fear, that I would eventually recoil, that the path I'd chosen would ultimately lead to remorse. I couldn't fault him for it. My own past hesitations, my internal battles, had undoubtedly cast a long shadow, making him question the steadfastness of my heart. It was my own doing that had sown this seed of doubt, and now, I had to find a way to uproot it.
