ACE [N.H]

05

I huff and puff, my breath shallow with anticipation, as my eyes flick back and forth between the perfectly centered clock above the television and the door to its right — both standing still, quiet witnesses to my spiraling indecision. I could swear the clock is taunting me, savoring every second as it ticks by with cruel patience.

I'm unraveling. I feel it in the way my thoughts splinter and loop, fraying at the edges.

With effort, I peel myself off the couch and shuffle toward the front door, ready to leave his apartment — or so I think. But then, as if on command from some unseen force, my feet turn and carry me in the opposite direction, toward his bedroom.

Before I can fully process what I'm doing, I'm rifling through his drawers.

Not my proudest moment — believe me, I know.

But there's this gnawing instinct, a gut-deep certainty I can't shake. I can't explain it, not logically. All I know is that something is here. Something I need to see. And even though shame burns at the edges of my conscience, even though every rational part of me is screaming to stop, the rest of me — heart pounding, nerves sparking — keeps going.

Because maybe, just maybe, I'm right about this too. And maybe this is the final, undeniable sign I've been waiting for to finally walk away.

Nothing.

After several minutes of frenzied searching — drawers pulled open, clothes disturbed, suspicion thick in the air — I'm left standing in the center of a room I barely know, surrounded by a mess I created. And yet, the real mess is the one unraveling inside me.

I can't shake the feeling. He's talking to her again.

It's eating away at me. Just because I didn't find anything doesn't mean there's nothing to find — it just means he's gotten better at hiding it.

Whatever the truth may be, this isn't love. Not the kind I want or deserve. I can't stay in a relationship built on doubts, where every silence feels loaded, every late reply a possible betrayal. I can't be with someone who doesn't light up at the thought of seeing me.

If it were me, I would've dropped everything — I would've run back just to hold him. That's how I love. It's not a flaw. It's not desperation.

It's just that I keep giving that love to someone who doesn't know what to do with it.

Suddenly, the haunting guitar riff of Weird Fishes by Radiohead echoes in the back of my mind, and without thinking, I bolt toward the front door. A flood of emotions surges through me — hesitation, fear, and somewhere beneath it all, a quiet, unfamiliar sense of relief.

I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?

The world blurs into slow motion. I hear the door shut behind me with a dull finality, my hand hovering uncertainly over the elevator buttons. But I can't wait — not now, not like this. Clutching my luggage, I race down the stairs, heart pounding, everything around me a dizzy haze of adrenaline and disbelief.

The moment I step outside, London's cool air smacks me in the face, shocking my system like a splash of cold water. My thoughts spiral — fast, frantic, a blur at 180 miles per hour. I feel like a total wreck. I've never made a decision this quickly before, but somehow, it also feels long overdue.

Part of me is certain. The other part — the louder part — begs me to go back upstairs. To wait. To give him one last chance.

But my feet keep moving. Before I know it, I'm heading back toward the bar. I should call Louis first — I know I should — but I can't bring myself to look at my phone. I'm terrified I'll find a message from Tommy.