Need you | Miles Fairchild

27 | after the storm

Alice's apartment felt quieter than it had in weeks. The silence wasn't peaceful—it was heavy, the kind that presses against your chest and makes breathing deliberate.

I sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea, staring out the window at the street below. Alice was nearby, flipping through a notebook, glancing up every few minutes with a small, reassuring smile.

"Want breakfast?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Not hungry."

She didn't push. That had been the hardest part—letting me set the pace. She didn't lecture, didn't demand explanations, didn't pretend everything would be fine with a single word. She just was.

The days after the procedure blurred together. I stayed home more than usual, hiding from the outside world. Messages from Miles went unanswered, his texts piling up like unspoken accusations. I didn't read them. I didn't want to.

One evening, Alice made dinner for both of us. She set a plate in front of me and sat down opposite.

"You okay?" she asked gently, her eyes searching mine.

I shrugged. "I think so. Some days are harder than others. But... yeah. I think I'm okay."

She smiled. "Good. That's all I needed to hear."

Later, she suggested a walk. The streets were quiet, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe without the weight of the past weeks crushing me.

We talked about small things—the weather, a book she was reading, a show we wanted to binge. Nothing monumental. Nothing that would remind me of Miles or Rebecca. Just normal.

"I'm glad you're here," I said after a while, my voice barely above a whisper.

Alice reached out, brushing my hair behind my ear. "Always. You don't have to go through any of this alone."

For the first time, I believed her.

Even with Miles' absence and Rebecca's shadow looming somewhere out there, I felt a strange sense of control returning. My life, my choices, my body—mine again.

It wasn't easy. Healing never is. But with Alice at my side, I knew I could take it one day at a time. And maybe, eventually, I'd stop looking over my shoulder, stop wondering if I'd made the wrong choice, and just... start living again.

I took a deep breath. The future was uncertain, messy, and frightening—but it was mine. And for now, that was enough.

—

The knock at the door made my stomach drop.

I hadn't expected anyone, and the shadows cast by the morning light through the blinds didn't make me feel any calmer.

Alice peeked over my shoulder. "Who is it?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Don't want to know."

The knocks came again, louder this time. I moved cautiously to the door and peeked through the peephole.

Miles. And—horribly—Rebecca, standing just behind him, smirking like she owned the place.

I stepped back. Alice moved closer. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I muttered, even though my pulse was racing.

I took a deep breath and opened the door just enough to speak. "What do you want?"

Miles' expression shifted from relief to panic. "Y/n—please. Just... hear me out. I didn't—"

"I don't want to hear it," I interrupted, voice sharper than I expected. "You left. You made your choice. And right now, I'm making mine."

Rebecca stepped forward, trying that same smug smile. "Come on, it wasn't all—"

I slammed the door in her face before she could finish.

Miles froze, hand hovering near the handle. "Y/n—wait—"

Alice's voice was firm behind me. "They're gone. And they're not coming in."

I leaned against the door, chest heaving. "I don't care what he thinks. Or what she thinks. I've already made my choice. I'm done letting them control my life."

Miles called after us from the porch, his voice strained. "Please... just let me explain."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

Alice wrapped an arm around me. "You don't owe him anything. Not now, not ever. He'll have to deal with his own mess."

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the fluttering panic in my chest. For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in a long time—control.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"For what?"

"For being here. For not letting me lose myself over them."

She smiled, squeezing my shoulder. "Always."

I looked back toward the door one last time. The sun glinted off the porch, but I didn't feel the pull. I wasn't turning back. I wasn't letting them drag me into their chaos anymore.

For the first time, I knew it.

This was my life. My choice. My boundary. And no one—not Miles, not Rebecca, no one—was going to take that from me.