Different

25.

Jace sighs, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "Mila, don't start."

I look down, watching the bubbles swirl lazily on the surface of the bathwater. "You asked, I answered," I say quietly. But something in me stirs—restless, aching—and I can't help but push. "Is it so wrong to want to know why?"

His voice sharpens. "So now I'm the bad guy because I'm trying to be decent?"

"No," I say, my voice small. "It's not that." I glance at him, somewhat nervous. "I told you... I'm ready. For you. For this." His jaw tightens, but I don't stop. I should, but I don't. "It wasn't hard for you to sleep with everyone else, so why is it so hard with me?"

Silence slices the air. Jace tenses. Then, without a word, he launches out of the bath, water sloshing over the edge. He grabs a towel and wraps it around himself, movements clipped and angry.

"I can't deal with your bullshit right now," he snaps, storming out. The door slams. The echo makes me flinch. Well done, Mila. Great job. I sink deeper into the tub, arms wrapping around my knees. I shouldn't have said that. God, I knew it the second the words left my mouth.

The warm water doesn't feel comforting anymore. It feels heavy, sticky, like it's weighing me down. I stay in it anyway. Not because it helps, but because I can't bear to face him—not yet. My mind won't stop spiraling. Maybe there's a reason he won't touch me. Maybe I disgust him. Maybe... he's just not into me like that at all.

Eventually, I drag myself out and dry off. I'll have to face him. I wrap myself in a towel, open the door, and avoid his gaze as I slip into my clothes.

"I'm gonna head back to the dorm," I say, voice flat. If he wants space, fine. I'll give him space.

"What? No." Jace sighs and walks toward me. "Don't be stupid, Mila." His arms wrap around me in a firm, quiet hug. 

"I shouldn't have said that," I murmur into his chest. "I'm sorry for snapping." He pulls back just enough to look at me. "Come on. I'll make us something to eat. We can just... watch a movie."

"I'm sorry too," I whisper. "That last part—I shouldn't have said it."

But even as he smiles and leads me to the kitchen, I feel it. The tension still humming beneath the surface. He's dodging the real issue. And I don't know why.

The rest of the evening passes in a kind of pretend-normal. And the next morning, he keeps his promise and drives me home. Things between us feel... off. Like something important got buried and we're both too afraid to dig it up.

We pull up in front of my mom's house. I reach for the door, assuming this is it.

"Thanks," I say, foot halfway out.

"Not so fast." I pause. Jace leans over, gently tilts my chin up, and presses a kiss to my lips—warm, lingering. "I'll see you Sunday," he murmurs.

I nod, stunned. Then I grab my bag and get out without another word, forcing a smile as he drives off. With that I turn around, grab my bag and don't look back. I try to push all of this weirdness into the back of my head and force a smile on my cheeks. I hear Jace driving off, as I twist the keys in the lock. 

"I'm home" I yell and see my mom coming down the stairs excitedly.

"Welcome sweetie" my mom says and embraces me in a hug, while I drop my bag down to the floor.

My weekend at home is like stepping into another life. A quieter, simpler one. My mom and I spend Friday catching up. Ava swings by in the evening and we spend the night on the couch together, giggling through a movie, the comfort of family washing over me like a warm blanket. Saturday is classic: shopping, coffee, gossip. I don't think about Jace. Not really. But Sunday creeps in fast. Too fast.

I should be excited to see him again. Part of me is. But another part—the anxious, overthinking part—is buzzing with questions he still hasn't answered. He didn't text me. Not once. No call. Nothing.

Still, I ask my mom to drop me off early. I want to get settled, prepare for Monday. And maybe—just maybe—catch Jace in a better mood, to surprise him. We pull into the lot outside his apartment. My mom doesn't ask questions, and I'm thankful for it.

"I'll miss you, Mom," I say as I lean over to hug her.

"Miss you too, sweetie." She hugs me back, all warmth and comfort. "See you in two weeks?"

"Yeah," I nod, trying to smile. I step out and watch her drive away. My heart sinks a little. I hate that I can't drive myself. Hate that I feel like a child every time someone else has to take me places. But right now, that's not the point. Right now, I want to see Jace.

I use the key he gave me and step inside. "Jace?" No answer. But I hear the shower running. I drop my bag by the kitchen and make my way toward the bed to wait for him, passing the bathroom—and stop.

His phone is buzzing on the shelf. A message lights up the screen.

Jessica: What about tonight? Last night was fun. We should do it more often.

My stomach drops. I reread it. Twice. It doesn't change. Last night? Fun? Do it more often? What's tonight?

My breath catches. The tears start building up in my eyes, as I slowly back away from the shelf, as the bathroom door swings open.

"Mila? You're back," Jace says with a smile that fades the moment he sees me.

I'm frozen. Eyes locked on the phone. I know we're not together, but I'm so mad. Mad, heartbroken, you name it. His gaze follows mine. He picks his phone up to read the message, his whole body tenses.

"I didn't—Mila, wait—"

"This is what you do when I'm gone?" I ask, voice shaking.

"I know what it looks like—"

"No," I cut in, backing away. "Don't come near me right now," I'm suffering, but I don't want him to know that. I don't want him to have the satisfaction.

He stops. Barefoot, still dripping, he looks like a statue crumbling. "Mila, listen to me—" 

I interrupt him. I feel the anger and the sadness starting to flow out of me. "I can't believe I let myself fall for this," I whisper. "You gave me a key. A drawer. You made me think..." He doesn't speak. "Was this fun for you? Making me like you even though I wanted to stay away from you from the beginning?" A tear rolls down my cheek. I hate that he sees it. Hate how much I still care.

Jace reaches for me. "Stop it, Mila," he says, more forcefully now.

"I didn't fuck her. Will you calm down?" I flinch. He lets go immediately, stepping back, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he mutters, pacing now. "This is not what it looks like."

I stare at the phone again. "It didn't look like nothing."

And then he snaps. "Yeah, what's up with that anyway? You looking through my phone?"

My head jerks up. "Are you serious right now? I wasn't snooping—your screen lit up. It was right there! This is ridiculous," I add, my voice rising. "I came to surprise you. And this is what I walk into? I'm just gonna go." I grab my bag, storm toward the door. "Goodbye, Jace."

But before I can leave, his hand slams against the door, holding it closed. "I didn't sleep with her," he says again—quieter this time. His voice is rough. Raw. "Please... just let me explain."

I want to walk away. I should walk away. But something in his voice—like he's breaking too—makes me pause. Slowly, I turn to face him. He's closer now. I can feel his breath, see the shimmer in his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispers, stepping back. "Sit down. Please." I don't know why I listen, but I do.

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