Though Choices
- LECTURAS 24
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- Partes 12
Concluida sáb, oct 18, 202515m
She sat alone in her dark, cold room, knees pulled to her chest, shadows dancing on the cracked walls like ghosts of her past. Silence wrapped around her like a shroud, broken only by the ticking of the clock that marked each second she spent in this cruel, lonely world. The weight of abandonment pressed heavy on her chest. Most of her family had drifted away-either swallowed by time or by choice. Those who remained felt more like strangers than comfort. Forgotten. Unseen.
She had spent so many nights wondering if she mattered. If her presence in this world made any difference at all. Her heart was tired-tired of being strong for people who no longer remembered her name, tired of waiting for someone to notice she was breaking. She could disappear and it might take weeks for anyone to even ask where she'd gone.
Then there was Jexz.
She had met him just a week ago, under circumstances that should have left them both dead. And yet, he had stayed. Through every near-death experience that followed-through the fire, the storm, and that alley with the broken glass and bleeding wrists-he had never left her side. His eyes carried storms of their own, yet when he looked at her, it felt like peace. He didn't just say he'd die for her-he'd shown it. And not because he wanted to be a savior, but because he saw her. He really saw her.
Now, sitting there in that freezing room that held all her pain, she had a choice to make. Stay here in this familiar hell where love had long withered, or take a chance on something new-on someone who made her feel alive again. It scared her. The unknown always did. But wasn't that better than this endless ache?
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*Chapter One: The Sound of Empty Rooms* The rain had a rhythm that matched the echo in her chest-quiet, repetitive, and endlessly hollow. Elira sat by the window of her grandmother's wooden house, where the walls creaked like ghosts remembering things she tried so hard to forget. Her breath fogged up the glass as she watched the street below-quiet, gray, and soaked. She didn't mind the rain. It was the one thing that stayed. At twenty-two, Elira had never been kissed. Not truly. Not with the kind of kiss that silences thoughts and stirs old wounds into healing. She had known touches-cold, demanding ones from men who mistook her loneliness for permission. She had known eyes-watching, judging, leaving. But love? Real love? That had been the whisper in fairy tales and the ache between the pages of books she'd hide under her pillow. Her mother had left when she was ten. A note on the fridge, a half-packed suitcase, and a phone number that never answered. Her father drowned his grief in silence and whisky until his liver gave up when she was sixteen. After that, silence wasn't just emotional-it was literal. Elira grew up learning that people left. Always. Her greatest fear wasn't being alone-it was being almost loved. Almost chosen. Almost enough. Then she met him. She closed the book on her lap-*entwined in chaos*. Of course it was. She clung to the idea that love should hurt a little, that maybe if she bled enough, someone would see the red and realize she had a heart worth holding. That night, she wrote in her journal: *"If love exists, let it find me. Even if it breaks me."* And it would. So deeply, so completely, that even time would pause to grieve.
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