"Come on," she murmurs, her voice softer now. "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?"
I don’t argue. I don’t have the energy to.
She helps me up, guiding me to the bathroom. The lights are too bright, and I barely recognize the girl in the mirror—the one with swollen eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and a devastation so deep, it looks permanent.
Lyla says nothing as she turns on the shower, adjusting the temperature before gently tugging at the hem of my hoodie.
"You good?" she asks softly.
I nod, even though I don’t know if I am. I don’t know if I ever will be.
She gives me one last look before she steps out, leaving me alone with the sound of the water hitting the tile.
I strip out of my clothes, stepping under the spray, and the second the warmth hits my skin, my legs nearly give out again.
I brace my hands against the cool tiles, bowing my head, my wet hair sticking to my face. The hot water runs down my back, taking with it the exhaustion, the remnants of everything I felt too much of tonight.
I stand there for a long time, letting the steam fog the mirror, letting the heat burn away the cold that settled deep in my bones.
Then, I do what I do best.
I turn it off.
I shut it all down.
The pain.
The fear.
The truth of Jaxon’s words.
I bury them somewhere deep, somewhere unreachable.
By the time I shut off the water, by the time I slip into the clothes Lyla left for me and climb into bed, I don’t feel anything at all.
The weeks slip by in a haze.
I go to class. I turn in assignments. I study in the library until my eyes burn, until words blur together on the page, until I can convince myself exhaustion is the reason for the hollowness in my chest.
I avoid Lyla. I avoid everyone.
I don’t answer texts. I don’t return calls. I don’t look at social media.
I especially don’t check anything about Jaxon or football or the draft.
I pretend I don’t see the concerned looks from classmates when I zone out in the middle of lectures. I ignore the way my clothes feel loose, how my stomach twists in on itself from too many skipped meals, how my body aches from the lack of sleep.
It doesn’t matter.
None of it does.
I keep telling myself if I go through the motions, if I stay busy enough, eventually, the weight pressing against my ribs will let up.
Eventually, I won’t think about him every time I close my eyes.
Eventually, I won’t see the pain in his face when he told me he couldn’t chase me anymore.
Eventually.
