"Idon't care."
He flinches like I hit him. "I didn't go looking for it. I swear. It just... happened. And now I don't know how to make sense ofany of it. I see her and I remember everything...I hate that I'm saying this because Idolove you, June—I do—but I don't know what to do."
I stare at him. My nails dig into my palms.
"Then you shouldn't have built a life with me just to walk away the moment it asked for real work."
He opens his mouth, helpless. "I didn't plan this. I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel horrible, but I'm—"
"Coward," I whisper.
He looks like I slapped him.
"I guess this is it," I say. My chest already aching. "I gave you the chance. You didn't take it."
I turn and walk past him, legs trembling, trying to make it back to the studio before I collapse.
The second the door closes behind me, the pain hits full force. My chest tightens. My lungs forget how to breathe.
I gasp—but the air doesn't come in. Not enough.
My hands go numb. The floor feels too far away, my skin too tight.
I can't breathe.
I can't breathe.
The mirrors blur. My knees buckle, and I reach out blindly, catching the barre just before I collapse completely. My heart pounds so fast it hurts. I think I'm dying. I want to scream, but my throat locks.
The panic swallows me whole. Then—
"June?"
Leo's voice. Somewhere distant. Then his hands. Steady. Warm. Pulling me into a sitting position. He's on the floor with me now, voice firm but gentle.
"Hey, hey—it's okay. You're okay. Just breathe with me, alright? In—good. Now out."
I try. I can't.
"Look at me," he says. "You're safe. I'm right here. Just keep breathing. You're not alone."
I cling to his voice like it's the only thing tethering me to the ground. After few minutes or hours, I fell the lights are soft here. The bed is warm. Someone adjusted my blanket. I think it was Leo. A nurse walks in, followed by a doctor who introduces himself gently.
"You had a panic attack," he says. "You're okay now, but that was your body's way of saying it's been under too much stress for too long. You're going to need to take it easy. Rest. Prioritize your mental health."
I nod, slowly. I don't ask where Aaron is. Because I know. He made his choice. Now, I have to survive it.
Chapter Six: The Mourning After
January didn't ask permission. She just showed up.
I was lying in a hospital bed, feeling like my ribs had been hollowed out, when she walked in with that expression of hers—sharp as a knife, clean as pressed linen. She looked over the nurse's shoulder, signed something, and asked for my discharge papers like she was collecting dry cleaning. The nurse tried to speak, but January cut her off with a tight, "She's coming home with me." I didn't have the strength to argue.
The morning after, I wake up to the smell of strong coffee and the sound of a knife slamming against a cutting board like it personally offended someone. January. I sit up slowly, still wrapped in the clothes I wore home from the hospital. My head feels like it's been stuffed with fog. My chest aches. But I'm breathing again. That's something.
When I walk into the kitchen, she doesn't look up.
"You hungry?" she asks.
