Thattime, I was too busy throwing home decor at his face to notice.
Last Christmas, I was still his, even if neither of us admitted it out loud.
I spent the holiday with my family, but I remember lying awake that night, my phone burning in my hand, fighting the urge to text him. I remember wondering if he was thinking about me, if he was spending Christmas alone like he always did, or if—god forbid—he was with someone else.
I could’ve gone to him. I should have. But we weren’tthat, weren’treal. Just stolen moments, whispers in the dark, something we never let see the light of day.
And maybe that’s why this year, it feels worse.
Because now, I don’t even have that.
I hated how much I wanted him there. Hated that he wasn’t.
These are the kinds of things I could never say out loud—not even to Quinn. Some feelings are too raw, too tangled, too impossible to explain without unraveling completely.
And even now, I can’t shake it. Can’t decide if I want to erase him from my mind entirely or surrender to the pull, let the thoughts of him consume me until there’s nothing left of who I used to be.
Not that it matters.
He’s clearly moved on. While I’ve spent months trying to bury every memory of him—shoving them down, piling distractions on top like dirt over a grave—he hasn’t once tried to dig them back up. Hasn’t reached out. Hasn’t chased me down. Hasn’t even let it slip that he misses me.
And maybe that’s what stings the most.
Because if he felt even a fraction of what I did, wouldn’t he have done something? Wouldn’t he have found a way to pull me back in, the way he always used to?
Yeah,thatwasn’t toxic.
I need to get a grip.
And that’s not even counting the fact that he orchestrated the whole TA situation.
Now, I have to interact with him in aprofessionalcapacity, forced into polite, detached conversations when all I want to do is scream or pretend he doesn’t exist. It makes everything exponentially worse, turning what should have been a clean break into a slow, agonizing unraveling.
And it’s not over.
Tomorrow, there’s a family hike planned—one of those“fresh air is good for the soul”traditions my mom insists on every single year, as if forcing everyone into the freezing cold somehow strengthens familial bonds. We’ll all bundle up, layering scarves and gloves, pretending we’rethrilledto be trudging through snow and ice when, really, we’d all rather be anywhere else. I’ll be counting the minutes until we can finally head home, collapse onto the couch, and drown our suffering in oversized mugs of hot chocolate.
I should force Quinn to come with me—I swear this is her fault. She totally spoke this into existence when I was at her place at the beginning of break, and she said something about a stupid 5K.
The thought of spending yet another day plastering on a smile, pretending everything is fine, makes my stomach sink. Normally, Ilovethis time of year—the lights, the warmth, the way the world seems to slow down for just a little while. But this year feels different. More empty. Like I’m going through the motions, surrounded by the people I love, but still somehow disconnected.
I know they mean well. Maybe I should be grateful.
But all I want is quiet.
Space.
A moment to breathe without feeling like I have to perform.
I’ll go, of course. I always do. And I’ll laugh at my brother’s jokes and let my niece drag me down snowy trails. I’ll play the part: the cheerful daughter, the grateful student.
But part of me wonders what would happen if I just… didn’t show up.
Would my family notice if I slipped away, or would they chalk it up to me needing a break from it all and move on?
Maybe they’d laugh about it over dinner, call it classic Kruz, and leave it at that.
God, school too.
