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My words slipped out slowly, dragged from somewhere deep. My eyes widened. The butterflies in my stomach turned to water.
I had been planning to go look for her — but there she was instead. Sitting on the floor in front of my apartment door, back leaning against it, knees bent to her chest, hands resting on her legs. She was playing with the keys in her hand.
God, I hoped she was here to make up. These past days had felt like torture.
She lifted her head slowly. I swore I saw a small smile — but it vanished in an instant, replaced by a frown. She pushed herself up with both hands, her gaze locked onto us.
"How are you?" I asked when she walked toward us.
She didn't answer. She just brushed past us, her expression tight — anger, hurt, betrayal. My jaw dropped. My chest tightened.
What the hell just happened? What did I do wrong now?
"What was that?" Brandon asked, still groggy.
I handed Sam my apartment keys and turned away without responding. She called after me, but I ignored her.
Sandy was already taking the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator. She looked like she couldn't get away fast enough.
I chose the elevator instead. I jabbed the down button over and over — when the doors finally opened, I was already pacing. My breathing was uneven. On the second floor, an elderly woman got in, moving painfully slow. I had to physically stop myself from grabbing her and pulling her in.
The elevator stopped again on the first floor. A woman with three kids stepped inside. At least they moved quickly.
The elevator felt like it took a decade to reach ground floor.
When the doors opened, Sandy was nowhere in sight. I checked the lobby, even outside the building. Nothing.
Just when I was about to give up, she appeared from the stairwell. Relief hit me so hard I exhaled out loud.
The moment she spotted me, she turned and walked in the opposite direction.
I ran to her, grabbing her hand and forcing her to face me.
Her face was streaked with tears, eyes red and swollen. She sniffed and yanked her hand out of mine.
"I'm sorry," my voice shook. "I didn't mean to— please, I can't keep going without you."
My eyes burned. I tried not to fall apart. I pressed one trembling hand over the other to stop the shaking, but it didn't help.
Sandy stood there, crying — and I knew I caused this.
"I'll never shout at you again," I said, stepping closer. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. "I'll even go see a shrink if that's what it takes."
I took her hand — both of mine were shaking. "Plea… please just talk to me."
"I can't take the silence and the distance anymore. Please."
I wrapped my arms around her, desperate. My legs barely held me upright. I was the one begging now. I was the one clinging.
She stood stiff, her arms by her sides, my shirt absorbing her tears.
"I can't…" she whispered, pushing me away. Her voice was raw, shaky. "I can't do this anymore."
She turned to leave.
"You can't do this to me," I choked. Something warm slid down my cheeks. The dam broke. "I'm sorry."
I grabbed her again and pulled her into a hug.
"You know I have no one else. You can't leave me. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. It's mine," she said, struggling to pull away. "I ruined everything. I made things complicated."
She always did that — blamed herself even when I was the disaster. I let go.
"I shouted at you! I pushed you! I broke your phone!" I gasped for air, yelling every word. I refused to let her carry the blame. Not this time.
"I did all that. Not you."
"You think I'm mad because of that? Because you had an emotional breakdown?" she said, laughing bitterly through sobs. She shook her head. "I could never be mad at you for that."
I froze. If that wasn't it, then… what?
"Then tell me what I did," I pleaded. "I'll fix it. I swear. Just— don't leave me."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't do this anymore."
My world blurred.
"We can't be friends anymore."
My knees gave out. Everything spun.
"I need space."
Why does everyone leave? Why does it always end like this?
"Please…" I sobbed, tears soaking through my shirt again. "Don't go."
"Bye, Jolls."
She wiped her tears and headed to the basement parking. I followed — I couldn't stop myself — grabbing her arm just as she opened her car door.
"Please!" I begged.
She pulled herself into the car and locked the doors. Her forehead rested against the steering wheel, hands on either side.
I pounded on the window. I screamed. I begged. I apologized.
But she didn't unlock it.
The engine started. She drove off.
"Sandy! Please!"
I ran after the car until I couldn't anymore. My legs gave out. I fell to the cold concrete floor, sobbing, curled into myself. I didn't care who saw. I didn't care about anything.
I thought she was different. I thought she would stay. I should've known better. I should've never let her in.
When I finally stopped crying — only because there were no tears left — I forced myself to stand. The basement was empty. No one saw my collapse.
I dragged myself into the elevator and hit 3.
The doors opened on my floor. My apartment door was unlocked — I remembered Sam had the keys. I walked inside.
The living room was empty. My keys sat on the TV stand, a note beside them:
> "I'm at Brandon's. Come over."
Same handwriting as the hotel note. Any other day, I would have smiled.
Not today.
I set the note down and went to my room. I collapsed into bed, still in my dirty clothes, curling into myself as Sandy's words replayed:
"I can't do this anymore."
"We can't be friends."
"I need space."
My head throbbed with every echo.
I'm never letting anyone close again.
Never.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
It came from my door.