04-19-2025, 09:41 PM
When Jessika was pulled away, Jensen felt something uncomfortably close to relief. It was as if his earlier wish, to be forcibly removed from the party and spared the weight of choice, had been granted after all. He had made the effort. He’d stepped forward, even if only by inches. But now the decision had been made for him, as if some unseen force had intervened and cleared her path away from his. Divine intervention, maybe. Or just luck.
And yet, as she drifted farther across the room, laughter trailing behind her like silk, the sharp discomfort in his chest didn’t ease. It deepened. Turned heavy.
He watched her from across the crowded ballroom, trying to piece together why he was still here. Why he hadn’t left the moment he saw her arrive. Why it felt like his whole presence tonight had been orchestrated just for this. This cruel, theatrical reunion. And if that were true, then what had gone wrong? Why hadn’t the moment come? Why were they still circling each other like spirits? There was no clarity. Only that ache in his ribs, old and familiar, flaring like it was fresh.
He considered going to her. Following. Letting their paths crash together, like they always did. Hadn’t they already closed the chapter back in Texas? He thought they had. But now, standing here, watching her smile at someone else, he felt all of it return. The shame. The guilt. The hollow echo of what he had done. Not shame in who he was, but what he had done to her that was different. That wound still bled.
She was wrapped in conversation now. Something important, no doubt. She looked radiant. Focused. She always had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, even while calculating five conversations ahead. Jensen watched for a moment longer, but the pressure in his chest only worsened.
He wanted closure, yes, but not like this. Not in this room. Not when it felt like touching the wound again would only tear it deeper.
He turned away.
Maybe someone would let him leave now. Maybe no one would notice if he slipped out a side corridor and vanished into the night. He was too tired for all of this. The performance. The masks. The games. He had come. He had tried. And that, he hoped, was enough.
And yet, as she drifted farther across the room, laughter trailing behind her like silk, the sharp discomfort in his chest didn’t ease. It deepened. Turned heavy.
He watched her from across the crowded ballroom, trying to piece together why he was still here. Why he hadn’t left the moment he saw her arrive. Why it felt like his whole presence tonight had been orchestrated just for this. This cruel, theatrical reunion. And if that were true, then what had gone wrong? Why hadn’t the moment come? Why were they still circling each other like spirits? There was no clarity. Only that ache in his ribs, old and familiar, flaring like it was fresh.
He considered going to her. Following. Letting their paths crash together, like they always did. Hadn’t they already closed the chapter back in Texas? He thought they had. But now, standing here, watching her smile at someone else, he felt all of it return. The shame. The guilt. The hollow echo of what he had done. Not shame in who he was, but what he had done to her that was different. That wound still bled.
She was wrapped in conversation now. Something important, no doubt. She looked radiant. Focused. She always had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, even while calculating five conversations ahead. Jensen watched for a moment longer, but the pressure in his chest only worsened.
He wanted closure, yes, but not like this. Not in this room. Not when it felt like touching the wound again would only tear it deeper.
He turned away.
Maybe someone would let him leave now. Maybe no one would notice if he slipped out a side corridor and vanished into the night. He was too tired for all of this. The performance. The masks. The games. He had come. He had tried. And that, he hoped, was enough.