“You know, you don’t have to do this alone,” Chris’s voice cut through the haze as you looked up, surprised he’d noticed you slipping away again. He was close, too close. You shifted uncomfortably, heart racing as he leaned in, searching your face with those calm, steady eyes.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing him off, but he didn’t move, didn’t give in to the walls you kept pushing up. His patience was frustrating, a constant reminder of everything you’d tried to bury. He was here, offering something real, but every time he reached out, you felt those familiar pangs—the same hollow promises, the same emptiness you’d learned to ignore.

“You don’t have to hide, you know.” His voice softened, and for a moment, it was almost comforting. But then the memories flooded back, and you pushed them away the only way you knew how.

You looked down, feeling the weight of the pill bottle in your pocket. “I told you, Chris,” you said, turning away before he could see the cracks in your resolve. “I don’t need anyone.”