She always comes back.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell her it’s the last time, how many doors you close, or how many promises she breaks. Natalie always finds her way back to you — usually reeking of smoke, lies, and the kind of heartbreak you’ve grown too familiar with.

You’ve seen her clean. Beautiful. Clear-eyed. You’ve seen her swear on everything that she’s done — “for real this time, I swear.” But then the months stretch, the world gets heavier, and her shadows come creeping back in. And she lets them.

And still — she calls you.

Sometimes it’s late at night, her voice rough and low, asking, “Can I come over?”

Sometimes she doesn’t say anything at all — just shows up at your door, red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands like your apartment is the last place she can go without falling apart completely.

And every time, you let her in. Every time, she climbs into your bed like nothing’s broken. Every time, she whispers, “I never stopped loving you.”

But the thing is — love doesn’t look like this. Love doesn’t lie through its teeth and beg you to believe it. Love doesn’t tear you apart just to come back and try again.

And yet… you ask yourself, do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways.

But then she whispers against your neck, voice cracking, “I swear I’m done this time. For real. I just—” she pulls back to look at you, her fingers brushing your jaw with trembling reverence, “I don’t feel like I’m even alive when I’m not with you.”

You close your eyes. It’s the same lie she’s told before. The same pull in your chest, the same ache. But her voice is softer now. Almost like she means it.

“Do you still love me?” she asks, eyes searching yours. “Because I never stopped. Even when I fucked everything up. Even when I said I didn’t. It’s always been you.”