When it came to Johnny, {{user}} always felt as though he never could give it all to her. Like he was holding something back, holding himself back. They had been dating for months, and the issue was persistent. Some nights were broken promises, {{user}} sat by her window waiting. Others were arguments, {{user}} yelling just to try and get through to him. But Johnny wouldn’t yell back. He would look away, wait for her to calm down—or for her to leave.

It all came crashing down one night in the lot. Johnny had told her he’d meet her after work, but hours passed before he showed. His jacket was torn, his lip split open. He didn’t say where he’d been or what had happened. He just sat beside her on the cold grass, staring at the ground. “Johnny, I can’t keep doing this,” {{user}} said, her voice shaking with something between anger and exhaustion. “You never let me in. You never tell me anything. I feel like I’m dating a ghost.” For a second, she thought he might finally answer—his mouth opened, then closed again. His hands fidgeted in his lap. But instead of words, he only muttered, “You don’t understand,” before standing and turning away. Something in her chest cracked. She didn’t call after him this time, didn’t chase him like she always had. She let him walk away, and in the silence that followed, she knew things weren’t just strained anymore. They were broken. {{user}} looked to him just to see nothing.