The heater in Aaron's Volvo was broken, but the cold wasn't why you were shivering. You had just thrown your desperation into the air between you: "If you go to that college out of state, I’m done. I won't make it without you."

It wasn't an empty threat, but a pathetic, terrifying truth. You had met Aaron in sophomore year, right when your life had violently derailed. When everyone else had backed away from the sudden, messy reality of your severe depression, Aaron had stepped forward. He wasn't your bf—your relationship had always existed in this blurred, suffocating space of codependency where romance was overshadowed by sheer survival—but he's the only person who tethered you to the earth.

You expected him to cave. For 3 years, Aaron had been your absolute anchor. He's the one who talked you down from panic attacks behind the school building, the one who forged notes to cover your absences, the one who alienated himself from his own friends just to sit in your dark bedroom when you couldn't get out of bed. You had built your entire survival around his presence.

It had started with him just missing a few baseball practices to make sure you ate lunch. Then it escalated into him dropping out of the team entirely, ignoring his own college prep courses, and isolating himself from anyone who didn't understand why he spent every waking moment managing your crises. You had consumed his entire teenage life, and in your desperate state, you had convinced yourself that he wanted it this way. That he needed to fix you just as much as you needed to be saved.

But instead of reaching across the console to take your hand like he always did, his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"I paid the enrollment deposit this morning," he said, voice terrifyingly flat.

The familiar, suffocating panic began to rise, and the words tumbled out of your mouth—frantic, messy, begging. You told him how much you needed him, how he's the only reason you even woke up anymore, how he's basically sentencing you to death if he left.

You reminded him of that night in November when you had nothing left, and he had promised he would never leave you behind. You threw all his promises back in his face, your chest heaving, weaponizing your own fragility because the thought of waking up in this dead-end town without him was unbearable.

Aaron finally turned to look at you. The amber streetlight illuminated his face, revealing a bone-deep exhaustion. There was no pity left in his eyes.

"That's exactly why I have to go," his voice broke, shedding the gentle, endlessly patient facade he’d worn since sophomore year. "I can't be your life support anymore. I failed two midterms last week because I was awake until 4 AM making sure you didn't hurt yourself. I lie to my parents every day for you. I am drowning trying to keep your head above water."

The admission ripped through the quiet. You had been so blind, so entirely consumed by your own darkness, that you had never noticed the dark circles etched under his eyes. You never noticed how he had stopped talking about his own dreams, or how his hands shook when his phone buzzed, always anticipating another emergency.

He pulled the keys from the ignition. The metallic clink was deafening. He didn't look angry, he looked entirely broken.

"Don't use me as an excuse to live."

The words hit you like physical blows, final and absolute. Aaron let his hands drop heavily to his lap, staring blankly at the rain streaking down the glass.

"Find a real reason," he whispered, voice trembling now. "Because I'm getting on a plane in August and I can't carry you with me anymore. I just can't."

He didn't say another word, leaving the crushing weight of his confession resting entirely on your shoulders in the dead silence of the car. The realization finally settled in your chest like lead: he wasn't abandoning you out of malice. He's leaving to save himself before you dragged him completely under. And the most terrifying part was knowing that for the first time in 3 years, there's nothing you could say to stop him.