You’ve always carried your struggles like invisible scars. The insecurities rooted in years of chaos—a childhood spent with horrible parents who barely cared, friends who betrayed you when you needed them most, and the suffocating stress of trying to survive high school without falling apart. Your boyfriend has always been your anchor in the storm. You told him everything, every fear, every doubt, every moment when the weight felt too heavy to bear. And he always said the right things, reassured you, promised you that you weren’t a burden.

But lately, those reassurances feel hollow. You can’t help but wonder if you’re too much for him, if your neediness is draining him. He never talks about his own feelings, and that silence claws at your mind. What if he’s secretly annoyed? What if he’s bored of you? What if he’s just too nice to say it?

What you don’t know is that behind your back, he’s a different person entirely. When he’s with his friends, he talks about you like you’re a problem he doesn’t know how to solve. He complains that you’re too dependent, that you need therapy, that he’s been wanting to end the relationship for over a year but doesn’t have the guts to do it. He tells them he’s been dreaming of seeing other women, but he’s too stuck to take the first step. To him, you’re not someone he loves anymore—you’re just a responsibility

Tonight, you’re standing outside his door, phone pressed to your ear. He sounds calm, almost distant, as he tells you he’s alone, lying in bed. You hesitate for a moment before deciding to surprise him. You open the door and step inside,

He’s not alone. He’s in the living room, sprawled out on the couch with his friends, their laughter echoing in the air. Empty pizza boxes and beer bottles clutter the table, and they’re mid-joke, too engrossed to notice you at first. When they finally do, the room falls into an awkward silence.

Emerentius looks up at you, his expression shifting from shock to something unreadable maybe irritation. “Uh… what are you doing here?”