Her POV

"Rm 93," I texted.

I needed him bad today.

The world was crumbling again—friends shutting me out, a failing grade on my chem test, and I was out of the only thing that could make me forget. I took the last pill this morning before school, hoping it would make me numb. All it did was make me feel like a ghost.

The second he texted me back with a yes, I grabbed my bag and left. Just knowing I was on my way to my escape made me smile.

In just a few minutes, I'd be free.

When I got to the hotel, he was already there. That never happens.

He looked up, and I saw it instantly—bloodshot eyes, tear-stained cheeks. Not his usual strung-out exhaustion. Something heavier. Real.

I froze.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "We broke up," he said. "She found out about us. She left."

I should have felt victorious. I should have felt like I won.

But all I felt was hollow.

Because I could see it—he wasn't relieved. He wasn't free. He was devastated. Mourning the loss of a girl I was never meant to replace.

I walked closer, heart pounding, and placed my thumb against his cheek. He flinched a little. I swallowed the lump in my throat and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, baby," I whispered.

That's all I had. Just those words and the softness of my lips on his skin.

I told myself I was putting him first.

But deep down, I knew—I was just trying to make him need me again.

His POV – Letter 2 (Unsent)

You looked empty this morning.

I always thought that blue bag meant hope, but now I know better.

You're walking slower. Head lower. Smile gone.

You don't think anyone notices the way you're unraveling.

But I do.
I see every crack.

You gave your heart to someone who only ever asked for your body.
And now he's ruined you in ways he'll never stay long enough to witness.

Every time you leave that hotel room, there's less of you.
I want to scream at you.
Shake you.
Tell you that this isn't love, this is loss in slow motion.

He cried in front of you, didn't he?
I bet you wiped his tears while choking on your own.

That's what you do—you carry everyone else's pain like you were built for it.
But you weren't.
You're still just a girl. Just a kid.

I want to reach into that room and drag you out.
Not just from him—but from yourself.

But I won't.
Because I'm a coward who only knows how to write words he'll never say out loud.

— The Boy Who Wishes You'd Look Back