The Gap

I knocked on his door, my knuckles trembling against the cold wood. Each rap echoed back at me, a hollow sound that seemed to mock my hope. My breath came out uneven, clouds of vapor against the night air. Maybe he won't answer. Maybe this is stupid, I thought, but I stayed—rooted to the spot, as if my feet refused to move.

And then, the door creaked open.

There he was.

Daren stood there lazily, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. His chest was bare, the light from inside casting a shadow over his disheveled hair. A cigarette hung from his mouth, the end glowing faintly red in the dark. The scent of perfume—sweet and unfamiliar—clung to him.

"What do you want, Aris?"

His voice was flat, uninterested. Not even angry—indifferent. That hurt more than yelling ever could.

I stared at him, the words I'd rehearsed over and over on the way here dying on my tongue. My throat burned as tears threatened to spill again. "Daren,… I just—I need to talk to you."

He sighed loudly, dragging his hand through his hair as though my presence exhausted him. "Aris, it's late. Go home."

"Why?" My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop. "Why did you leave me? Was I not enough? Was I ever enough?"

He groaned and glanced over his shoulder, clearly impatient. "Aris, I don't have time for this shit. I have better things to do."

Better things?

The words cut through me like a blade. What could be more important than this—than us? Than me? I was unraveling in front of him, standing in the cold, exposed and raw, and he didn't even flinch. Didn't he see I was dying inside? Couldn't he see the pain on my face, in the tremble of my hands, in the tears clinging to my lashes? Did he not fucking care?

Before I could say another word, a faint voice drifted from somewhere inside his apartment, soft but clear, like the final nail in my coffin.

"Daren? What's taking so long?"

It felt like the floor crumbled beneath me, like I'd stepped into quicksand and there was no way out. Another woman. She was in there—right now. He's with someone else.

I stared at him, waiting for him to deny it, to explain, to tell me that it wasn't what I thought. But he didn't. Instead, that smug smirk stretched across his face—so faint I could have imagined it, but I didn't. He was enjoying this.

"I should go," I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

"Yeah, you should," Daren replied coldly, that smirk still lingering. "You're embarrassing us both."

Us. He said us like there was still some connection tying us together—but it wasn't me. It was her.

And then, bang.

He shut the door.

I blinked, frozen in place, staring at the grain of the wood as if I could somehow make the door open again if I just stood there long enough. He had slammed it in my face—both literally and emotionally. My ears rang with the finality of it, my heart shattering into pieces that I couldn't gather fast enough.

This is rock bottom, I thought numbly, as a deep tightness coiled in my chest. My hands trembled violently at my sides. My breath hitched, quick and shallow, like I was suffocating. I pressed my palm against my sternum, trying to ease the pain, but it wouldn't let up. It wouldn't go away.

What did I do to make him stop loving me?

The question spun in my mind, over and over, until it became a chant. Was I too boring? Too clingy? Not pretty enough? Had my laugh annoyed him? Was it the way I held him too tightly in bed? Or maybe it was the way I needed him too much. I tried—didn't I? I gave him everything—

But the more I questioned it, the more the answers felt like razors against my skin.

I stumbled back from the door, barely aware of my legs moving as I turned and walked. The night was too quiet, save for the sound of my footsteps on the pavement—each step a heavy, lifeless thud. The cold wind bit at my skin, stinging where the tears slipped down my cheeks. I pulled my coat tighter around me, but it didn't help. Nothing helped.

And still, I stopped.

Halfway down the block, I turned back, my breath catching as I stared at the door I'd just walked away from. For a second—just one—I let myself hope. Maybe I misheard. Maybe he hadn't meant it. Maybe he was coming after me right now. I stared at the door, waiting for it to swing open, for Daren to run after me, to wrap me in his arms and tell me this was all a terrible mistake. That he loved me. That he still wanted me.

But the door didn't open.

The lights inside his apartment didn't flicker.

The street was silent, empty—except for me.

I turned back around, the ache in my chest spreading like poison through my veins. My footsteps were heavier now, slower, as though all my bones had been replaced with stone. I wasn't sure how long I walked. Minutes? Hours? Time didn't matter. The world felt too still, too empty.

By the time I reached the corner of my street, my face was raw from the wind, my fingers numb. My steps slowed, and I stopped beneath the flickering streetlamp. The light buzzed faintly above me, the hum filling the silence in my head.

I thought love was supposed to save me. Instead, it spat me out and left me to crawl home alone.

The thought sat heavy in my chest as I stood there, staring blankly at the dark road ahead.

And I realized—I didn't know how to move forward.