Rebirth: Love me Again

[EVE]

Days turned into weeks, and before I knew it, the inevitable arrival of classes loomed over me. My schedule had been so relentless—meetings, assignments, and personal obligations—that I hadn't even realized how much Cole and I had drifted apart.

At first, I thought nothing of it. Cole was always busy with work, and I had convinced myself that this was just how things were meant to be.

But as I took a rare pause, the realization hit me like a tidal wave. We weren't the same anymore. The little things—the comforting routines and the shared moments—were now glaringly absent.

He rarely stayed over at my apartment anymore. The mornings I used to wake up to the smell of his cooking were gone. We didn't share meals or laugh over something trivial. Even the simplest act of just being together, doing nothing but talking, seemed to have vanished.

At first, I had brushed it off as life simply getting in the way. We were both adults, after all, with responsibilities that demanded attention. But as the days stretched on, I couldn't ignore the growing emptiness. I tried to rationalize it, convincing myself that it wasn't a big deal.

He's probably swamped with work, I told myself over and over again. Yet, no matter how much I reasoned, the ache of his absence was undeniable.

In Sinclair's mansion, there was hardly a dull moment. With Sinclair himself, the ever-hyper Sebastian, and the moody Victor around, I was never truly bored. Their presence filled the space that would otherwise have felt lonely.

We spent hours working on projects, discussing upcoming plans, and even sharing the occasional laugh. In the whirlwind of activity, it was easy to distract myself.

But distraction wasn't the same as peace. Deep down, I knew it. I hadn't stopped missing Cole, no matter how much I buried myself in the company of others. The hollow ache would resurface late at night when the mansion grew quiet, and I was left alone with my thoughts. That was when the questions crept in.

Why had he become so distant?

Was I not important enough anymore?

Was there something I missed—a sign, a word, a moment—when everything began to shift?

Why was it that we were together now that he suddenly changed?

These thoughts gnawed at me, but I kept them buried, even from myself. Every time I considered calling him to ask, my fingers would hover over my phone before I'd let out a sigh and put it away.

I didn't want to be the kind of partner who seemed needy or demanding. I wanted to trust that Cole was just busy. That he'd come back to me when things settled down.

Even so, I couldn't shake the weight in my chest.

Zen had been my lifeline in all of this. He was the one who kept me updated about Cole, though his reports were always frustratingly vague.

"He's doing fine," Zen would say whenever I asked, his tone calm but distant. "You don't have to worry about him."

But that wasn't enough. How could I not worry? Cole was my partner, and we'd always been so close. How had we come to this—relying on someone else to bridge the gap between us?

I tried to think back to the last time we'd spent quality time together, but the memory felt hazy, as if it had been a lifetime ago. When had he stopped texting me goodnight? When had I started waking up to an empty apartment instead of his warm presence beside me?

I hated feeling this way—unsure, anxious, and disconnected. This wasn't who I was. I'd always been independent, strong, and capable. Yet, here I was, second-guessing everything and wondering if I had done something wrong.

I was fine before he came back into my life. I had built walls, strengthened myself, and convinced my heart that I didn't need him. That I could live perfectly well without the chaos and uncertainty he always seemed to bring. But then he came back—he walked through the cracks I didn't even know I had left open. And I let him in.

I let him in because he made me feel something I hadn't felt in so long—love, hope, the possibility of a future that wasn't lonely or cold. He filled the empty spaces, painted them in vibrant colors, and made me believe that maybe, just maybe, we could have something real this time.

But now, those colors have faded, and all that's left is the suffocating gray of uncertainty. He made me feel alive, made me dream of a future where we'd build something together. And now? Now he's distant. He's a shadow of the man who smiled at me, who held me close and promised me the world.

And it hurts. It hurts more than I thought it could. It hurts more so in the past.
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I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I'd learned how to protect myself from this kind of heartbreak. But here I am again, trapped in the same cycle, feeling the same pain. The worst part is that he didn't just hurt me this time—he gave me something to lose. He made me believe, truly believe, that we had a chance. And then he pulled away.

It was beyond maddening. It felt like watching a beautiful painting slowly being torn apart, stroke by stroke, until there was nothing left but shreds of what could have been.

If I had known it would end like this—if I had known that letting him back into my life would lead to that spiral of pain and doubt—I would have kept my walls up. I would have turned him away, no matter how much it hurt in the moment.

But how could I have known? He had looked at me with those eyes, filled with promises of something better. He had said all the right words, made me feel all the right things. How could I have known it would end like that—me sitting there, questioning everything, feeling like a fool for believing in him again?