Chapter 33 The Stupid Thing Called Love
I've lost count of how many times Damian's name has flashed on my phone.
At first, I stared at every message, my thumb hovering over "reply." Now, I don't even open them. I just... stare. Watch them pile up. Like guilt, like regret.
He's texted I'm sorry.
Then Please, Elena, let's talk.
Then It's not what you think.
And the one that nearly broke me: I still love you.
Love. That stupid, heavy, useless word.
I toss my phone onto the bed, hearing it bounce against the sheets, and press the heels of my palms against my eyes. I can still hear his voice - the roughness when he says my name, the way his hand used to brush my hair behind my ear like I was something fragile.
I hate that I miss it. I hate that I miss him.
People think heartbreak feels like crying or screaming or slamming doors. But it's quieter than that. It's waking up in the middle of the night and reaching out for someone who isn't there. It's scrolling through old pictures and pretending you're just deleting them when really, you're memorizing every smile.
I told myself I was done. I meant it too. But love doesn't vanish because you decide it should. It lingers, stubborn and cruel - a bruise that never fades.
The phone buzzes again. Another message.
I glance at the screen despite myself.
Damian: I need you to believe me. The baby might not even be mine.
I let out a short, humorless laugh. Might not. That's what we've come to - percentages and possibilities instead of trust.
I sink into the chair by the window, staring out at the city lights. It's raining again, and the drops hit the glass like tiny fists. The storm feels fitting. The whole world seems to echo the mess inside me.
How could I have fallen for someone like him?
The man who could make me feel safe and terrified in the same breath. The man with too many secrets - a man who made me believe I was enough, only to make me question if I ever was.
I remember the first time he kissed me. It wasn't fireworks. It wasn't slow motion. It was chaos - hands in my hair, breathless laughter, the kind of heat that burns before you even realize it's there. And just like fire, it destroyed everything when it got out of control.
I told myself I'd never fall in love again after him.
Never again.
But here I am, sitting in a hotel room, wearing his old sweatshirt because it still smells like him, hating every second of it.
The phone buzzes again.
I ignore it.
Then again.
And again.
Finally, I grab it with shaking hands.
The messages come fast now - desperation spilling through the screen.
Damian: Elena, please. Just talk to me.
Damian: I can explain everything.
Damian: I miss you. I can't sleep knowing you hate me.
I throw the phone down again, harder this time. My chest aches, my eyes sting, and all I can think is: Why do I still care?
I should hate him. I do hate him.
But hate, I've realized, is just love that's been wounded too many times.
A knock comes at the door, and my heart jumps before I even move. For a moment, I'm stupid enough to think it might be him. That he somehow found me.
But it's not. Just the hotel staff, asking if I want my sheets changed. I nod quickly, hiding my trembling hands.
When they leave, I sit back on the bed and whisper to the empty room,
"I'm not going back."
I say it again, louder this time. "I'm not going back."
But my voice cracks on the last word. Because deep down, a part of me knows - the part that still remembers the way he looked at me like I was the only real thing in his world - that if he showed up at my door right now, I wouldn't know what to do.
Love makes you stupid. It makes you forgive things that shouldn't be forgiven. It makes you wait for someone you should've already walked away from.
And the worst part?
It makes you hope.
I stare at the phone one more time. Another message appears on the screen.
Damian: Elena, please. I'll prove it to you. The results are coming in today.
My heart twists. Results. Proof. Lies. Hope. It all feels the same at this point.
I don't reply. I just watch the typing bubbles appear... then vanish. Then appear again.
For the first time in a long while, I let myself whisper the truth - the one that scares me the most.
"I still love you, Damian."
The words feel like a betrayal, even though no one else can hear them.
I wipe my tears, stand up, and close the curtains. Because loving him has always been like looking directly at the sun - it blinds you, burns you, and still, you can't look away.