Chapter 160

Chapter 160
He runs a hand through his hair, dragging it back in that way he does when he’s unraveling. His fingers tremble slightly, just barely, but I catch it. He’s standing in front of me like he’s drowning and I’m the only lifeboat left in the ocean.
“I need you, Layla,” he says, voice frayed and low, like it’s been rubbed against concrete. “You know I need you.”
I nod. Because I do know. And it makes everything harder.
“I’m not leaving you,” I say softly. “This isn’t a breakup. You said it yourself, you can control yourself when it comes to us.”
He exhales sharply, like the words don’t soothe him the way I hoped they would.
“But I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t control myself when it comes to you. And I need to learn how to.”
His face folds, like he doesn’t believe I'm asking him to step away. “How are you even supposed to do that?”
I shake my head slowly, helpless. “I don’t know. I’ll talk to Mrs. Roberts. Actually do what she tells me this time. Try harder.”
His eyes flick over my face, searching for the part of me that’s bluffing, but I’m not. I wish I were.
“For how long?”
I shrug, arms crossed tight across my chest like they’re holding me in place. “I don’t know. But I’d like to see how long I can go without... without needing to run to you. Without falling apart every five seconds.”
His brows pull together like the idea hurts him. “And I still get to see you?”
I finally look up. “Eventually. Yeah. But I want to try going without first. Just… day by day.”
He cuts in, voice tense, pushing back like he’s desperate to stop the wave that’s already mid-crash. “What if it’s too much for you? What if you fall apart and I’m not there?”
My throat tightens. That’s the part that scares me too.
“I’ll send a rose,” I say, my voice barely more than breath. “Like we agreed.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”
That stings. It sinks somewhere deep and old.
“You didn’t do it before,” he adds, quieter now. “You couldn’t.”
I stare at the floor, then back at him. “Exactly. That’s why I need this. That’s why it matters now.”
He doesn't say anything. He’s just looking at me like the ground cracked open between us and he doesn’t know how to reach across it.
“I need you to trust me,” I say, the words trembling but firm.
His jaw tenses. I can see the war in his eyes, the need to fight this, to fight me on it, but underneath it all is that part of him that knows. That part that has seen me spiral, break, cling, cry. And still wants me anyway.
He’s starts pacing, and I hate it. Every step he takes feels like it’s tearing into me, like his frustration has claws and I’m standing here asking it to shred me open. He stops, eyes locking on mine, voice thick with something frantic.
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to run because you found out I know the truth?”
His jaw tics. “Because if it’s that...if it’s because of that—”
I cut in, quick, quiet but firm.
“It’s not.”
He flinches like my voice burned him. I step forward, heart thudding so hard it feels like I’m being dragged under my own skin.
“I know I have to deal with that too. Eventually. But right now?” I exhale, voice trembling on the edges.
“Right now....I’d really rather not.”
He turns away like he can’t bear it. Like I’m handing him a blade and asking him to keep smiling.
“I don’t like this,” he mutters, low and cracked. “There’s gotta be some other way to fix this without pulling ourselves apart.”
I stare at the floor between us, toes curling, and ask quietly,
“Like what?”
He spins on me, desperation leaking through every word.
“We’ll fucking find one, Layla. I don’t know...we’ll figure it out. We always do.”
That’s the worst part. We do. We always find some way to survive the chaos we drag behind us like bloodied threads. But surviving isn’t healing. Surviving doesn’t feel like breathing.
It’s so goddamn exhausting being the weak one. But my body betrays me, my throat locks up, and I sniffle because it’s either that or I start sobbing.
He notices. His whole face shifts, sharp edges dulling, mouth parting like he’s about to apologize for existing. I hate that too.
I walk up to him, hands light against his cheeks as I tilt his head to look at me. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, but his eyes are cold with hurt.
“Adam,” I whisper. “I know. I know you hate this. But I feel... crazy. I feel completely mental some days and I’d like not to.” I shake my head.
“I need this. I need you to back me up because that’s the only way I’ll actually go through with it. You’re the only reason I want to get better in the first place.”
Silence. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Just stands there and absorbs all of me like I’m an ache he’s been carrying too long.
It takes a while. Seconds stretch into a lifetime, and I think maybe he’s about to say no. Maybe he’ll walk out and say he’s done, because I’m too much, and I keep pushing him to the edge with no safety net.
But then he nods. Slow and painful. His voice is gravel and surrender.
“Fine. But I get to call and check in.”
My arms wrap around him before I can think. Not tight. Just there. Just needing to touch the one person who keeps trying even when I’m all sharp edges and broken glass.
“Okay.” I breathe it into his chest.
“Okay.”
And I don’t know how to fix myself. But I know who I want to be whole for.
He lets out a slow, pained breath. Nods once.
“I don't like this,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
“I’ll wait.”
My chest caves a little. “I know.”