***"When the night was full of terrors***
***And your eyes were filled with tears***
***When you had not touched me yet***
***Take me back to the night we met." - Lord Huron***
***Alissa Blake***
Moving around wasn’t easy yet, but I managed to take a shower and get ready by myself. Feeling the warm water on my skin was comforting, a familiar sensation amidst the strangeness of being in a different environment.
Holden had brought new clothes—lots of them. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted on bringing something with him every time he visited. I still wasn’t used to receiving that kind of… intense attention.
I couldn’t be a hypocrite—I was grateful for him. But having someone close after so long… I don’t think I ever really learned how it feels to be taken care of.
The trip back home was… interesting. I lost my phone in the accident and still didn’t have a way to check the news, but the curious stares and sudden cameras snapping pictures weren’t pleasant at all. I had no idea how bad the situation was and wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
The thought of being a public figure, exposed to the thoughts and critiques of everyone on social media, had always been a terrifying concept to me.
And, of course, I had to be hit by the car of a famous singer. Great job, Alissa.
When I finally arrived at the small building I call home, climbing the three flights of stairs was a struggle. I was still sore and sensitive from the impact, so it was going to take some time to recover.
My apartment had never been much, but now it seemed smaller. Cramped. As if the simple act of breathing here took up too much space.
I sipped on a cup of cheap coffee, regretting bitterly the decision to cut corners on groceries. Setting the cup down on the table, I slumped into the chair.
I grabbed an old phone that still worked well enough and decided to look for online job postings. I couldn’t stand the thought of working in a diner again—not even if it were plated in gold. But my options weren’t great, not with a criminal record.
I needed to figure something out, find a way to crawl out of this hole. But the thought of facing anything even remotely social made me feel nauseous.
I opened Google, and my fingers itched to search for what people were saying about Holden online. I knew I shouldn’t want to know—I should get used to our story being this: a brief, tragicomic encounter that provided good drama.
That would be it. No, I shouldn’t look… but it was so tempting. It’s the curse of the internet, having the whole world at your fingertips.
So, I did what I shouldn’t.
I opened Google and typed: “Holden Young accident.” A classic, predictable mistake—and yet impossible to resist. The search bar spat back more results than I cared to see.
“Holden Young visits mysterious girl after accident.”
“Who is Alissa Blake? The woman who shook the star.”
“Accident or suicide attempt? Fans speculate on the truth behind the incident.”
The last headline almost made me laugh at how absurd it was. Suicide attempt? Being hit by Holden Young’s car had never been on my life’s to-do list—not even as an ironic joke.
I clicked the first link because, of course, I’m terrible at making intelligent decisions.
The article was a festival of insinuations and vague phrases. The kind of thing that makes you imagine the journalists chuckling to themselves while typing. “A source close to the singer claims he was visibly shaken after the incident…” What source? A tree planted in the hospital parking lot?
I scrolled through the comments. Another mistake.
“She’s just seeking attention. Bet she’s trying to get money out of him.”
“She’s so lucky! Wish I could be hit by Holden Young’s car!”
“Does anyone else find it weird how involved he is? This is more than just guilt.”
The last one made me let out a dry laugh. If only they knew.
I put the phone down and sank deeper into the chair. Was this what my life had become? Speculation on internet forums?
I thought things couldn’t get worse.
Running my hand over my face, I tried to push away the weight pressing on my chest. It wasn’t just the exposure that bothered me—it was the fact that, somehow, I had let all of this get to me.
I should be good at ignoring things. I’ve had years of practice—ignoring the yelling, the stares, the words telling me I wasn’t enough.
But with Holden… it was different. He had this infuriating way of digging where he shouldn’t, of looking at me as if he wanted to piece together the fragments I could barely hold onto.
I picked up the cup and took another sip of the now-cold coffee. It was bitter, just like the feeling lodged in the back of my throat. I needed to move on, to stop giving attention to the past—to him.
I took another shower, this time at home, hoping to wash off the hospital’s lingering smell. Finally clean, I glanced around my studio apartment, wondering how I’d keep myself busy. With no job and still nursing sore injuries, I was at rock bottom.
And then, as if my day needed an extra dose of chaos, someone started pounding on the door.
Not a timid or casual knock. It was insistent as if the person on the other side was determined to break it down if necessary.
“I’m coming!” I shouted, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice. With damp hair and wearing a robe, I made my way to the door. I turned the handle, ready to snap at whoever it was.
There were only three apartments in this building—mine and two older ladies. I assumed it was Trudy from the second floor, asking for sugar or ready to gossip about my disappearance.
But, of course, it wasn’t just anyone.
“You,” I said, crossing my arms.
Holden stood there, wearing that look that said he was about to get himself involved in something he shouldn’t. Must be a rich-people thing—finding problems to fix.
“We need to talk.” He walked in without waiting for an invitation, shutting the door behind him.
“You don’t know how to knock and wait?” I snapped, pulling the robe tighter around my shoulders.
“You need to stop running, Alissa.” Oh, great. Here he was, on his savior-of-humanity mission again.
“Running? You just barged into my home!” I pointed at him, my voice rising. “And you have the nerve to talk about running? How did you even find out where I live?”
He stepped closer, his eyes burning with frustration.
“I have my contacts…” Something told me he was hiding something. “And yes, you’re running. You do it every time someone tries to get close to you. You could at least be honest.”
I laughed dryly. Just what I needed. My eyes narrowed.
“Honest? What exactly do I owe you, Holden?” I crossed my arms, my breath shallow. “I’ve already thanked you for everything—you have no more obligations to me.”
“I’m not doing this out of obligation!” He took a step closer, and I instinctively stepped back. “You think you can disappear every time things get hard? That’s not how it works.”
“It works for me.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, dripping with sarcasm.
My breathing was uneven. Holden had been caught in the rain—his hair was damp, some strands clinging to his forehead. His caramel skin glistened with a mix of water and a light sheen of sweat from the clear tension on his face.
The gray shirt under his leather jacket clung to his torso. I shouldn’t have been looking there—not like that. But it was automatic.
For the first time, I truly noticed how much Holden had changed. He was a man now—a strong, beautiful man. Incredibly attractive.
That wasn’t good—not for me, who wanted to push him away with the same intensity that I wanted him close. That was rare.
“Why do you always do this?” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. He looked at me with his head tilted to the side as if he were tired. “You always put a wall between you and the rest of the world, as if no one could reach you!”
“Because no one can.” My voice was almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of a scream.
Holden stepped closer, his eyes shining in a deep green, almost blending with honey. His dark hair framed his face, his defined jawline striking. God, he looked so different.
We were just kids back then, but now… everything was different.
I bit my lip, trying to hold back the thoughts racing through my mind. Holden studied my face, his gaze lingering on the upper part of my body. I saw that he was struggling to remain respectful, his eyes darting away from the transparency of the robe I was wearing.
He looked at me as if trying to solve a riddle.
“I know about the reformatory, Alissa.” My whole body froze. No, he couldn’t.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Holden,” I shot back, wanting to change the subject.
“Then explain it to me.” He stepped forward. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened!” My voice rose, but he didn’t back down.
“Liar.” His tone was sharp. “You think you can keep running, but you can’t anymore. I know you left because of it. I just want to know why.”
My breathing grew heavy, and I felt the air around me grow thick. The words escaped before I could stop them: “Because I didn’t want you to see what I had become!”
He froze, and the silence that followed only made me more anxious.
“You want to know why I ended up in that reformatory?” I continued, my voice trembling. “Because I got involved with the wrong guy, Holden.”
He shook his head, confused. “I don’t understand, Alissa.”
I laughed, a bitter laugh.
“I fell in love at fifteen. I made a friend—a sweet boy, despite his playboy appearance. Funny, goofy, and so talented.” I tried to hold back the tears threatening to escape. “But he was so loved and protected by his parents, rich and powerful parents. What kind of parents would want a thief near their prodigy? Do you understand?”
Holden shook his head a few times before sitting down in the chair. He buried his face in his hands, looking ashamed.
My throat tightened.
“Alissa, this... this can’t be true.” His disbelief only made me angrier.
“You think I’m making it up?” My eyes narrowed. “Ask them. Ask what happened that night.”
“What night?” he asked, his voice low but filled with urgency.
“You know which one.” My voice nearly broke. “The night they found me at your house. The night we made love for the first time.”