ASTRID

I woke to the light sensation of soft kisses trailing across my shoulder. For a moment, I stayed still, eyes closed, hoping to hold on to the fleeting peace. But it didn’t last. My eyes opened lazily, taking in the dim room. The curtains were still closed, and the soft light from the lampshade cast long shadows across the walls.

I didn’t move, barely breathing as I registered the familiar warmth beside me. His presence was comforting and suffocating all at once. My body felt heavy, my mind clouded, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts creeping in.

Last night replayed in fragments—his words, his actions, my silence. I didn’t have the energy to argue with him anymore. I didn’t even have the energy to feel anything. Maybe that was the scariest part.

I shifted slightly, my body aching in ways that felt foreign and unwelcome. My thighs were sore, my lower back stiff, and a dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen. The clock on the nightstand read 10 AM. On any other day, I’d consider this waking up late. Today, it didn’t even matter. Nothing about today felt like it mattered.

I glanced down to see his arm draped over my stomach, his hand touching my skin as if he had every right to be there. I turned, careful and slow, and flinched when I found him awake, his tired eyes already on me.

“You startled me,” I said flatly, my voice devoid of warmth.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

He looked terrible. His eyes were tired, bloodshot, and filled with something I couldn’t quite place. Regret, maybe. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and I wondered briefly if it was because of me.

“You look exhausted,” I said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. I stopped halfway, hesitating. We’re not okay yet. I’m not angry with him, but I can’t pretend to be fine with what he did either.

I pulled my hand back and held his gaze for a moment longer. The silence between us stretched, growing heavier with each passing second. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, his voice raw.

I stayed silent, unsure whether to press for more. I still care, I do. He looks worn out, and I don’t want him to feel that way. “Okay,” I replied, looking away—though my eyes quickly found him again. Why hasn’t he slept? He needs to sleep.

He gave me a weak smile but didn’t elaborate. His hand moved slightly, brushing against my back as if testing my boundaries. “Love,” he said softly, his voice pleading.

He shifted closer and I stiffened, my hands instinctively pressing against his chest to keep some distance between us. His touch used to feel safe, but now it only reminded me of how everything had unraveled.

I don’t know if we’re supposed to be this intimate after everything that happened—after what he did last night.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

He pulled back immediately, his expression faltering. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry for making you uncomfortable. I just thought I could hug you, like last night,” he explained, his voice heavy with guilt.

It’s frustrating. I’m upset with him, yet I still crave his comfort. He’s the one who brought this chaos into our lives, but somehow, being in his arms makes it hurt a little less. I hate that about myself. Does that make me weak? Too forgiving?

But he always said I wasn’t easy—or difficult. Just perfect for him.

I closed my eyes. Part of me wanted to tell him he couldn’t fix it, that he’d already done enough damage. But another part of me—the part that still wanted to believe in us—remained silent.

“You can hold me,” I said finally, my voice barely audible. “If that’s what you need.”

He didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close as if afraid I might disappear. I let him hold me, resting my head against his chest but keeping an emotional distance between us.

His lips brushed against my hair as he sighed deeply. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice slightly trembling. “For everything. For hurting you, for making things harder than they already were.”

I kept my silence, letting his words wash over me. They didn’t erase the pain or the disappointment, but they were a good start.

“I didn’t mean for things to get so out of control,” he continued. “I never wanted to expose us like that. It was stupid and selfish, and you deserve better than that.”

I didn’t reply. I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, but I also wasn’t ready to walk away. For now, I let the silence speak for me, hoping it was enough to show him I wasn’t giving up entirely. Not yet.

Should I be angry with Art?

But he already apologized multiple times. I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with him.

Knowing him, he would never want something like this to happen.

But also knowing him, he wouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.

I stayed silent because, truthfully, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. I wasn’t okay with him, and he was well aware that we weren’t on good terms right now. Plus, I couldn’t ignore the bitter irony that the one who caused me so much pain was also the one who brought me the most comfort.

Was I angry with him? No.

Was I shocked? Yes—completely overwhelmed by everything that’s happened.

Was I disappointed? A little? No… a lot. More than I wanted to admit.

Last night had been too much—so overwhelming and nerve-wracking that the emotional pain became unbearable. I had shut down completely, desperate to escape reality. All I wanted was to fall asleep and wake up to a world where none of this had happened.

I couldn’t believe that the calm and composed Art I once knew could vanish in the blink of an eye because of jealousy. Deep down, I wanted to justify his actions—he did worry when I didn’t update, and he was genuinely bothered by Miguel’s behavior, especially since our relationship was kept a secret. But that still doesn’t excuse everything, right? I understand where he’s coming from, but I need more time to process it all.

I’m not sure what to feel as I remember that I left all the carelessness to him. It seems like the universe played a game last night, granting the playful remark we made.

I didn’t want to make things worse. I hated the idea of hurting him. Part of me wanted to scream, to pour out every raw feeling I had bottled up. But I reminded myself of his patience, of how he’s been there for me through everything. This was the first time, at least as far as I could remember, that he had truly made a mistake. So I tried—tried my best to stay rational, to be mature. Even though he deserved to feel every ounce of my pain, I couldn’t bring myself to let it out.

The comments online were pure hell. They brought back memories of people calling me names, making hurtful, below-the-belt remarks. It stung to see them assume things about me—things that weren’t true. I’d never wish that kind of cruelty on anyone, not even those who’ve caused me harm.

“How are you feeling?” Art’s voice broke through my thoughts, so I fluttered my eyes open.

“Okay,” I replied flatly.

“Do you need anything right now?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“No.”

“Do you want to sleep more?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Want me to get you water?”

“Yes,” I replied softly.

“I’ll get you water, my love,” he said, giving me a small, reassuring smile.

“Okay,” I whispered. The moment his gaze shifted away, I rolled my eyes.

Even though he looked exhausted, Art got up and walked toward the mini fridge in his room. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, watching every step, every small action. My heart ached with every detail. He’s so annoyingly thoughtful, always knowing what I need before I even say it. Of course, he remembered my habit of needing water first thing in the morning.

Love, how could I ever be mad at you? You’re making it so hard not to fall for you all over again. Even last night, when I wasn’t myself, he was so patient and understanding—helping me with the simplest things.

As he should, Astrid, the devil inside me whispered. What the freak. Of course, he should be attentive—that’s the bare minimum he could do to make it up to me.

Without realizing it, tears were already forming in my eyes. Why am I so emotional right now? He’s just getting me water. Just the thought of it made tears spill over. I sniffled and quickly wiped them away before he could notice.

“Here,” he said softly, handing me the bottle of water before sitting on the edge of the bed. I pulled off the heavy comforter and sat up, taking small sips. I avoided looking at him, afraid he’d realize I was crying over something as simple as water. But my eyes betrayed me, stealing a glance in his direction.

His brows furrowed as he glanced down at the bed. “Love,” he said, his voice laced with concern.

I followed his gaze, and my stomach flipped. 

The white bedsheet was stained with blood.

“I think your monthly visitor just arrived,” he said gently.

Oh my gosh.

“I’ll buy you pads,” he added, already standing up. “With or without wings? Or do you use tampons?”

My face burned with embarrassment. How does he even know this stuff? Then I remembered—he’d been in a seven-year relationship before me. “With,” I muttered, my voice hesitant as I looked away.

Again, I glanced at the covers, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know I was going to get my period today,” I said.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it,” he said, gently caressing my head. His touch sent my heart racing, and I couldn’t help but wonder, What does he mean by he’ll take care of it? The urge to cry overwhelmed me—I felt mortified by my little accident.

“Better late than never, right?” he said, as if trying to make the situation lighter. I nodded shyly, still embarrassed.

“Wait here. I’ll get everything you need,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. He leaned in and, before either of us realized it, pressed a quick peck to my lips. We both froze in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was… out of habit.”

“No, it’s okay,” I whispered. “Just… go now,” I added, avoiding his gaze.

Out of all the days I could get my period…

After grabbing pads for me and spoiling me with all the sweets I could ask for, he went the extra mile and got me the eggdrop sandwich I was craving, along with the heating pad I desperately needed for my dysmenorrhea.

I curled up on my side in bed, pressing the heating pad against my skin. I had once wished for my period to come, but now, feeling the pain, I found myself longing for the days without it. The thought of being free from it for nine months crossed my mind—but nope, I’m still not ready for that just yet. Besides, I’d need Art’s help for that, and we’re not exactly okay right now.

It’s been half an hour, and Art still hasn’t come back. He’s been in the bathroom for what feels like forever, and now I’m starting to feel bothered, not to mention the dysmenorrhea that’s been making everything worse.

Even though my legs were weak, I managed to stand up and walk toward the bathroom. I froze when I stepped inside. There he was, sitting by the shower, holding my underwear in his hand, the stained bedsheet lying beside him. The water was still running, and his body was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. He looked like he’d fallen asleep.

Love, what on Earth is happening to you?

I moved closer and gently tapped his shoulder, causing him to flinch in surprise.

“Art, you should sleep,” I said, turning off the water. “You dozed off.”

For a moment, he looked around before his eyes drifted to what he was holding. “Don’t mind me, love, I’m all good,” he replied, rinsing out my underwear. I couldn’t believe he was washing it himself. Oh my God, he could’ve just left it in the laundry basket, but instead, he insisted on washing it for me since I was too shy for the maids to see my little accident. “Does it still hurt?” he asked, his lips slightly pouted, pointing toward my lower abdomen.

I nodded and pouted a little, but then bit my lip. Why am I acting cute? We’re not okay yet.

Once he finished rinsing everything, he stood up and put everything in the basket. “I’ll put these in the dryer,” he said. “Do you need anything?”

I want your hugs, kisses, and more chocolates.

But, of course, I wouldn’t say that.

I shook my head and walked back to bed, lying down with the heating pad pressed against my stomach. “I’m good,” I answered, trying to sound unaffected. “But you should really sleep.”

“After this,” he said, disappearing outside the room. A few minutes later, he returned with even more snacks in hand, panting slightly as if he’d run upstairs just to get back to me as quickly as possible.

I sighed as he sat next to me, offering the sweets. I gestured no. “Sleep,” I said, my voice soft but firm.

He stayed silent for a moment before looking at me. “I can’t sleep.” I raised an eyebrow, and he gave me a weak smile. “I might wake up without you by my side,” he confessed. “I don’t need sleep.”

So that’s why he hasn’t slept since last night.

Love, you’re breaking my heart.

I patted the empty side of the bed, gesturing for him to lie down. “Come on, sleep,” I said gently, my voice steady even though my emotions were not.

He hesitated, his body stiff, as if unsure he deserved the comfort I was offering. I patted the bed again, firmer this time. “Art, we’re not okay. I’m not okay with what you did.”

His eyes dropped to the floor, the weight of my words heavy between us.

“But I’m not angry,” I continued, watching his face carefully. “I’m just... disappointed.”

“I’m sorry—”

I shook my head, stopping him. “I’m disappointed,” I repeated, my voice softer now, “but it doesn’t mean I love you any less.” I paused to let that sink in. “So please, sleep. I’m not leaving.”

“You really won’t?” he asked, moving closer to me. His eyes pleaded with me, searching for reassurance. Why would he even think I’d leave? I loved him too much to walk away. I was tired, yes, but that didn’t mean I’d give up on us.

I nodded, and without hesitation, his hands found mine, wrapping around them as he pulled me close. His warm lips pressed against my forehead. “I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit,” he murmured, “and then I’ll take care of you again.”

Silence stretched, yet his embrace began to feel comforting again. I wanted to cling to him all day, but I didn’t want it to seem like we had already fixed everything. I still needed more time to let it all sink in. For now, I would just enjoy his warmth—a good distraction from my period cramps, I justified to myself.

“I love you most,” he whispered. A weak smile broke through my exhaustion as I leaned against his chest. I love you too, even though I can’t make sense of you right now.

Astrid, this is just a small bump in your relationship with Art, I told myself. Leaving him won’t do you any good. Leaving him won’t fix anything.

My thoughts drifted to the mess we were in, how complicated everything had become. Maybe staying would hurt, especially with the Xena situation looming, but leaving would hurt even more. Both paths felt like complete misery, but I’d choose the one where I could still hold him every day.

If I had to choose between pain and pain, I’d choose the one where I could have him.

Maybe it’s stupid and reckless to love him this much, I thought, as his heartbeat calmed me. But I couldn’t imagine my life without him, no matter how difficult things might get.