Carter's POV
I hadn't slept in nearly three days.
The apartment reeked of stale coffee and silence—too quiet, too loud in all the wrong ways. My phone sat like a loaded gun on the kitchen table. Still no message. No call. Not even a ghost of her voice in a voicemail.
I stared at it for too long before dragging my eyes away.
The bottle on the counter wasn't mine. Not really. It was something I'd picked up from the store out of habit, not intent. I hadn't even opened it until tonight. I didn't drink. Not since... not since I'd promised myself I'd stay clean. But sleep had become this abstract concept, and silence clawed at the walls inside my head.
I cracked the seal just to hear something break.
When the knock came, I thought I was imagining it. Or maybe hoping.
But it wasn't her—why would she? She doesn't even know where I live.
The door opened before I could react—of course, it wasn't locked. What did I have worth protecting?
Emily walked in like she still had a right to be here.
I hadn't seen her after she walked out of my office.
"Carter," she said like a sigh, like she had been holding her breath for too long.
"What the hell are you doing here?" My voice came out rough, uneven. I didn't bother to hide the disgust.
"I went by your office," she said calmly, closing the door behind her. "Twice. You weren't there. They said you hadn't shown up in two days."
I clenched my jaw. "That doesn't give you the right to show up at my apartment."
Her gaze fell on the bottle in my hand. "You don't drink."
"I don't do a lot of things lately," I snapped. "But I'm apparently full of surprises. You should know—you certainly had yours."
She flinched. It was slight, nearly imperceptible, but I caught it. A crack in her composure that vanished before it could spread.
"That's not fair," she said, her voice deliberately measured. "What happened between us was complicated."
"No, Emily. It was actually painfully simple." I set the bottle down harder than necessary. "I trusted you with something I'd never told anyone. And you left. And told everyone. Simple as that."
She stepped closer, smooth and measured, as if walking through a minefield. "I was naïve at that time, I told you my reasoning."
I laughed—a hollow sound, sharp and bitter. "Don't pretend you care. You left when it mattered. The moment I told you I had a problem, you walked out. But then, I also came back after coming out of rehab, but then you told me not to come back to you ever again. So don't show up now like some savior."
"Is that what you think?" Her voice hardened slightly. "That I abandoned you? That I just walked away without a second thought?"
"What would you call it?" I challenged. "I came back, and you just closed all the doors."
Her expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. "That wasn't fair. You blindsided me."
"Life isn't fair," I countered. "Addiction isn't fair. Depression isn't fair. But you know what? I thought we were stronger than that. I thought..." My voice faltered. "I thought you were different."
"I was scared," she admitted, something raw finally breaking through her careful exterior. "You told me you'd been lying. You told Olivia before me, also, I was scared because of your mom, and I have seen you going through hard days when your mom died, even if we were not together that time, you were with Olivia, but then also I saw you. I did not want to go through that. What even should I have done?"
"You should have understood me," I said simply. "With anything other than walking. And telling everyone."
"I needed time."
"And I needed you," I said, the words hanging between us like broken glass.
She took another step closer, and I could smell her perfume now—vanilla and something deeper, richer. The scent that used to cling to my clothes after she left in the mornings.
"No," I said coldly, "what's not fair is you walking back in here like you get to claim any part of me."
"I'm not here to claim you," she said, voice softer now. "I'm here because I care. Whether you believe that or not."
"Care?" The word tasted foreign on my tongue. "You don't get to vanish from someone's life and then show up claiming you care. That's not how it works, Emily."
"Then how does it work, Carter?" A flash of frustration crossed her features. "Tell me the rulebook for this situation. I am really sorry. I really want you back, Carter."
I stood still, the weight of exhaustion dragging at my limbs. "You left. That was your choice."
"And maybe I regret it," she said quickly, stepping closer. "Maybe I've spent every day wondering if I made the biggest mistake of my life."
"So this is about your regret?" I kept my voice level, though anger simmered beneath the surface. "Your guilt? You show up here unannounced to what—ease your conscience?"
"That's not fair."
"Stop saying that," I snapped. "Life isn't fair. You said so yourself in that text message you sent before blocking my number."
She winced. "I was angry. And hurt."
"And I wasn't?" The words came out louder than I intended. "You think I wanted to be that person? You think I chose addiction?"
"I know you didn't," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know it's a disease. I've... I've been reading about it. Trying to understand."
I didn't respond. I couldn't. My body was frozen between instinct and weariness.
"I'm not the same person I was," she continued. "And I don't think you are either."
She reached for the bottle in my hand. I didn't stop her.
"I know you're hurting," she whispered. "I can see it all over your face."
I looked away, jaw tight. "You don't know the first thing about what I'm feeling."
"Then tell me," she urged, her voice gentle. "Help me understand."
"Why? So you can feel better about yourself? So you can walk away again with a clean conscience?"
"No," she said firmly. "So I can be here now. So I can do better this time."
"There is no 'this time,' Emily. We're done. We've been done since you told me to never come back to see you again."
"I don't think so, Carter. You are angry, you are worked up. I know that you don't get easily worked up if you don't have feelings," she insisted, moving even closer until I could feel her breath against my skin.
Her fingers brushed against my arm.
I flinched.
"Emily," I said through gritted teeth. "This... this isn't the time. Or the place."
"When is the time, then?" she asked, her voice a mixture of frustration and desperation. "Another four months from now? A year? When you've completely disappeared into yourself?"
"That's not your concern anymore."
"It is," she insisted. "It always has been."
"That's rich coming from the woman who told me she 'couldn't handle my baggage.'"
She closed her eyes briefly, pain flashing across her features. "I said a lot of things I regret."
"And I've spent every day since then believing them," I countered.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she whispered. "I just... missed you."
I stared at her. I didn't trust a word. But I didn't have the energy to push her away. Not yet.
"You've got a funny way of showing it," I muttered.
"I was wrong," she admitted, and the simplicity of those three words hung in the air between us. "I was scared and selfish and wrong. And I've been paying for it every day since."
"Join the club," I said bitterly.
She leaned in slowly, testing the boundaries like she always did.
I turned my face, but her lips still found my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. Soft. Familiar. Uninvited.
"Don't," I warned, this time with force behind it. "You don't get to do this."
"Carter," she breathed against my skin. "I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. Let me help you."
"Love doesn't walk out," I said, my voice hardening. "Love stays and fights. You chose to leave."
"Then let me fight now," she whispered, moving closer. "Let me be here now. Let me in."
Before I could stop her, she pressed forward. The kiss was sudden—her lips forcefully against mine, one hand gripping the back of my neck to hold me in place. I tried to pull back, but she followed, persistent. I felt her tongue push against my closed lips, and then—
Something small. Something foreign. Hard and bitter.
She was forcing something into my mouth.
I jerked backward, but she held firm, her hand now cupping my jaw, fingers pressing into my cheeks, trying to keep my mouth closed as the bitter pill dissolved against my tongue.
My eyes widened in shock and rage.
With a violent shove, I broke free and stumbled backward. "What the FUCK!" I spat, but it was too late. I could feel it dissolving, sliding down my throat despite my attempts to cough it back up.
I slammed my fist against the counter, rage coursing through me like electricity. "What did you just do?!"
Her expression shifted—not guilt, not fear. Just calm, calculated damage control.
"You need rest, Carter," she said softly, as if she hadn't just assaulted me. "You haven't slept in days. I could see it the moment I walked in."
"You put something in my mouth!" I roared, lurching toward her. My legs felt suddenly unsteady. "You drugged me! even knowing about my addiction!"
She didn't back away, didn't flinch at my anger. Her composure only enraged me more.
"Just something to help you sleep," she said, her voice sickly sweet. "You looked like you were on the verge of collapse. I'm helping you, Carter."
I shook my head, panic setting in fast. "You drugged me? How is this helping?"
"It's not like that—"
"The hell it's not." My pulse was skyrocketing. The room started to tilt. My legs felt too light. Too far away from me. "You know my history. You know what I've been through, and you thought the solution was to slip me something?"
"You've been spiraling," she said, her voice still maddeningly calm. "I was trying to help."
"This isn't helping," I snapped. "This is manipulation. This is control. This is everything I've been fighting against for years."
"Carter, you're overreacting—"
"Overreacting?" I shouted, my voice bouncing off the walls. "You just forced a substance into my body without my consent! After everything I told you about my struggle with addiction!"
"I didn't mean to scare you," she said, taking a step toward me. "I just... I didn't know how else to reach you."
"You reach someone by talking to them!" I shouted, my words echoing off the walls. "Not by forcing drugs down their throat!"
"You weren't listening," she insisted, her voice still infuriatingly calm. "You wouldn't let anyone help you. I'm doing this because I care."
"So you decided to take away my choice?" The betrayal burned inside me, even as the edges of my vision began to blur.
"This isn't the same thing—"
"It's EXACTLY the same!" I slammed my palm against the wall to steady myself. "It's substances in my body without my consent. It's chemical control."
"It's help," she countered, stepping closer. "It's what you need right now."
"Don't you dare tell me what I need," I growled, though the words came out weaker than I intended. The room was beginning to sway. "You lost that right when you walked out on me."
"I made a mistake," she said, reaching for my arm. I jerked away, nearly losing my balance.
"And now you're making an even bigger one," I said. "Drugging someone isn't love, Emily. It's assault."
"That's not fair—"
"Stop saying that!" My shout turned into something closer to a desperate plea. "Nothing about this is fair! Nothing about what you just did is okay!"
I stumbled back, collapsing onto the edge of the couch, head swimming.
The shadows on the walls stretched and breathed like living things. My heart was pounding out of rhythm, drowning out everything else.
"What did you give me?" I asked again, my voice weaker now, the words starting to slur.
"Just a sedative," she said, kneeling in front of me. "Something to help you sleep. That's all. You'll thank me tomorrow when you've rested."
"Do you even hear yourself?" I struggled to keep my eyes focused on her. "Do you hear how wrong that sounds?"
"I know it wasn't ideal—"
"Ideal?" I laughed brokenly. "It wasn't ideal to drug someone without their consent? That's how you're framing this?"
Emily moved closer, her hands now on my knees. "You needed this, Carter. You needed someone to take control when you couldn't."
"No one asked you to..." My words trailed off, my thoughts becoming scattered. The room tilted dangerously.
"Shh," she whispered, now sitting beside me on the couch. "Just let it work. You'll feel better soon."
"Get away from me," I tried to say, but the words came out garbled. My tongue felt heavy, uncooperative.
Emily's smile was all wrong—sweet on the surface but something calculating beneath. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you."
She leaned in again, pressing her lips against mine. This time, I couldn't pull away. My muscles wouldn't respond. I wanted to push her back, to shout, to make her understand what she'd done was unforgivable. But my body betrayed me, heavy and unresponsive.
"See?" she murmured against my lips. "This is better. Just you and me, no more fighting."
"This... isn't... right," I managed, each word a monumental effort.
"It's exactly right," she countered, her hands now framing my face. "You're just too stubborn to see it."
She kissed me again, more deeply this time. I couldn't turn away. Couldn't resist. My body was surrendering even as my mind screamed in protest.
"I'm going to stay," she said firmly, her face swimming in my blurring vision. "Whether you want me to or not. Because that's what love is. It's staying when it's hard."
"No..." The word was barely a breath.
"When you wake up," she continued, stroking my hair as my eyes grew impossibly heavy, "we'll start over. We'll do it right this time."
I wanted to tell her there would be no "this time." That what she'd done had destroyed any chance of reconciliation. That forcing help on someone wasn't love—it was violation.
But the words died in my throat.
The darkness was winning now, pressing in from all sides. I fought to keep my eyes open, to stay conscious, to maintain some control over what was happening.
Emily's voice came from somewhere far away: "I'm doing this because I love you, Carter. Someday you'll understand."
The last thing I remember before surrendering completely was the feeling of her lips against my forehead and the bitter knowledge that when I woke up, she would still be there.
Waiting to start this battle all over again.
And this time, I'd lost before it even began.