Robin
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The morning light pierces through the blinds like tiny daggers, bright and cruel. I roll over, burying my face in the cool cotton of my pillow, but it doesn't help.

I've been awake for hours, my eyes swollen from the quiet tears I've been shedding since Heather dropped the bomb on me last night.

I've barely slept, and my chest feels heavy-like a weight I can't shake off. Each breath feels like I'm trying to inhale through water, like I'm drowning in my own bedroom.

I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to move. The world outside these sheets feels too harsh, too real. In here, I can at least pretend that last night was just a nightmare, that I'll wake up and everything will be back to normal.

The conversation replays in my head on a loop, I can't shut off. The words she said, the ones I didn't want to hear.

I told her I didn't care about the wedding or Javis or anyone's expectations. But she cared. She cared enough to let me go. And it hurts more than anything ever has.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will the memories away. It doesn't work. Instead, they become more vivid, more painful. I see her face, the way her eyes wouldn't meet mine, how her hands trembled slightly as she spoke.

The way she bit her lip, fighting back her own tears. God, even when she was breaking my heart, she was beautiful.

I should be so upset right now because I knew this would happen from the fucking start, and the plan was to hurt her. Not have her hurt me twice in a fucking roll.

What the hell is wrong with me? How did I let myself fall so deep when I knew this would end in flames?

I was supposed to be the one in control, the one who wouldn't get burned. Yet here I am, reduced to ashes in my own bed.

The worst part is that I can't even hate her for it. She did exactly what she thought was right, what everyone would say is right. She chose the safe path.

And who am I to blame her? I'm just the wild card, the mistake, the secret she'll probably spend years trying to forget.

A soft knock at the door breaks the silence, pulling me from my spiral of self-loathing.

I don't answer, hoping whoever it is will just go away. I'm not ready to face anyone, to put on the mask of normalcy when I feel like I'm breaking apart.

But the door creaks open anyway, and Melanie's voice follows, gentle and cautious. Like she knows. "Robin?"

I don't respond, partly because I don't want to and partly because there's something in my throat that's blocking my voice.

The bed dips as she sits down beside me. The mattress shifts, and for a moment, I'm transported back to last week, when it was Heather sitting there instead.

We'd spent the whole afternoon talking about nothing and everything, her fingers absently playing with my hair. It had felt so perfect, so right. How did we go from that to this?

"You okay?"

I clear my throat, trying to sound normal even when I'm literally shaking with rage.

"I'm just... a little under the weather."

I lie.

Melanie doesn't say anything for a moment. I can feel her eyes watching me, like she's trying to see through the lie I just gave her. She's always been too perceptive for her own good, always able to read between the lines.

"You look like you didn't sleep," she says.

I open my eyes. She's wearing a brown hoodie and black sweats, she seems cosy compared to my cold bed and I could just hug her and cry in her arms right now.

"Didn't sleep much," I admit, closing my eyes again. "It's nothing. I'll be fine in like an hour or so." Another lie. I wonder how many more I'll tell today.

Melanie lets out a soft sigh. "Robin... I'm not blind."

I tense, my anger suddenly bubbling up for some reason at her tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She exhales again and I crack an eye to follow her gaze to the mess of crumpled tissues on my nightstand.

I want to throw them under the bed, hide them away just so she won't see the crap I am, but I can't bring myself to move.

She studies me, and I can feel her eyes on me even though I'm still staring at the wall.

"You've been out of it for a while now."

I force a shrug, even though my heart is racing. "I've just been tired. It's not a big deal."

Melanie sighs. "Look, I'm not here to push. But... I know there's something you're not telling me."

My stomach knots at the implication. My mind races, trying to figure out what she knows, what she's pieced together. Was Heather right? Does Melanie know about us? Have we not been as careful as we thought?

"I don't know what you're talking about." The words come out defensive, too quick, too sharp.

Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn't push further. "Okay. If you say so."

I close my eyes, hoping that'll be the end of it. That she'll leave me alone with my misery and my memories.

"I just hope you know I'm here if you need me," Melanie adds softly, "For anything."

I feel like she's testing to see if I'll crack even a little. But I don't.

"Thanks, Mel."

She stands, but before she leaves, she lingers by the door. "Take it easy, okay? You look like you've been through the wringer."

As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, the tears I thought I'd run out of threaten to spill again. I swallow them down, tired of crying, tired of feeling this weak.

I lie back down, curling up on my side. The ache in my chest hasn't faded. If anything, it's only grown heavier.

"It's all for the best, Robin."

But if it's for the best, why does it feel like my world's been ripped apart? Why does every breath hurt? Why do I keep reaching for my phone, hoping to see her name, even though I know she won't call?

I don't know how long I stay like that-lost in my own head, staring at nothing. Time doesn't seem to matter anymore.

Minutes blur into hours, and the pain just keeps coming in waves. Sometimes it's sharp and acute, making me gasp for air. Other times it's dull and throbbing.

My mind keeps drifting back to all our stolen moments-the secret smiles across crowded rooms, the rushed kisses in empty hallways, the way she'd look at me when she thought no one else was watching. Each memory is a fresh wound now, salt in an already bleeding heart.

I think about texting her, calling her, begging her to reconsider. My fingers even hover over my phone a few times. But what would I say? That I miss her already? That I need her? That I lo-

No. I can't go there. I won't.

Eventually, exhaustion wins out over the pain, and I fall into sleep, hoping that when I wake up, the weight will be a little lighter.

But deep down, I know better. This kind of pain doesn't just disappear overnight. It lingers, it festers, it changes you.

And as I drift off, I can't help but wonder if this is what I deserve. For playing with fire, for thinking I could have something real in a world built on lies. Maybe this is my punishment for daring to want more than I should have.