He didn't use fists.
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't storm out or slam doors or leave behind dramatic chaos that could be cleaned up with time.
No.
He used silence.
And somehow, that was the most violent thing of all.
---
The morning after that rooftop, I woke up craving a message.
A word.
A sign.
Nothing came.
I told myself I didn't care.
Told myself I was fine.
Told myself I was the one in control.
But every time my phone buzzed, my heart jumped like it was wired to the sound of his name.
And every time it wasn't him?
It cut a little deeper.
---
I passed him on campus two days later.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't look.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't stop.
Just walked past me like I was no one.
Like I hadn't climbed into his world and let it devour mine.
I hated the way my breath caught.
Hated the way I slowed down, hoping for one last glance.
But mostly?
I hated how familiar this ache was.
Because I'd been broken before.
Just never like this.
---
He wasn't cruel.
He wasn't kind either.
He was unreadable.
Unreachable.
And it made me spiral.
---
I sat in class, notebook open, pen tapping.
But my thoughts?
All his.
His name scribbled in the margins.
His face burned into every empty corner of my mind.
I hated how much he'd taken without asking.
Hated that I'd offered it willingly.
And when my professor called on me and I didn't hear—didn't care—I knew I was in deeper than I'd admitted.
Because losing focus?
Losing sleep?
That was one thing.
But losing myself?
That was the real danger.
---
Three days of silence.
Three nights of tossing under sheets that didn't feel like mine.
Three attempts at pretending I didn't care, that I was fine, that maybe I was even the one in power here.
Until finally…
A message.
Just two words.
"Come up."
No explanation.
No apology.
Just the same rooftop location dropped below it like a knife.
And stupidly—pathetically—hopefully—I went.
---
He was waiting again, leaning against the same car, smoke curling from his lips.
This time, I didn't speak first.
Didn't ask why he ignored me.
Didn't demand an answer.
Just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something worth all the pain he'd caused.
But he didn't.
He just looked at me.
Like I was a story he wasn't done reading.
"You okay?" he finally asked.
My voice cracked. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I needed to know," he said.
"Know what?"
"If you'd still come."
---
And just like that—
My heart broke in a brand-new way.
Because I did come.
Because I always would.
Because his silence?
It was a leash.
And I hadn't realized he'd wrapped it around my throat until he tugged.
---