Spencer's POV
“I’m telling you, if you walk out that door, we’re done.”
I watched Dahlia freeze in the doorway. Her tears kept falling, each drop trembling with a choked sob.
“Dahlia,” I said quietly. “I’m your boyfriend, not someone you ‘waste time on.’ You can’t call spending time with me a burden. Why is it that with your friends, with Gideon, it’s always 'hang out'—playing together, eating together—yet when it comes to me, it all turns to 'spending time'?”
Not satisfied yet, I kept going. “When you’re with Gideon, it’s called relaxing. Even when you’re exhausted, you’ll stay up to game with him, go camping with him, unwind with him. But the moment I ask you to talk when I can’t sleep, suddenly I’m the villain who won’t let you rest!”
“A relationship is between two people, so why does it feel like you’re just doing me a favor?!” I lamented.
I had completely unraveled that night—shaking, hysterical. And finally, I told her, “If you walk out that door, it’s over between us! As long as you go, we’re done!”
I saw her look at me then, her expression complicated. After a moment of hesitation, she took a step toward me.
My heart leapt. I thought maybe she finally heard me. Maybe she finally chose me over him. Perhaps the scales tipped in my favor.
Then Gideon called. He asked if she’d left yet, if she was on her way. He even laughed and said, “Dahlia, everyone’s joking that you’re too scared to come because Spencer controls you. I defended you, you know? Told them you’d definitely come, that you’re not scared of your boyfriend. You won’t let me down, right?”
And without hesitation, she stepped back.
Before hanging up, she told him, “I’ll be there soon.”
Then she gave me a cold look and walked toward the door.
I called her name, but she didn’t even turn around.
All she said was, “Break up? Sure. Fine. Let’s break up. Whoever takes it back is an asshole.”
She then slammed the door so hard the walls shook. The whole apartment echoed with the smell of the dinner I’d cooked for her—mocking me, reminding me how pathetic my wishful thinking was.
That night, I sat at the table staring at all of her favorite dishes. Then I watched Gideon’s updates on social media, one after another: videos of him and Dahlia shoulder to shoulder, singing duet love songs; drinking from linked glasses; and laughing as their friends cheered and pushed them into a hug.
He posted as if he was streaming just for me, or as if he was flaunting something in my face, saying, “Spencer, what can you possibly compete with?”
I forced myself to eat the food that tasted like cardboard, stuffing myself until my stomach felt like it would burst. Then I ran to the bathroom and threw up until the room spun.
After crying myself hoarse, I ended up in the ER with gastritis and was put on IV fluids for three days.
During those three days, I watched Gideon post even more: them going diving together, surfing together, hiking together, and even attending the live comedy show I’d always wanted to see but never got the chance to go to.
In every post, the comments exploded with excitement, asking when Gideon would “officially take over,” when Dahlia would finally dump me.
And Gideon would reply with stickers, one after another, [Just wait.]
And in every post, Dahlia gave him a like.
She saw everything.
She wasn’t unaware; she was allowing it. She let Gideon step all over my pain, let him mock me, let the world laugh at my heartbreak.
Because in her eyes, this was the price I deserved to pay for upsetting her.
