Falling For Us Again

28. SPACE

Chapter 28

SPACE

Jenna

The morning light filtering through the curtains gently wakes me. I glance around, feeling disoriented.

Where am I?

My head feels heavy, like I had too much to drink. A dull throb pressing behind my temples.

I turn my head slightly, my gaze falling on Dylan who’s seated in the chair beside me. His posture is stiff, as if he hasn’t moved for hours. His eyes are on me, shadowed with pain.

Memories of the conversation with his mother last night comes rushing back, and I realize I’m still at his mother’s house.

The truth we discovered is staggering, and we’re still coming to terms with it. It is a space of shared devastation between us.

He’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, wrinkled, with a faint stain on his sleeve from something I can’t remember. I want to say something, but my throat is dry, as if all the words were drained from me in the night.

I don’t have to ask how long he’s been here. The dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremble in his fingers tell me enough. He’s been here with me all night.

I push myself up slowly, like I’m afraid too much motion will shatter the fragile quiet between us. Dylan reaches out instinctively, his hand brushing against my arm, but he doesn’t say anything. His fingers are warm against my skin, a contrast to the coldness seeping into my bones.

Dylan’s grip on my arm tightens just slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. It’s that same mix of disbelief, anger, and sadness I’ve been feeling since yesterday. He nods but doesn’t speak.

I know there’s an added layer of hurt for him, knowing that his father was willing to leave him and his sister for me and my mother.

I can’t stand the silence anymore. It presses in on me, thick and unbearable. I need air. I need space.

“I need some air,” I say quietly, sliding out of bed and heading toward the window. My legs feel unsteady, and my movements sluggish like I’m wading through thick mud.

The early morning light spills into the room, soft and pale, but it does nothing to warm the cold knot in my stomach. I press my forehead against the cool glass, my breath fogging up the pane as I crack the window.

Behind me, I hear the scrape of the chair as Dylan stands. His footsteps are soft, hesitant, like he’s unsure whether to come closer or stay back. And I don’t know what I want either.

There’s a part of me that craves his presence, that needs the comfort of knowing I’m not alone in this, but there’s another part of me—a bigger part—that feels like I need to be anywhere but here.

“Can you take me home?”

He nods. “Sure.”

The drive to my place is tempered with silence, both of us lost in our thoughts. I need some space to process everything. I’ll go to Aunt Mila’s place, but I don't tell Dylan that.

I sit back, watching the morning unfold, and a part of me wonders if I’ll ever come back this time around. Maybe disappearing is exactly what I need right now.

***

The drive out of town feels surreal, like I’m watching it all happen from outside my body. I take the back roads, avoiding the main street, avoiding the places that hold too many memories. The town is small enough that it doesn’t take long to leave it behind, but as the road stretches out before me, I feel the knot in my chest loosen slightly. Just enough to breathe a little easier.

L.A. is hours away, but it feels like another world entirely. My aunt’s place has always been a refuge, a place I could escape to when things got too overwhelming. She doesn’t ask questions and doesn’t push. She just lets me be, and that’s what I need right now. Just to exist without the weight of all these revelations on my shoulders.

By the time I pull into my aunt’s driveway, the exhaustion has fully settled into my bones. I sit in the car for a few minutes, just staring at the house, letting the quiet wash over me.

The front door opens, and I see her standing there, her arms open, a small smile on her face. She doesn’t look surprised to see me. Somehow, she always knows when I’m coming.

I step out of the car, my legs shaky, my heart heavy. She meets me halfway down the path, and without a word, pulls me into a hug. The kind of hug that feels like it could hold all the broken pieces of me together.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers into my hair.

And for the umpteenth time that week, I let myself cry.