Page 18 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

She doesn’t yell.

Why isn’t she yelling?

That’s the first thought. The only one, really, pounding against my skull as I stand there—half-dressed, half-drunk, and fully exposed.

This is when she’s supposed to scream. Cry. Throw something. Maybe even hit me. That’s what I did. That night, when I found them, I remember shoving a lamp off the nightstand. I remember yelling until my throat gave out. I remember feeling the betrayal because it tore through my skin like glass.

But Rohi?

She just... looks .

She stares at the woman on my bed, and it’s not hatred I see. It’s... sadness. Quiet. Intimate. Like she’s mourning something only she understands. Not disgust. Not fury. Just a deep, hollow ache in her eyes that makes my chest cave in.

She doesn’t flinch when I speak. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t spit out something to protect herself. When I finally manage to push the words out—she just nods.

“I understand,” she says, her voice unnaturally calm.

I’m still hoping she’ll say more. Maybe finally yell. But then she turns and walks away. No screaming. No closing argument. No dramatic exit. Just silence and slippers shuffling against the floor.

Somehow, that’s worse.

That’s not fury.

That’s resignation .

That’s her giving up.

On me. On us .

And that? That wasn’t the reaction of the nameless woman who lied her way into my life.

That was Rohi.

My Rohi.

The woman who quietly tears up but never cries. Who calls her best friend twice a day just to check in. Who remembered the date I quit smoking when I didn’t.

The same woman who forgave me before I even apologized—because she understood what pain looks like. Fuck. Did I actually ever apologize? Sincerely?

And what the fuck did I just do?

The silence in the apartment is shattered by a voice that slices through my thoughts.

“What the fuck was that ?” Chrissy—yeah, definitely Chrissy—grabs her bra from the nightstand and shoots me a look like I’ve kicked her dog.

“Was this some kind of performance art? Did you just use me for a revenge porn stunt?”

I don’t answer. I physically can’t. My mouth is dry. My body feels numb.

“You said you were single !” she snaps. “You didn’t mention a girlfriend—let alone a fucking walk-in ambush! Jesus.”

Her voice keeps rising, but it’s all static to me. Background noise. A screeching radio I can’t turn off. I watch her get dressed in a blur of limbs and fabric—and all I can think is:

Rohi saw her naked. Saw me naked with someone else. Someone who wasn’t her.

Even if nothing happened. Even if I couldn’t get it up. I invited this chaos. I kissed this woman.

And for what—

The door slams behind Chrissy before the echo even dies and I flinch.

Another memory slams into me.

That night.

Rohi didn’t yell then either. Didn’t scream like this woman just did. Didn’t throw anything.

She just stood there. Still. Quiet. Her head tilted slightly downward, like she was trying to shrink herself. I thought she was calm. Thought she was unaffected .

But now I know better.

She wasn’t calm.

She was subdued.

Humiliated .

I stagger back until I hit the wall. My hand slams against it to brace myself, bile burning at my throat.

What the fuck have I done?

I don’t bother trying to push the guilt down. It barrels through me, flattening everything in its path.

I built something good . Something fragile and beautiful and rare—with her laughter, her gentle teasing, her sleepy good mornings, and the way she’d steal my hoodie like she had a claim to it. She did.

And I wrecked it.

Deliberately. Violently.

But... why?

Was it because I believed Tim? Did I actually believe him?

Or was I always waiting for a reason to sabotage this?

I move numbly into the living room. Same space. Different world. I sit where Tim sat. And for a horrifying second, I realize—I’m guilty of exactly what he did.

And I feel disgusted .

He made a selfish choice in the name of identity. And I just did the same thing in the name of... what? Revenge? Vindication?

No. This wasn’t revenge.

This was self-destruction.

I was teetering on the edge, and I just jumped.

My gaze lands on the floor.

Her slippers. Yes, hers . Always will be.

They’re sitting there like she’ll come back and wear them again. I crouch. Touch the heel of one. My fingers shake.

I don’t just feel guilt anymore.

I feel... grief .

Because even though my brain doesn’t want to, my heart has started mourning her. Fuck.

I drop my head into my hands. A fire ignites behind my eyes, hot and unbearable. I breathe raggedly through it. I think I’m sober now. Which makes it worse.

The cool touch of the charm on my wrist brushes against my skin. I look down. It’s still there.

And then I see the time on my watch.

1:27 AM.

I let her leave. Alone.

Toronto’s not dangerous, but downtown? At this hour?

Shit.

I shoot up, tripping over my own feet when I see I’m still fucking naked from the waist down.

God! She saw me like this. In pursuit of her unjustified humiliation, I humiliated myself .

I blink rapidly as I scramble for jeans, socks, anything. My hands are shaking too hard to tie my laces. My chest tightens when I see her pair of keys.

She doesn’t intend on coming back.

Why would she?

My keys fall twice before I get a grip. I leave the car keys behind because driving is out of the question.

She shouldn’t be far. Maybe she’s still waiting for a streetcar.

I bolt out of the apartment building, the cold night slamming into me. I run.

The streetcar station’s five minutes away. If I’m lucky, she hasn’t left yet.

I round the corner and—stop cold.

She’s there.

Standing at the crosswalk, motionless. Her arms wrapped around herself. A single curl of hair slipping from her bun. Shoulders tight.

She walks straight at the next crosswalk instead of turning left toward the streetcar line.

And that’s when it hits me.

She’s going to walk .

All four fucking kilometers.

Jesus Christ .

I slow down instinctively, keeping my distance, my legs suddenly heavier than they should be. Her pace isn’t fast, but it’s determined—like she needs the punishment. Like this is the only way to outrun what just happened.

My breath catches when she suddenly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Her tote bag slides off her shoulder, hanging limp in her hands. Her head bows forward, and I see her shoulders tremble.

No.

No—fuck. Please, no.

She’s crying .

God . She’s crying.

The kind of crying you do when you think no one’s watching. The kind you save for the night.

Please tell me I haven’t broken her in ways that she’s now a lone woman, sobbing on empty streets in the middle of the night. Please, no.

I take a step forward without thinking. And then another.

I can’t let her do this. Not like this. Not because of me . I didn’t just break us—I broke her . I didn’t shatter something beautiful. I shattered her .

She starts walking again before I can get closer. And I freeze, falling back into step almost twenty feet behind her. Like some fucking ghost who used to matter.

I pray she doesn’t turn around. If she sees me—if she looks at me—I don’t know what I’ll do. Probably something reckless. Something selfish . Like hold her even though I’m the reason she’s out here alone.

She stops again. Not for long. Just enough to reset her breath, I think. I can’t see her face from here, but I feel the unraveling.

It keeps happening.

She keeps pausing. A hesitation here. A hand rubbing her eyes there. But she doesn’t fully collapse. Doesn’t let herself.

She’s barely holding it together, and somehow that’s worse.

Eventually, she turns left—into the small public park behind her building. The one with dim lights and a few wooden benches. Homeless tents are scattered across the grass. She doesn’t hesitate as she walks in. Doesn’t even look around.

She just drops onto a bench like her bones gave up.

I stay hidden near a hedge, far enough to keep myself invisible.

But I see her.

Even in the dark, I see her.

She’s hunched forward, like her body is too heavy. Like devastation is pressing down on her spine. Her hair is a mess, her shoulders shaking again. Her hands fumble with her tote until she pulls out her phone.

Her fingers tremble so violently it takes her a moment just to unlock the screen.

She is making a call.

My chest aches with hope—for a second I wish it’s me .

But whoever it is, they don’t answer.

I watch her close her eyes. Her thumb hovers. Then she types something.

She doesn’t hit send right away. Just stares at the screen. Then slowly lowers the phone into her lap, her hand still clutching it.

She looks around after that and she looks... dejected.

She’s not trying to spot someone.

But it’s as though she’s searching. Hoping. Asking silent questions to a universe that’s given her nothing but loss and pain.

And I know. I know what she’s asking.

Why did this happen to me?

What did I do to deserve this?

Nothing , I answer inside my useless, empty head.

Nothing, baby. You didn’t do a goddamn thing wrong.

And then... she starts shaking.

Not the soft trembles from earlier. Not tears. This is different .

It’s erratic. Shallow. Her back curves inward like her chest is tightening.

No. No—no, please. Not this .

She’s having a panic attack.

And all I can do is stand here like the pathetic coward I am, watching the wreckage I created unravel in real time.

My knees hit the ground before I even realize I’ve moved.

The grass is damp but mostly mud. I don’t care. I sit there. On the dirt. On the shame . On the ruin I caused.

I can’t breathe.

Fuck—I can’t breathe. But I force myself to look at her.

Eventually, I press my head between my knees, trying to suck in enough air, but it’s not working. Every breath is a gasp. Every second, a reminder of what I did. Of who I became.

And somehow, even in this agony, I know I deserve this.

Because I wasn’t just cruel.

I was deliberate .

And now I’m here. Knees in the dirt, lungs collapsing, watching this beautiful woman unravel across from me.

Not because of fate. Not because of some horrible accident.

But because I did this.

After what feels like a century, my breathing levels out. The pain dulls, only because I’m too numb to feel it anymore.

I lift my head—

And she’s gone.

Just... gone.

I scramble to scan the park. Nothing. She must’ve gone back to her building. At least I hope she has. That she’s safe.

I don’t even know if that should bring relief or more despair.

But I know one thing.

She left me in this park.

And I’ll be crawling through the dirt for a long time before I ever feel clean again.

But I can’t move.

My legs won’t respond. My arms are limp at my sides. I’m just sitting here like a shell of a man.

I pull out my phone with shaking fingers. My vision swims.

I scroll to my favorites and hit call.

“Lucian?” Liam answers almost immediately, his voice groggy.

I swallow, but it scrapes like glass.

“Come g-get me,” I rasp. “P-Please.”

He’s instantly awake. “Where are you? What happened?”

I press my palm to my face, trying to keep it together. “J-Just... just come. I’ll s-send you my location.”

“You sound— fuck . Okay, I’m on my way. Are you okay? Is Aarohi okay?”

Her name.

It hits me like a fucking wrecking ball.

And that’s when the first sob tears out of me. Raw. Ripped straight from somewhere I didn’t know still existed.

“Jesus, Lucian...” Liam’s voice drops. “What did you do?”

I can’t speak. I’m breaking down right there on the line.

“Fuck. I’m coming. Send me the location. Now!”

He hangs up. I fumble to drop a pin and hit send.

Then I just wait.

Sitting there on the cold, filthy ground, grief crawling up my spine.

And I realize—this isn’t rock bottom.

This is somewhere far beneath it.

And I fucking buried myself here.