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19

ALESSIA

T he elevator doors slide open with a soft ding , and I step out into the dimly lit entrance of Romiro’s apartment. My heart pounds against my ribs like a drumbeat, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

I take a deep breath and try to steady myself. I can’t back down now. I’ve been thinking about this for days, weeks even, and I need to know where we stand.

Romiro’s standing in the doorway of his bedroom, his dark eyes almost undressing me, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. He’s wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans, casual, relaxed as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But his eyes—his eyes are darker than usual, like he knows why I’m here, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as I have.

"Alessia," he says softly, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, and exhaling a plume of smoke that curls around his face like a cloud. "What are you doing here?"

I step into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation. The place smells like him—smoke, leather, and something distinctly Romiro. The low lights cast long shadows across the walls, the city glowing faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the skyline.

“We need to talk,” I say, my voice coming out stronger than I feel.

He closes the door behind him, turning slowly, his expression carefully neutral. “About?”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. “About us,” I say, meeting his gaze. “About what we’re doing. I can’t keep going like this, Romiro. I need to know where we stand.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the door, his arms crossing over his chest. “We’ve been over this, Red. What do you mean?”

I feel a spark of frustration flare up inside me. “No, we haven’t,” I insist. “We keep dancing around it, pretending like we’re okay with this… this in-between. But I’m not okay with it anymore. I don’t want to be your dirty little secret. I don’t want to hide from my family, from anyone. I want us to be real, out in the open. I want to be with you, Romiro. Publicly.”

He lets out a sigh, a small, almost irritated sound, and pushes off the door, stepping closer to me. “And what do you think that looks like, Alessia?” he asks, his voice calm but edged with something sharp. “You think your family’s just going to welcome me with open arms?”

I lift my chin, refusing to back down. “I don’t care what they think,” I say firmly. “I care what you think. I care about us, and I think we’d be stronger together, facing them, facing everything, instead of hiding.”

He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “This is about control, isn’t it?” he asks quietly. “You want control over this, over me.”

I feel my frustration build, my voice rising. “No, Romiro! This is about respect! About not being hidden like some dirty little secret. I want to be with you. I want everyone to know. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

He laughs, a low, bitter sound that cuts through me like a knife. “Because it’s not that simple, Alessia. It’s never that simple. You should know that by now.”

I take a step closer, refusing to let him dismiss me. “I do know that Romiro. But I also know that I’m done hiding. I’m done pretending that I’m okay with being kept in the dark. It’s either all or nothing.”

He blinks, his jaw tightening, and for a moment, something flickers in his eyes—fear, maybe, or anger. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

I nod, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yes. I am. Either we do this, or we end it. I won’t waste my time with someone who’s too afraid to admit he cares.”

His eyes darken, his expression hardening. “Alessia,” he warns, his tone cold, “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

I take a step back, my hands trembling. “Maybe I do,” I say softly. “Maybe I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

For a second, I think I see his resolve waver, but then his expression shifts, his eyes narrowing, a cruel twist to his lips. “You should go,” he says flatly, his voice like ice. “You’ve had a busy week. You’re tired. Go home.”

I feel the sting of his words, sharp and cold, like a slap to the face. My throat tightens, my chest aching with the weight of his dismissal. “That’s it?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “That’s all you have to say?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks away, his jaw clenched tight. “Go home, Alessia,” he repeats, turning his back on me.

I swallow hard, trying to fight back the tears burning in my eyes. “Fine,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. “If that’s how you want it. But once I’m out. It’s over.”

I turn on my heel, my hands trembling as I reach for the elevator button. I don’t look back as I press it, stepping out into the elevator, a door slams shut behind me with a final, resounding thud. The sound echoes in my ears, a painful reminder of the wall he’s just built between us.

I watch the floor numbers as I descend to the lobby, my footsteps heavy, my head spinning. The lights are dim, the shadows long, and everything feels distant, blurred like I’m moving through water. I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel the hot tears streaming down my cheeks, leaving trails of salt on my skin.

Pushing the glass door open, I step out onto the street. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, memories, and emotions I can’t seem to control. His face, his voice, his touch—they’re all there, all tangled up in the ache in my chest.

I feel hollow, numb. I don’t know where I’m going, but my feet seem to know the way, moving on autopilot, carrying me forward, one step at a time. The city is alive around me, the sound of traffic, the distant hum of voices, but it feels like it’s happening somewhere else, somewhere far away.

I turn down a familiar street, the neon lights of the diner glowing in the distance. Our diner. The place we used to come to when we needed to escape, when we needed to feel something real. I push open the door, the little bell above it tinkling softly, and I’m greeted by the warm smell of coffee and the sizzle of a grill.

I slide into a booth near the front, away from our usual spot, the seat still warm from the last person who sat here. The waitress gives me a sympathetic smile, her eyes flicking over my tear-streaked face. “The usual?” she asks softly, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

A few minutes later, she sets a burger and fries in front of me, a tall glass of water on the side. I pick up the burger, my hands still shaking, and take a bite, but I barely taste it. The tears keep coming, hot and relentless, and I feel them drip onto the table, onto my hands, but I don’t wipe them away.

I chew slowly, each bite feeling like sawdust in my mouth, my throat tight, my chest heavy. I swallow hard, and it feels like I’m swallowing shards of glass, each one cutting deeper, tearing at something inside me that I can’t seem to reach.

I stare out the window, the neon lights outside blurring in my vision, my heart aching with every beat. I thought I was ready for this, thought I was ready to fight for us, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was foolish to think he could ever want me, need me, the way I want and need him.

I take another bite, my eyes stinging with fresh tears, and I feel the familiar ache settle deep in my bones. I feel lost, untethered, like I’m floating somewhere far away from myself, and I don’t know how to get back. I don’t know if I want to.

The diner is quiet, the low murmur of voices in the background, the clinking of dishes, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. I close my eyes, let the tears fall, and try to breathe, try to find some small piece of calm in the storm inside me. But all I feel is empty. All I feel is alone.

I sit there in the corner booth, the world around me fading into a blur of muted colors and sounds. The burger in front of me grows cold, half-eaten, the bun limp and soggy. I poke at the fries, pushing them around the plate with my fingers. My appetite is gone. I feel hollow like I’m running on fumes, the last of my hope draining away with each passing second.

The lights inside the diner flicker, casting brief shadows across the walls, and the murmur of conversation seems to grow louder, filling the air with noise that I can’t quite make out. I glance around, seeing the familiar faces, their expressions kind but indifferent—like they’re aware of my presence but not my pain.

I reach for the glass of water, and take a slow sip, feeling the cool liquid slide down my throat, soothing the rawness there. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the silence inside me expand, trying to find a center, something solid to hold on to.

But all I feel is the ache. The emptiness spreads through my chest like a stain, seeping into every part of me. I thought I was ready to face him, ready to stand up for what I want, but his cold dismissal cuts deeper than I expected. His words replay in my mind, each one like a dagger: You should go. You’re tired.

A bitter laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. Tired? Maybe I am. Tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of being the only one who wants this to be real. I stare across the diner, out the window at the passing cars, their headlights cutting through the night, and I wonder if I’m a fool for wanting more from him, for believing that he could ever change.

I remember the way he looked at me when I gave him the ultimatum—the flicker of something like fear in his eyes before he shut me down. He didn’t even give me a chance to fight for us. He just turned away like I was nothing, like we were nothing. Like everything we’ve shared, everything we’ve done, was just… a mistake.

The tears burn hotter in my eyes, and I swipe at them angrily, hating the weakness they reveal, hating the way they betray me. I don’t want to cry over him. I don’t want him to see me break.

The door of the diner opens, a gust of cool air sweeping in, and I glance up out of instinct. A couple walks in, laughing softly, their heads close together, their hands intertwined. They look so happy, so free, and a sharp pang of envy twists in my gut. I look away quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat, pushing the feelings down, burying them deep.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be anywhere. I just want… I don’t know what I want. I slide out of the booth, leaving a few bills on the table, more than enough to cover the untouched meal and grab my bag. I force my feet to move, one step at a time, toward the door. The bell chimes overhead as I push it open, stepping back out into the night.

The air clings to my skin, and I fan my face with my hand, sweating as if I’d just ran a marathon. The street is quieter now, the traffic thinning, the city settling into its late-night rhythm. I start to walk, my feet moving on autopilot, my mind somewhere far away.

I think about calling Valentina, about hearing her voice, her gentle reassurance. She always knows what to say, always knows how to pull me back from the edge. But I don’t want to drag her into this mess, don’t want to burden her with my problems when I know she has enough of her own. Besides, what would I even say? That I put my heart on the line and watched as Romiro crushed it with a few careless words? No. I can’t. I can’t put that on her.

I keep walking, my footsteps echoing off the concrete, my breath coming out in small puffs. I don’t know where I’m going, but my feet keep moving, carrying me down streets I’ve walked a thousand times, past buildings I know by heart. Everything feels different tonight—sharper, colder, like the city itself is turning its back on me.

I glance up at the sky, the dark clouds rolling in, obscuring the stars, and I feel a raindrop hit my cheek, then another. Great. Just what I need. I hold my hand over my face, quickening my pace, but the rain comes harder, faster, soaking through my clothes, chilling me to the bone.

I duck under an awning, pressing myself against the cold brick wall, my heart pounding. I feel the tears come again, mixing with the rain on my cheeks, and I let out a sob, the sound raw and painful, echoing in the empty street. I feel stupid, so stupid, for letting him get to me like this, for letting him make me feel like I’m not enough.

Why does he have this power over me? Why do I let him do this? Do I mean nothing to him?

The rain falls harder, a steady rhythm against the pavement, and I feel a strange sense of calm wash over me. like the rain is washing away some of the pain, some of the doubt. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes, letting the cold droplets hit my face, feeling them cleanse me, and soothe me.

I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know what to do. But I know one thing—I can’t keep waiting for him. I can’t keep hoping he’ll change. I need to find my own way, my own path, even if it means walking away from him.

Even if it breaks my heart.