Song of the chapters: 

1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back by Olivia Rodrigo

I sit there, rendered speechless as my mind attempts to process what I've just read. 

I can't do this anymore Ella.

Surely I have to be imagining this?

Surely after all that has taken place in the last twenty-four hours this is not how this chapter would conclude? It's certainly nothing like I could have possibly imagined. 

I just can't fathom how this is reality. I don't understand. I don't understand it at all. 

I lie there frozen in my bed, phone held up above my head just daring to fall down and smack me in the face— at least then my physically state would match how I emotionally feel right now. I mean, how else could you describe something like this other than an immense weight falling upon you and like being whacked across the face?

The emotions that brew within me can't seem to decide which will persist as the one that overcomes me — a raging fury, complete and utter shock, and an incredible disappointment simultaneously pulsing through me.

An unknown number of minutes pass before I break free from the trance-like state I've drifted into, having been completely consumed into the depths of my mind. Not able to make sense of it for myself, I lift myself out of my bed — although I feel so completely weighed down that it's as though I can feel the strings weaved under my skin being tugged upwards and moving me rather than me myself. It doesn't feel like I'm doing it at all. I feel detached from myself somehow.

I think I've just reached the point that has driven me to exhaustion. Exhaustion from this mess with Theo, exhaustion from work and trying to figure out what I'm doing in my life, exhaustion from caring for Lexi and my family, exhaustion from trying to do everything perfectly but failing so miserably.

I don't even process in my mind my next actions, my legs seem to unconsciously drag themselves forward in desperate search for what I need. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" says my saviour from where she sits, snuggled up under a blanket on the sofa. 

I don't speak, I just hold my phone up in her eyeline and wait for her to read it so that I don't need to utter the words. 

I can see the exact moment she processes it, her eyes widening in shock, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, and head shaking with complete astonishment.

"What the actual fuck? I don't get it," she proclaims, taking the phone in her own hands to re-read it as though that will clarify anything. She begins pacing around the room, as though she's the one that's been dealt with this blow unlike myself who just stands there lifelessly numb to it.  "Well, this is just confusing because look what just arrived." 

I look to where she's actually walked over to and find a bouquet of flowers sitting atop our entry table. I join her there, spotting the small piece of paper nestled between some stock. Taking a deep breath, knowing who the flowers would be from to cause Jess such confusion, I lift the small envelope out of the flowers and pull out the card from inside it to read it. 

"Congratulations Ella on your first article being published. Time for the rest of the world to be enamoured by you."

Damn it. 

The puzzle piece that I'd been searching for — crawling on the floor, searching every corner of my mind desperately for — falls into place so irritatingly perfectly. And somehow, it is made all the more painstakingly devastating by the eloquence of his words. 

He read the article. 

That must be it. 

"What is it? I assumed it was from Theo, but why would he send you flowers and then that message," wonders Jess, understandably eager to be filled in. Her desire to know suggests that she surprisingly didn't take a peek at the card. Plus, I know that had she had read the card she wouldn't have been able to hide it on her face at this point of time. 

"It's the article."

"What about the article?" she asks, accepting the card I am handing over to her to read. I watch her scan the words though she has no overt reaction to indicate that she is sharing my understanding at this point in time. 

"So he sent you some flowers because your article was published? How does this connect to him sending you that message?"

"He must have read it." Scratching my head and pacing the room, I continue, "I mean, I didn't even know that it had been published so I don't know how he could have gotten his hands on it but he must have."

"And so what if he did?"

"I wrote that article when I hadn't heard from him after our disagreement about Damon and the gala. I felt stupid for having allowed myself to get into such a mess and was remarking to myself about how I could been so horrible when it comes to romance."

"And?"

"And so what started out as some trivial list of dos and don'ts of dating for a twenty-something year old like Monique had asked for ended up a coded but extensive look into Theo and myself and our situation. Every thought I've had, every insecurity, every good and bad thought is summarised in words for him to read."

"Geez, what exactly did you write that could be so bad?"

"Let's just say I was trying to convince myself and others to stay away from messy and confusing situations like those that I had gotten myself into— situations that I now know actually meant a whole lot more than I thought they did— and I resorted to the same judgements like I had done so multiple times," I explain, not wanting to bring up the article and relive the exact words that must be running through Theo's head now. "I know now about he is insecure about those same things that I wrote about, but while he's been there for my insecurities I've highlighted his for everyone to read unintentionally. I know now that what we have, or what we had, is so much more than the casual meaningless fling or experiment that I wrote about."

"Well surely you could talk these things through? What the hell was that message? Why send it? And what if this isn't what the message is about?" she asks, all reasonable questions that I can't rationally think about right now. I can't because I'm stuck in my head deciding on my next action. 

"I need to talk to him," I decide.

"Are you sure that's the best thing to do right now? Why not give yourselves some space and breathing room? Some time to think things over and sleep on it?"

"That's the last thing I want.I'll just keep thinking about it and I won't be able to sleep.  And even though right now I want to hate him for sending that cowardly message, I'm definitely not innocent and maybe I should be giving people the benefit of the doubt I hope they give me. I don't want him to get wrapped up in the doomed pit of thoughts and insecurities that I know I will be falling into."

Taking out my phone, I make multiple attempts to summarise my thoughts into a text message. What do I even say to capture his attention and convince him to hear me out? Do I bring up the article or do I consider the possibility that there is some other motive to this sudden turn of events? Surely he really can't be proving my concerns about his ability to commit true. 

I finally decide on "Theo, what's going on?". What else can I say? It covers all the ground of this issue at least. 

Now free to think as I await a response, I begin to think over again how this can't be happening. It just can't really be that I finally let my guards down, that I let Theo in and slept with him, and now he's vanished into thin air just as my faith in him has now too. Yes, if this has to do with the article then I am certainly not faultless but the timing of everything and Theo's approach is certainly unfathomable. 

Minutes pass and I don't get a response. I can feel Jess's eyes on me, watching intently like someone driving past a car crash, but I try to push it aside as I make the decision to call him. 

No response. 

More pacing and more minutes come and go. Words of encouragement and advice are offered to me, a cup of tea is pushed my way as though the chamomile will actually relax me. I know that I'll look desperate but I call him again, only to reach the irritating beep of his voicemail yet another time. 

"Theo, it's me Ella. We need to talk." I say into the phone though I know there's a great chance that it won't be listened to, at least not tonight. 

Not allowing things to stay this way, I walk back to my room to grab a jacket and slip on a pair of sneakers. Once I return, it's apparent to Jess what I'm doing and it only becomes more clear as I begin grabbing my belongings. 

"Ella, you don't need to go over there. Just give it some time and let things settle. You're both probably really emotional and vulnerable about things and need some time to think things over before you open up some cans of worms. Things are raw— let the wound closer over a little bit before you go picking at it," she pleads.

But Jess should know that I'm the type that just keeps picking at scab, sometimes at the cost of making it worse than it was to begin with.

Uttering "sorry" to her before I leave because I know she's probably sick of dealing with the messes I make for myself, I make my way out of the apartment and speed down the flights of stairs to start my trip over to Theo's apartment. Surprisingly, the trip does not go by as slowly as I'd expected. Usually when I am dreading something, the time passes by eerily slow. But I suppose the difference is this time that I'm not sitting there watching as each second ticks away on a clock or each granule of sand falls to the weight of time. Instead, I'm talking in circles in my mind considering every possible way that the events to come unfold. 

Will he respond to my messages or calls? Will he let me up to his apartment, or will he turn me away? Is this all because of the article or is this something else? What do I want from this? Do I just want clarity and closure, or do I want to fix things? Up until an hour ago we had been planning to take the next step in our relationship together, so surely we both couldn't have reached a point where we didn't want that at all anymore?

I finally reach his apartment and all of these thoughts are cultivated into one simple yet crucial action — ringing the buzzer. I press the button and say "Theo, it's me Ella. We need to talk. Please let me up", repeating my words from earlier. One second passes. . . two . . .three. . . four . . . nothing. I've given up on hearing Theo's voice flow through the speaker to me when I finally hear some form of response. It is only the sound of the buzzer and click of the door unlocking, rather than him personally responding, but it indicates that he at least has the decency to let me in and deal with this face to face.

I stride over to the elevator, pressing on the button for his level multiple times as though that will make it move quicker. It, of course, doesn't. The time in the elevator gives me a chance to look at myself in the mirror but this only makes things worse because I look like a complete mess. My hair is in a disarray from the strong windows outside, I'm in my sweats, and my skin has a sickly tone on it from a combination of the cold and the nausea that my anxiety has so delightfully triggered in me. 

When I get out of the elevator I can already see that Theo's door is open and he is awaiting me. I'm taken aback because I thought I'd be given a few moments to adjust myself and prepare myself for what comes next. But at least I'm saved the need to anxiously wait at his door to answer me. 

His current state is a little harder to read than mine. Yes, his hair is dishevelled too and he too wears a pair of track pants and a hoodie but he seems to look a lot more composed than me, though that's typical for us. His hands are dug deep into his pockets but not a frown nor any semblance of sadness adorn his face. His expression seems almost frozen, so deprived of any indication of emotion that it almost brings chills across me. 

I stride over to him having not made my mind up of what approach I would adopt or what I would say, but in the moment instinctively deciding. 

"What the hell is going on Theo?" I say, clearly deciding on a bit more of a forward approach to this as I walk past him to have this conversation in the privacy of his apartment. If I don't have the exact facts of what has triggered these events I might as well allow myself the opportunity to voice my frustration. 

"Ella," he replies, turning back to look at him just in time to see him nodding his head in acknowledgement to me. 

"That's it? You send that message and all I get is "Ella"?" I ask incredulously. 

He pulls his hands out of his pockets now as though to indicate that he is actually bringing himself to the conversation now, and I await a response with more effort or frustration too. 

"What would you like me to say Ella?" he responds coldly, a robotic tone having replaced the emotive and charismatic one I'm so used to from him. 

"Well, let's get this straight— we finally sleep together after months of back and forth, you tell me you want more, and then you just decide to end it over a text message with no explanation. Classy act."

"Well, it's better for me to do it now then both of us take another step just to crash."

And yet, this may all have supposedly been to save us from a crash but now I'm just here feeling as though I'm plummeting down metres into the open air from a cliff after thinking there was a step waiting for me. 

He has delivered the emotion and the reaction that I was asking for but it pierces into me more than I expected, severely thrusting me into reality. I take a stab in the dark now because the emptiness behind his eyes yet  anger that laces his words tells me all I need to know about what got us here. Had this been about him changing his mind or backing out there would be more embarrassment behind those eyes, he wouldn't be able to stare back at me with that piercing gaze waiting for my next move like he is now.

"You read the article."

He looks away now, almost scoffing, indicating some emotional reaction to this predicament other than the stone cold rigidity he had been adopting thus far. 

"I sure did," he confirms, able to look into my eyes once again as he says this having regained his composure. He has provided with me the information that I had asked for and yet I feel none of the clarity I had hope for. "I take it you got my flowers."

I don't even bother commenting on the flowers because it sinks it that had all gone right I should've been expressing my gratitude for the lovely sentiment. But it hadn't gone right. I had written the article that started the fire and his reaction was the gasoline that let it truly erupt. 

"Couldn't you at least let me explain myself?" I plead, though I can predict the redundancy of it before I even finish the sentence. 

"What's there to explain? You made your thoughts pretty clear in the article," he sneers, shaking his head as he begins to turn away. 

"That's not the full story and you know that," I tell him, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. 

He takes a moment, frozen by my touch. I can almost see his icy facade falter as his gaze lingers on where my fingers rest, the deja vu baffling as I predict we both are pulled back to thoughts of last night and this morning. I can't possibly get a grasp on how things are shifted so quickly. 

Theo seems to break himself out of the reverie first though, blinking as though to shirk off the nostalgia. I can see the melancholy virtually disappear, the indignation pooling over his eyes again before he walks away. I wonder whether he's walking towards his door to just approach this conversation in the same way he had approached the conflict to begin with, by withdrawing without an effort. Instead, he makes his way over to his dining table, grabbing his phone.

Storming back over to front of me, he is still looking down at his phone intently when he returns to the conversation. 

"'The perfect way to pull off a friends with benefits agreement is to do it with someone you know has no capability of making it into anything more.' Gee, I wonder what you're saying there? It's so unclear." His words drip with a coldness and almost vindictiveness that make it clear he doesn't plan to stop his rebuttal any time soon. "What about, "One begins to wonder, can you get someone out of your system and genuinely move past them? Maybe a test run is all you need to realise you don't actually need the car, you were just caught up in a dream of it.' Or, "when someone is so accustomed to getting everything they want eventually then you wonder if it all becomes a game and you don't want to see what could happen after they win". Should I continue?" 

He waits a moment, gauging my response.

Hearing all these words triggers a visceral reaction from me— I simultaneously balance a return to the night when I had written all of these thoughts down and the emotions that inspired them with the horridness of this situation right now. I had read the article on my way over here but somehow hearing them uttered by Theo makes them so much worse.

"So, did you do it Ella? Did you get it all out? Did you finish your test run?"

"Theo, I—" I struggle to get out the words. How do I explain what I was thinking writing those words? How can I defend myself? "Look, I just knew that you had never had anything serious with anyone and I felt really uncertain about that. I was reflecting my own insecurities on you without looking in the mirror. But I don't feel that way anymore."

"Oh well, let's forget about everything you said because you don't feel that way anymore. Good for you Ella!" he lashes out, his sardonic words making me wince internally. "For fucks sake Ella! You never change, do you? You spew all this bullshit time and time again about how you're sorry for rushing to making judgements and for assuming things, that you won't do it again and that you can change, but you really never do. Did you ever ask me once about my romantic history? No. Instead, you decided to jump to conclusions yet again because at least then I'm the one to be blamed and not you. It's easier that way, right?"

"Well it doesn't really help to provide me with confidence when all you do whenever trouble arises is run away," I lash out, the devil on my shoulder persevering but knowing deep down that  opting for the defensive route was not going to help matters. 

It seems I've found some skin under his armour though because his shoulders visibly straighten at this point and his head cocks to the side in assessment. 

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You run away," I accuse. "You're upset with me but instead of confronting me or talking about it like a grown adult you just cut off contact with me. Why talk things through when you can sleep with someone, ask them to be in a relationship and then avoid any uncomfortable situations or accountability by ghosting them? You did the same thing only a week