Hard To Love

The Pull

I didn’t notice how long I sat there after Marian left. The café had emptied out, the floor slick with mop water. The girl at the counter kept glancing at me like she wanted to close, but I couldn’t move.

Something about the air felt wrong—like the room had lost its balance.

When I finally stepped outside, the rain had started again. It came down thin and steady, soaking through my jacket before I even reached the street. I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking with no idea where I was going.

The city at night looks cleaner after rain. All the dirt hides under reflections. Neon signs blur into puddles; everything beautiful for ten seconds before the mud shows again.

My phone buzzed once in my pocket. Unknown number. I didn’t answer.

I don’t know why I looked toward the station, but I did. Maybe instinct, maybe something else. A faint echo—footsteps running on wet pavement—broke through the hum of cars. A girl’s voice, too far away to make out.

Then nothing.

I should have walked away. Instead I found myself heading that direction.

⸻

I spotted her near the vending machines, crouched beside the curb, shoulders trembling. Her coat was half-torn.

“Marian.”

She looked up fast, eyes wide. “Wayne.”

I knelt, rain dripping from my hair. “What happened?”

She tried to speak but her voice cracked. “It’s nothing. I just—someone scared me.”

Her hands were shaking. I noticed the faint red mark around her wrist.

“Who?”

She hesitated. “No one. Just… an old mistake.”

I wanted to press, but the way she said it made me stop. Whatever happened, she wasn’t ready to say.

I took off my jacket and put it around her shoulders. She flinched from the cold fabric but didn’t refuse it.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll walk you to the station.”

We didn’t talk. The streetlamps buzzed above us, cutting the night into pale squares. She stayed a half step behind me the whole way.

At the platform, the last train lights flashed in the distance. She turned toward me, eyes still glassy from whatever just happened.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You say that too much.”

“Maybe you don’t hear it enough.”

She smiled—tired, small, but real.

When the train doors opened, she stepped inside and turned just before they closed. “Will you text me?”

I nodded. I didn’t plan to, but the words came out anyway. “Yeah.”

The train pulled away, and the reflection of her face disappeared into the motion blur.

⸻

Back in the dorm, I stared at my phone again. I didn’t have her number saved, just the call history from earlier. I scrolled past it twice before finally pressing save. Marian.

I lit a cigarette and sat on the window ledge. The city hummed below—cars, late students, somebody arguing over nothing. The mark on her wrist wouldn’t leave my mind.

I should’ve felt angry, protective, something. Instead there was just that quiet ache again, like an echo of a heartbeat I’d forgotten I had.

Smoke drifted out the window. For a second, it looked like her hair in the wind. I shook it away.

Marian’s POV

The train rattled through the suburbs, fluorescent lights flickering above. I kept my eyes on my reflection in the window—the rain on the glass made it look like I was crying even when I wasn’t.

Dex’s face flashed in my head again, his grip on my wrist, the way his voice turned low when he said Wayne’s name.

He knew about him. He’d been watching.

I reached for my phone, thumb hovering over Wayne’s number. I wanted to tell him, but I also wanted to keep him out of it. He didn’t need my chaos.

When the train stopped at my station, the platform was empty except for one man leaning against the far wall. Hood up. Cigarette glowing faintly.

For a heartbeat, I thought it was Dex again.

But when he turned, the light hit his face just enough—different. Someone older, unfamiliar.

He smiled. “Evening, Marian.”

I froze. “Do I know you?”

“No. But I know Wayne.”

My pulse spiked. “What do you want?”

“Nothing tonight,” he said. “Just a message. Tell him the past always catches up.”

Then he stepped onto the next train, doors closing behind him, leaving only the smoke curling where he’d been.

I stood there alone, the echo of the train fading into the tunnel, heart hammering so hard it hurt.