Owned by violence

What I Could Lose

(Cory POV)

Diana doesn’t understand what it means to lose everything.

I do.

That’s the difference between us.

She still believes things can be fixed, that problems come and go, that if you just hold on long enough, everything settles back into place. I used to think like that too. Back when we were younger. Back when the world felt smaller, simpler, like the worst thing that could happen was being left alone in a place that never felt like home.

Now I know better.

Things don’t settle.

They break.

And when they do, they don’t always go back together the way they were before.

Sometimes they don’t go back at all.

I leaned against the wall outside, my hands shoved into my pockets, my jaw tight as I stared at nothing in particular. The air felt heavier tonight, like something was closing in around me, tightening with every second I stood there doing nothing.

I should have been inside.

With her.

That’s where I always am.

But I needed a second.

Just one.

Because lately, it felt like everything was slipping out of my control.

And I hate that feeling.

The door opened behind me, and I didn’t have to turn to know it was Diana. I could hear it in the way she moved, quiet, careful, like she didn’t want to disturb anything.

“You’ve been out here for a while,” she said softly.

“I needed air.”

“It’s not even that hot.”

“It’s not about the weather.”

I heard her step closer, felt her presence before I saw it. When I finally turned, she was standing a few feet away, watching me the way she always does when she thinks something’s wrong.

“You’ve been acting different,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I am.”

She didn’t look convinced.

She never does when I say that.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice still calm, still patient.

I looked at her for a moment.

Really looked at her.

And for a second, everything else faded.

The noise in my head. The pressure. The problem I couldn’t fix.

All of it.

Because she was still here.

Still mine.

And that should have been enough.

It used to be.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said finally.

“That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You shutting me out like this.”

I frowned slightly. “I’m not shutting you out.”

“You are. You won’t tell me anything anymore.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“That’s not true.”

Her voice wasn’t loud.

But there was something in it.

Something firm.

Something that made it harder to brush her off.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. “It’s just. stuff I need to handle.”

“Then let me help.”

“No.”

The word came out faster than I intended.

Sharper.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not your problem.”

“It becomes my problem when it affects you.”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

The certainty in my voice didn’t come from confidence.

It came from necessity.

Because if I didn’t believe that…

Then everything else would fall apart.

She stepped closer, her expression softening slightly. “Cory, you don’t have to do everything alone.”

I let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

Because if I don’t, they’ll take you.

The thought hit hard.

Too real.

Too close to the surface.

I swallowed it down before it could turn into something worse.

“Because that’s how it works,” I said instead.

She studied me for a moment, like she was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying.

She always does that.

Always looking deeper than I want her to.

“You’re scaring me,” she admitted quietly.

Something in my chest tightened.

I didn’t like that.

Didn’t like the idea that she was afraid.

Especially not of me.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said.

“You don’t have to. It’s just… the way you’ve been lately.”

“What about it?”

“You’re tense all the time. You get upset over small things. You barely sleep. And when I ask what’s wrong, you just” She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. “You shut me out.”

I looked away.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

And that made it worse.

“I said I’m handling it.”

“And I’m saying you don’t have to do that alone.”

I turned back to her, my jaw tightening. “I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who got us into this.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Silence followed.

Her brows furrowed slightly. “Got us into what?”

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because the moment I said it out loud, it would become real.

And if it became real

Then she would be part of it.

And I can’t let that happen.

“Cory.”

Her voice was softer now.

Closer.

“Talk to me.”

I stepped back.

Not much.

Just enough to create distance.

“I said it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

The words came out colder than I meant them to.

Her expression shifted slightly, not hurt exactly, but something close.

Disappointment.

I hated that more than anything.

But I couldn’t fix it.

Not without making things worse.

“Okay,” she said after a moment.

Just like that.

No argument.

No pushing.

That should have made things easier.

But it didn’t.

Because now she was pulling back.

And I felt it immediately.

That space between us.

That distance.

I stepped forward without thinking, closing it again, my hand reaching for hers before she could move further away.

She hesitated for half a second.

Then let me take it.

That hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t do that,” I said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Pull away.”

“I wasn’t, ”

“You were.”

She shook her head slightly. “Cory, I just”

“You don’t get to do that.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

Her eyes widened slightly.

“I’m not trying to”

“I know what it looks like,” I cut in. “And I don’t like it.”

Silence.

Thick.

Heavy.

Her fingers tightened slightly around mine, but it didn’t feel the same.

Nothing felt the same anymore.

“Okay,” she said again, softer this time.

And just like that,

It was over.

The moment passed.

But the feeling didn’t.

Because now I knew.

Things were changing.

Not all at once.

Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But I could feel it.

And I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

Because change means risk.

And risk means loss.

And I don’t lose.

I can’t.

Not when it comes to her.

Not when she’s the only thing I have left that matters.

I tightened my grip on her hand slightly, just enough to remind myself she was still there.

Still mine.

Still within reach.

No matter what happens

I won’t let anyone take her from me.

Not them.

Not anyone.

Especially not him.