Episode Two:The Edge of Honesty
938 Words
I sat in my car for a long time before I started the engine.
The sun was coming up, casting pale light over the buildings, and I was still wearing the same clothes from the night before. My shirt was wrinkled. My throat was dry. My chest was tight.
I looked down at my hands on the steering wheel and didn’t recognize them. Not because they looked different, but because they had done something I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine.
I’d crossed a line.
And worse—I didn’t regret it.
I told myself I needed to go home, shower, delete last night from my mind like it was some corrupted file. But every time I closed my eyes, I felt him again.
The way he had looked at me—not like something to possess, but something already known.
The way my name had sounded on his breath.
I started the car.
And drove home like a man returning from war.
Claire was asleep on the couch when I walked in.
Her phone was beside her, screen still glowing faintly. One of the missed calls she’d made.
I stood there for a moment, watching her. Her hair falling across her face. Her mouth slightly parted. Peaceful. Trusting.
Guilt hit me like a brick.
I went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, letting the coolness numb the inside of my mouth. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A text.
From an unknown number.
“You didn’t say goodbye.”
My stomach twisted.
Jace.
I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing:
“I didn’t know what to say.”
The dots blinked. Stopped. Blinked again.
“You don’t owe me anything. Just don’t lie to yourself.”
I locked the phone. Put it face down.
Behind me, Claire stirred.
“You’re back,” she mumbled, sitting up. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
I smiled like it didn’t hurt. “Yeah. Lost track of time.”
“You were with Sam and the others?”
“Just one of the artists,” I said. “Talking shop.”
She yawned and stretched, looking up at me with that easy trust she’d always given so freely.
It made my throat tighten.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “Just tired.”
The next few days passed like a bad dream.
I went to work. Responded to emails. Met deadlines.
Claire and I had dinner. Talked about wedding venues. Flowers. Guest lists.
I went through the motions with the precision of a man who had mastered the art of pretending.
But every night, when I lay beside her, my body tensed. Not from guilt—but from something worse.
Longing.
Not for what I had.
But for what I left behind.
I told myself it had to end. That it had been a mistake.
But Jace made that hard.
He didn’t call. Didn’t chase.
But three days later, I received another message.
A photo of a new painting. Large, messy, emotional. All deep reds and smoke tones.
It looked like falling.
Beneath it, one word:
“Yours.”
I stared at it for hours.
I finally replied.
“Is it still hanging?”
“It’s waiting.”
That weekend, I told Claire I had to go into the city for work. There was a client I needed to check in on, I said. A quick meeting. Back before dinner.
She didn’t ask questions.
She trusted me.
And I used that trust to find someone who made me feel like I wasn’t disappearing.
When I knocked on his door, Jace opened it like he already knew I’d come.
He didn’t speak. Just stepped aside and let me in.
The apartment was the same—cramped, chaotic, stained with color and life.
It smelled like turpentine and something warm underneath. Home, maybe.
He handed me a beer. We didn’t toast.
We stood in silence, drinking slowly.
Finally, I said, “I’m not supposed to be here.”
He didn’t flinch. “And yet here you are.”
I looked at the canvas on the far wall. The new one.
It pulsed with something that looked like grief and something that looked like hope.
“Is that really for me?”
He nodded. “You don’t even know what you are yet. But yeah. It’s yours.”
I looked at him.
And for once, I didn’t run from the truth that burned inside my chest.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
He took a step closer. “Then why are you pretending you didn’t feel it?”
“Because I’m engaged.”
“And still pretending to be someone else.”
I closed the space between us.
He didn’t kiss me this time.
I kissed him.
And it wasn’t confusion or weakness. It wasn’t heat for heat’s sake.
It was surrender.
He led me to the couch.
We didn’t rush.
Clothes came off slowly. Carefully.
His hands on my skin didn’t demand anything. They just... reminded me I was alive.
We moved together like we were remembering something. Something ancient. Something sacred.
After, we lay tangled together.
Jace’s voice was soft against my ear.
“You’re going to break her.”
I closed my eyes.
“I already have.”
I left before the sun rose.
I told myself it was the last time.
But I knew I was lying.
Because every time I touched Jace,
I was finally touching the part of me I’d buried for years.
And now that it was awake—
It wasn’t going back to sleep.
- Writer
