SEVEN MONTHS TO HATE YOU

The bathroom light in the hospital was too white. It made everything look honest. Even things you weren’t ready to accept. Arielle stood still in front of the mirror, one hand gripping the edge of the sink while the other held a folded medical report. She didn’t open it again. She didn’t need to. She already knew what it said. Still… her fingers moved. Slowly unfolding it. Like delaying pain could reduce it. --- Her eyes landed on the words again. > Diagnosis: Terminal condition Stage: Late progression Prognosis: Limited survival window Estimated time remaining: 7 months Seven months. That was all her body had decided to give her. Not years. Not even a full one. Just… seven months of borrowed time. --- Arielle swallowed hard. Her reflection stared back at her. Calm face. Controlled breathing. But her eyes betrayed everything. --- A memory slipped in without permission. The doctor’s voice. --- > “It’s not immediate collapse,” he had said gently. “But it’s irreversible. You should think carefully about how you spend the time you have left.” Time. As if it was something she could organize neatly. As if it wasn’t already slipping through her fingers. --- Arielle folded the paper back slowly. Her hands trembled—but only slightly. She hated that even now, her body was still showing weakness. --- 💔 FLASHBACK — CRESTVIEW ACADEMY Rain. Cold metal gates. Students passing by like nothing was happening. But everything was already ending. Arielle stood under the edge of the school corridor roof, phone in her hand, staring at the group chat. VANTAE FIVE Her fingers hovered. Typing… Deleting… Typing again. Her breathing got uneven. Not because she didn’t know what to say. But because she did. Too well. --- She looked at her reflection in the dark phone screen. And made a decision that would destroy everything. If she disappeared normally… they would search. If she left softly… they would wait. If they waited… She wouldn’t survive it emotionally. And worse— They would watch her die. --- So she chose the only way she could leave without dragging them into it. She made herself the villain. --- Her fingers finally moved. She sent it. --- 💬 MESSAGE SENT: > “Don’t look for me. Everything about what we had was useful to me, nothing more. I stayed because I needed protection from people like you. You were never my friends. You were a convenience I used until I didn’t need it anymore. I don’t feel guilty. I don’t regret it. Forget me completely. That’s all you were ever meant to do. —Arielle” --- The moment it sent… Her chest tightened. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Just silence. The kind that hurts more than noise. --- Messages started flooding instantly. Calls. Voices. “Why are you saying this?” “Answer me.” “Tell us it’s a lie.” But she didn’t open any of them. Because if she did… She might break her own plan. --- 💔 PRESENT — AUSTRALIA HOSPITAL EXIT Arielle pushed the bathroom door open. The hallway felt longer now. Heavier. Like even the building knew something had changed inside her. --- Her father was waiting outside the consultation area. The moment he saw her, he stood up immediately. No hesitation. Just quiet concern. “Hey…” he said softly. “How did it go?” Arielle didn’t answer immediately. She walked into his arms instead. And he held her like he already knew the answer. Like fathers always do. --- For a few seconds, she didn’t speak. Just breathed. Just existed. Just tried not to fall apart. --- Then she finally whispered: “I need to go back to Italy.” Her father went still. He slowly pulled back to look at her. “Back… now?” She nodded. --- His eyes searched hers carefully. There was something he wanted to say. Something heavier than words. But he didn’t force it. Instead, he asked gently: “Should I let them know? The hospital report… your condition—” Arielle’s voice cut in immediately. “No.” Firm. Final. Almost desperate. “No one can know.” Her father frowned slightly. “Ari—” “Please.” Her voice softened, but it cracked in a way she couldn’t hide. “Not yet. Not until I say so.” Silence. Long. Heavy. Then her father exhaled slowly. “…Okay,” he said quietly. “But I don’t agree with this.” A small, sad smile touched her lips. “I know.” --- ✈️ NEXT DAY — DEPARTURE The suitcase stood by the door. Packed too neatly for someone leaving something behind forever. Her father handed her the documents. His hand lingered slightly. Like he didn’t want to let go. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said. Arielle looked up at him. “I am alone in this,” she said softly. “That’s why I have to handle it this way.” That hurt him. She saw it. But he didn’t argue. --- Before she left, she hugged him again. Longer. Tighter. Like she was trying to store him in memory. Just in case she wouldn’t have time later. --- When she finally pulled away, she didn’t cry. She just nodded once. Turned. And walked out. . . . . . . The room was always red at night. Not because it was decorated that way. Because Lucien kept it that way. Low light. Heavy shadows. A glow that made everything inside it feel like it was already bleeding. Smoke filled the air in slow, patient waves. A cigarette burned between his fingers. Unfinished. Like everything else in his life. --- Lucien Moretti leaned back in his chair, legs slightly apart, posture relaxed in a way that never meant peace. It meant control. His shirt was half open, revealing ink carved across his chest—dark patterns that looked less like art and more like warnings written into skin. His arms carried the same language. Tattoos crawling over muscle like something alive. Something permanent. Something unkind. --- He exhaled smoke slowly. Watched it rise. Disappear. Return nothing. --- Silence sat with him. Not uncomfortable. Not empty. Familiar. --- Then his phone vibrated once on the table. He didn’t look at it immediately. He already knew it wasn’t important. Nothing was. Except one name that never stopped existing in the back of his mind. Even when he didn’t say it. Even when he didn’t want to. Arielle Vance. --- His jaw tightened slightly. Just enough to show something was there beneath the calm. Something sharp. Unresolved. Still alive. --- He stood up slowly. The chair scraped behind him, but he didn’t turn. He walked toward the window instead. Outside, Italy breathed without him. Lights. Movement. Noise. A world pretending nothing ever broke inside it. --- Lucien stared at it like it offended him. Because it did. Everything that moved on without her felt wrong. --- His reflection in the glass stared back. Dark hair slightly messy. Cold eyes that didn’t ask permission. Ink across skin like memory he couldn’t erase. --- He raised his hand slowly and pressed two fingers against the glass. Like he was touching something distant. Something unreachable. --- “…You think leaving fixed anything,” he said quietly. No anger in his tone. That was the dangerous part. Calm meant certainty. --- A pause. Smoke drifting past his reflection. Then— “No one leaves like that and gets to stay gone.” --- His fingers slid away from the glass. He turned slightly, pacing once through the room. Slow steps. Measured. Like he was thinking through something already decided. --- “You don’t get to disappear when I finally learned how to breathe around you.” Another step. “You don’t get to erase yourself from my head and call it freedom.” His voice lowered slightly. Worse now. Not louder. Just heavier. --- Lucien stopped in the center of the room. Red light painting half his face. Shadow swallowing the rest. --- “I don’t care where you are,” he said. Pause. “I don’t care how far you think you ran.” Another inhale of smoke. “I don’t care how quiet you made yourself.” --- His eyes sharpened. Focus locking into something invisible. Something only he could see. --- “You will come back into my world.” A beat. “And when you do…” Silence tightened. --- “I won’t ask you why you left.” His voice dropped. Cold. Final. “I’ll make you wish you never learned how to.” --- He crushed the cigarette slowly in his hand. Not careless. Intentional. Like even fire wasn’t allowed to exist unfinished around him. --- Lucien picked up his coat. Slid it on without hurry. Like time belonged to him, not the other way around. --- At the door, he paused. Hand resting on the handle. Still. Controlled. Dangerously calm. --- One last breath. One last promise. --- “I’m not looking for you,” he said softly. A pause. Then— “I’m coming for the version of you that thought you could survive without me.” --- Click. The door opened. Red light stayed behind him. But the promise moved forward. TBC🌺🌺🌺