Chapter 8:The Space He Can’t Handle
786 Words
Lily barely slept.
The apartment felt emptier without Arden in it, even though he technically lived there now. She kept replaying the moment he walked out—the hurt in his eyes, the jealousy he tried so hard to hide, the way he’d said “don’t touch me right now” like her hands were fire.
By morning, exhaustion sat heavy in her bones.
She walked out of her room and found him in the kitchen.
Arden Hale, in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled, hair still slightly damp from the shower. He wasn’t usually messy, but today he looked… tense. Guarded. Like he’d barely slept either.
His eyes flicked to her for half a second, then dropped to his mug.
“Good morning,” she offered quietly.
“…Morning.”
His voice was low, contained, too calm.
She moved closer, slowly, carefully. “Are you still upset?”
“No.”
But the tightness in his jaw said the opposite.
Lily reached out and gently touched his arm—just the lightest brush of her fingers.
He stiffened instantly.
“Lily,” he warned, stepping back. “Not now.”
“Why not?” she whispered. “I’m just trying to calm you down.”
“And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t.”
His tone was sharper this time, though he wasn’t raising his voice—he never did.
“Arden, you were jealous, and that’s okay—”
“It isn’t,” he cut in, eyes lifting to hers.
“That feeling isn’t mine to have. And I don’t want your comfort like—like I’m entitled to it.”
“You’re not entitled to it,” she said softly. “I’m giving it.”
“That’s worse,” he muttered.
She frowned. “Why is it worse?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“Because it makes me want to take more than you’re offering.”
Lily froze.
His stare held hers—raw, frustrated, almost pained.
“I’m trying to control myself,” he said quietly. “And you touching me… it doesn’t help.”
“So I’m the problem now?” she asked, voice cracking just a little.
“No,” he said immediately. “I’m the problem. I’m the one who lost control last night. I’m the one who—”
“—was jealous?” she finished softly.
His silence was the answer.
Lily stepped closer again, slower this time, her voice gentle.
“Arden… I’m not choosing Louis. I don’t like him like that.”
Something flickered in his eyes—hope, quick and small.
“So don’t be mad,” she said softly.
He looked away. “I’m not mad.”
“You are.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Then who are you mad at?”
“…myself.”
The admission hung in the air, heavy.
Lily reached for him again—this time her hand grazed the sleeve of his shirt.
He stepped back so fast she froze.
“Lily,” he said through barely controlled breath.
“Please. Don’t try to pet me like I’m some wounded animal. I can’t— I can’t take that from you.”
Her chest tightened. “I’m not treating you like that. I just—”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he said quietly. “You’re trying to soften what happened. Make it smaller. And I can’t let you do that.”
“But why?”
“Because if you touch me again,” he said in a low, shaken voice,
“I won’t walk away this time.”
Silence.
No movement.
No words.
Just the truth between them—dangerous and real.
Lily swallowed hard.
“What do you want me to do, then?”
He breathed in slowly, as if steadying himself.
“Give me space.”
She hesitated. “…For how long?”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
“Until I’m not angry anymore.”
“You’re not angry,” she whispered.
“You’re jealous.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he stepped around her, moving toward the hallway, distancing himself physically just as much as emotionally.
“I’ll see you later,” he said without looking back.
“Where are you going?”
“To clear my head.”
She watched him walk to the door, watched his hand grip the knob.
And then, right before he stepped out, she heard him whisper—barely audible:
“I don’t want you to see me like this.”
And then he was gone.
Leaving behind his mug, his silence, and the echo of everything he refused to admit.
- Writer
