This hurts more
1199 Words
Reza
The car smells like him.
Leather, cold night air, something distinctly Aaron underneath it all. Steady, controlled, infuriatingly familiar. The door clicks shut and the sound feels final in a way that makes my chest tighten. I stare straight ahead, hands clenched in my lap, jaw locked so tight it aches.
Don’t talk.
Don’t look.
Don’t feel.
The engine starts. Low. Smooth. Too calm for what’s buzzing under my skin.
Starla coils tight inside me, hackles raised, every sense screaming mate even as every instinct snarls danger. The bond hums between us, no longer stretched thin like in the bar, but close now, too close, alive and alert and impossible to ignore.
Aaron pulls away from the curb carefully, like he’s afraid sudden movement might shatter me.
The streetlights streak past the window in soft gold blurs. My head still swims slightly, alcohol and adrenaline tangling together, but the cold air from the vents helps. Grounds me. Reminds me I’m here. In his car. Because I let myself be.
I swallow hard.
Silence stretches.
It’s not empty silence. It’s crowded. Packed full of everything we’re not saying.
“You don’t have to..” he starts.
I lift a hand without looking at him. “I said don’t talk.”
He exhales slowly, the sound tight but controlled. “Right.”
The car settles back into quiet, broken only by the hum of the road beneath us. My reflection flickers faintly in the window, flushed cheeks, eyes too bright, hair wild from dancing..
Goddess. I look like a mess.
Good. Let him see it. Let him sit with that.
I press my forehead briefly against the cool glass, eyes closing for half a second. The motion makes the world tilt and Starla growls softly, disapproving.
- You pushed too far, she says.
“I know,” I whisper back under my breath.
Aaron’s gaze flicks toward me, sharp, but he doesn’t comment. His hands stay steady on the wheel, knuckles relaxed, posture controlled to the point of rigidity. He’s holding himself together with discipline and restraint, and the bond lets me feel every ounce of it.
That hurts worse than anger.
Minutes pass. Or seconds. Time feels unreliable.
The city thins around us, buildings giving way to quieter streets, trees lining the road like dark sentinels. The further we get from the bar, the more the noise drains out of me, leaving space behind.
Too much space.
“You were dancing,” Aaron says suddenly.
I stiffen. “I said don’t..”
“I know,” he cuts in quickly. “I’m not..” He stops, jaw tightening. Tries again. “I’m not judging.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “You were watching. That’s judgment enough.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens, just a fraction. “I didn’t come to control you.”
“No,” I snap, turning toward him despite myself. “You came to watch. From across the street. Like I was a problem you hadn’t decided how to solve yet.”
He flinches. Actually flinches.
The sight steals a beat from me.
“I was making sure you were safe,” he says quietly.
“And how did that feel?” I demand. “Standing there while I drank too much and let strangers touch me?”
The bond crackles, sharp with conflicting emotion. Possessive. Furious. Restrained to the breaking point.
His voice drops. “Like hell.”
Good.
“That’s what you get,” I say, venomous and shaking all at once. “You don’t get to walk away and then stand guard like you still belong here.”
The car slows slightly as he navigates a turn, the movement smooth but deliberate. When he speaks again, it’s measured. Careful.
“I walked away because I didn’t trust myself not to hurt you.”
I laugh again, this time rough and humourless. “Congratulations. You succeeded anyway.”
Silence slams down between us, heavier than before.
The bond doesn’t ease. If anything, it tightens, drawn to the raw truth in my words. Starla presses forward, restless and aching.
He pulls onto my street a few minutes later. The apartements coming into view like they have done every time I turned in here, calm and ordinary and completely at odds with the storm coiled in my chest.
My heart starts to pound harder.
This is where I get out.
This is where it ends again.
Aaron slows the car in front of my building and shifts into park. The engine idles softly, a low rumble beneath the silence.
Neither of us moves.
The air between us feels charged, like one wrong word could set everything on fire.
“Thank you,” I say finally, the words stiff and brittle. A formality. Armor. “For the ride.”
He turns to look at me fully now.
Up close, in the quiet, it’s worse. His eyes are dark, intense, stripped of distance and shadows. I can see the restraint there, the careful control, the effort it takes not to reach for me.
The bond hums, loud and aching.
“This isn’t over,” he says.
I scoff softly. “That’s not your decision either.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it is the truth.”
I open the door before he can say anything else. Cool night air spills in, sharp and clean, slicing through the tension like a blade. I plant my feet on the pavement, the world swaying just slightly as I stand.
Aaron is out of the car instantly.
“You said you wouldn’t come inside,” I warn, turning sharply.
“I’m not,” he replies. He stops a respectful distance away, hands visible, posture nonthreatening. “I’m making sure you get to your door.”
I hate how reasonable that sounds.
I hate how a part of me is relieved.
I walk toward the building without another word, keys clutched tight in my hand. Each step feels heavier, sobriety creeping back in with unwelcome clarity. I fumble slightly with the lock, frustration spiking.
Before I can stop myself, I slam my palm against the door once. Hard.
“Damn it.”
Aaron doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t crowd me. He just stands there, presence steady and infuriatingly grounding.
“Reza,” he says softly.
I still.
“Yes?” I snap, not turning.
“You don’t have to forgive me,” he says. “But don’t pretend this didn’t matter.”
My throat tightens.
The door clicks open under my shaking fingers. I step inside, warmth spilling out around me.
I turn back to him then.
For a heartbeat, we just look at each other.
The bond pulses between us. Raw, unresolved, painfully alive.
“Go home, Aaron,” I say quietly.
He holds my gaze for a long moment.
Then he nods.
I shut the door before he can say anything else.
I lean back against the door, heart hammering, breath unsteady, Starla restless and aching beneath my skin.
Outside, I feel him linger for just a moment longer.
Then the bond shifts.
Distance settles back in.
His absence had hurt.
This hurts more.
- Writer
