Storm Between Us
1372 Words
The storm started slow—just a low rumble in the distance—yet somehow it felt like it had been building between us for days.
I spent the evening pretending to read in the library, and Ethan spent it pretending I didn’t exist. Every footstep of his echoed down the hallway like he was reminding the house he owned it… and reminding me he didn’t want to be near me.
He’d been cold since the night he held me through my nightmare. Cold, distant, controlled.
Like touching me had crossed a line he could never un-cross.
I told myself I didn’t care.
I told myself he shouldn’t matter.
But every time I heard his voice from another room, my stomach tightened.
The sky cracked open just after midnight.
A violent blast of thunder rattled the windows. I lifted my head from the book I wasn’t actually reading. The lights flickered once… then died completely.
Darkness swallowed the mansion.
I froze. The storm outside roared so loud it felt like it was inside the walls.
My heartbeat climbed into my throat.
I hated storms. Always had. My father used to stay awake with me through them—the last person who made the night feel safe.
Now the darkness felt too heavy. Too loud.
I took a small, shaky breath.
You’re fine, Maya. It’s just a storm.
But another thunderclap hit so violently that I flinched.
Footsteps moved briskly down the hall. Heavy, steady. Familiar.
“Maya?” Ethan’s voice cut through the dark, rougher than usual. “Are you okay?”
My breath hitched. I turned toward the sound, though I couldn’t see him. “I—yeah. I’m fine.”
He exhaled slowly, like he didn’t believe one word of that.
A faint glow appeared—his phone flashlight. It lit him from below, shadows carving his face into something sharp and unreadable.
He stepped closer. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” I whispered, even though I was.
His jaw tightened. He lowered the light and reached out, brushing his fingers against mine. The touch was simple, nothing more than a guiding gesture… but it set off every nerve in me.
“Come on,” he murmured. “The generator might take a while to kick in. Stay where I can see you.”
“You always want to see me,” slipped out before I could stop myself.
His eyes snapped to mine.
Something flickered there—heat, denial, restraint wound so tight it looked painful.
The storm growled again. A tremor went through me. Ethan noticed; he moved before I could step back.
One hand pressed lightly to my lower back, steadying me.
“Breathe,” he said quietly. “You’re safe.”
The words hit deeper than they should have.
We stood in the faint, trembling light of his phone, thunder cracking outside, silence burning between us.
“Why are you avoiding me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His body went still. “I’m not.”
“That’s a lie.”
Thunder shook the windows again. I flinched; his hand tightened on my waist, pulling me a fraction closer.
“Maya…” His voice dropped, low, rough. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking why you can barely look at me.”
“Because I can look at you,” he whispered harshly. “And I shouldn’t.”
My breath caught.
He shut his eyes, jaw flexing like he was fighting himself and losing.
The storm outside roared, matching the tension inside the room.
Finally—finally—he opened his eyes and let the truth slip.
“You make it hard for me to stay in control.”
My heart stuttered.
Silence crashed between us harder than thunder.
He realized what he’d said. His lips parted, like he wanted to take it back but couldn’t.
The storm crackled violently outside, shaking the mansion.
And I stepped into the space between us.
Close enough to feel his breath.
Close enough for him to stop me—yet he didn’t.
Not this time.
My voice broke, raw and trembling:
“Then stop pretending you don’t want me.”
His breath caught the moment the words left my mouth.
Then stop pretending you don’t want me.
The air between us snapped tight, pulled so thin it felt like one wrong breath would tear it apart.
Thunder cracked again, shaking the floorboards, but Ethan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.
He just stared at me like I’d done the one thing he’d spent weeks dreading.
“Maya…” My name came out hoarse, torn from somewhere deep. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” My voice trembled, but my eyes didn’t waver. “I’m asking for the truth.”
He shook his head once, sharp and pained. “No. You’re asking for a fire you can’t put out.”
“Maybe I don’t want to put it out.”
He made a rough sound—half frustration, half something darker—and dragged a hand through his hair. The phone’s dim light caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell too fast.
Another boom of thunder rattled the windows.
I flinched, and without thinking, I grabbed the front of his shirt.
He froze.
His eyes dropped to my hands clutching him… then lifted to my face.
Slowly.
Like the sight hurt him.
“You’re grieving,” he whispered. “You’re scared. You’re looking for anything familiar.”
“And you’re all I have left,” I whispered back.
His throat worked like the words physically struck him.
For a moment, the storm outside vanished.
All I could hear was his breathing—ragged, uneven, a battle he was losing.
He reached up, hesitating just inches from my cheek.
“Maya… if I touch you right now, I won’t do it halfway.” The confession slipped out, raw and unguarded. “I won’t be able to pretend after.”
My pulse thundered louder than the storm.
“Then don’t pretend.”
His fingertips finally brushed my jaw—barely, just a ghost of a touch.
But it was enough to break something in both of us.
His breath hitched.
I stepped closer until there was no space left.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me still. Not forceful—just certain.
“Maya,” he murmured, voice unsteady. “I shouldn’t want this.”
“But you do.”
His eyes closed like admitting it cost him everything.
“Yes,” he breathed. “God help me, I do.”
Lightning flashed through the windows, illuminating the moment he let his guard fall completely.
He leaned his forehead against mine.
“I can’t cross that line,” he whispered. “Not tonight. Not when you’re shaking and the power is out and you’re barely holding yourself together.”
“I’m holding you,” I said. “Doesn’t that count?”
He exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, almost a sob.
“You don’t know what you do to me.”
“Then let me.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me fully—eyes dark, tortured, wanting.
The storm roared again, and the generator clicked somewhere in the distance… but the lights didn’t come on.
We were still alone in the dark.
His hand tightened slightly at the back of my neck.
“Go to bed, Maya,” he whispered. “Before I become something I can’t come back from.”
I swallowed hard.
“Is that what you’re afraid of? Becoming mine?”
This time, the flinch was unmistakable.
His jaw clenched. His eyes closed.
Then—slowly, gently—he removed my hands from his shirt.
“I’m afraid,” he said quietly, “of wanting you more than I should.”
The lights flickered.
And with the faintest glow returning to the hallway, he stepped back.
Not far.
Just far enough to hurt.
“Goodnight, Maya.”
He turned and walked away before I could say another word.
But not before I saw it
His hands trembling.
- Writer
