Tethered: Lost Soul and the Avoidant

Chapter 13: I Bled for a Woman Who Called Me Brother

Zace found himself surprised by her response—curious even. It wasn't common to meet someone who appreciated Paulo Coelho, let alone someone who brought it up so casually. Among all the people in his life, there was only one friend he could remember who ever talked about Coelho. And now here was Lilith. Another teacher. Another woman who seemed to walk the same poetic line between reality and meaning.

Zace had read nearly 80% of Paulo Coelho’s books. His favorites were Eleven Minutes and Veronika Decides to Die. The former fascinated him with its brave discussion of prostitution—not romanticized, but raw and real. It resonated for reasons he couldn’t yet name. The latter, Veronika, struck him like a slow blade—about death, mental health, and the odd beauty of choosing to live, even on borrowed time.

He remembered the first time he ever held a Paulo Coelho book. He was in sophomore year, and he had this English teacher—beautiful, graceful, eloquent. She was everything he thought a woman should be. Maybe he was obsessed. Maybe he mistook admiration for affection. He didn’t really know the difference back then.

He would ask his classmates to help him figure out what books she liked, and when he found out, he’d skip meals just to save allowance and buy those books. He’d give them to her wrapped neatly, sometimes with chocolates or little notes. It wasn’t about impressing her—it was about giving her pieces of himself. Little offerings of attention in hopes that she'd notice him not just as a student, but as someone who felt deeply.

But things changed in junior year.

One day, Zace sent a long text message to her—a confession, not inappropriate, just sincere. The kind of message that only a young, heart-heavy boy could write. The next day, she asked to speak with him after class. She looked at him kindly, but her words were sharp in their finality: she was engaged. She was getting married. And to her, Zace was like a younger brother.

It shattered him.

He didn’t just feel rejected—he felt erased.

After that, something cracked. He stopped caring about school. Started cutting classes. Got into drag racing, tagging street corners with spray paint, even playing around with a gun. It wasn’t just about rebellion—it was about escape. Looking back, maybe he let himself get expelled on purpose. Maybe the reason he never snitched on the friend who brought the gun was because he wanted out. He didn’t want to see her face every day. Didn’t want to hear her voice call him by his first name, like nothing had happened. The school became a prison of unspoken ache.

Rejection, for Zace, became a turning point. One no one really saw.

He hardened. Became cold. Rude. Stopped giving a single f*ck about anyone or anything. It was easier that way—to armor the pain. Anger was better than sorrow. Apathy was safer than longing.

Still, some things stuck.

Before he got kicked out, she had assigned them The Alchemist. A book report was due in two weeks. Zace never got to submit his paper, but he still read the book, even after he transferred to another school. In a way, finishing it was his goodbye. Or maybe it was his way of holding on.

After that, he dove deeper into Coelho’s world. Not for her. Not anymore. But because something in those books spoke to the invisible ache inside him. The longing. The search. The silent battle.

And now, years later, Lilith enters his life.

Another teacher.

Another muse.

Another woman who reminds him of everything he tried to bury.

She talked about books too. She understood metaphors and symbolism. She probably read The Alchemist too.

The signs were familiar, almost haunting.

And so, fear crept in again—not because he wanted to be with her right away, but because he feared what it might mean if he did. The ghosts of the past whispered warnings in his ears.

He didn’t want to feel again.

Not yet.

Not when he wasn’t ready to be touched.

Not when he wasn’t ready to stay.

Not when his mind was still flirting with the idea of death.

He wasn’t scared of being rejected by Lilith—no, not really. What frightened him more was the possibility of being accepted. Of being loved when he didn’t know how to receive it.

Because what happens if she lets him in?

Would he hurt her too?

Would she see the broken pieces he kept hidden behind his casual jokes and philosophical rants?

And what if she found out he was planning to die?

He had a timeline. On his upcoming birthday June 06 he will end it. That was it.

So no—he wouldn’t make a move. Not because he didn’t care. But because caring came with consequences, he couldn’t afford to face right now. Lilith deserved someone who was whole, or at least willing to heal. He was neither.

And yet, she stirred something dormant in him.

Not just longing.

Hope.

That maybe, somehow, even the most broken boys could be seen—not as burdens—but as books too. Full of scars and chapters written in pain, but still worth reading. Still worth saving.

Maybe one day, he’d hand her his story.

Maybe not.

But for now, he would watch from the distance.

And read.

Even now, years later, Zace could still recall the way her voice cracked when she said he felt like a little brother. That sentence didn’t just close a door—it buried a version of him. Maybe that’s why he feared Lilith so much. Not because she was like her, but because he was still like that—the boy who offered his heart through books, only to have it returned unread. He wondered if healing meant rereading every painful chapter without flinching. Or if some wounds were bookmarks you carry forever—reminders that not all stories are meant to be finished.