THE DARK PART OF ME

Chapter 5: The Hollow Between Us

The days stretched into weeks.

Caleb was still gone.

Not in the physical sense—he was still there, in the same school, walking the same hallways, breathing the same air. But he wasn’t there. Not for me.

He had become a ghost, and I was the haunted house.

I saw him sometimes—his head down, his hands in his pockets, the space between us growing wider with every passing second. And the worst part? I had no idea how to close the distance.

I thought time would fix it. That if I waited long enough, things would go back to how they were.

But time didn’t heal.

It only hollowed out the space where he used to be.

It was raining the night I saw him again.

Not just a drizzle, but a storm. The kind that drenched you in seconds, the kind that made the world feel smaller, quieter, like it was just you and the rain and the cold.

I was walking home, my hoodie soaked, my shoes splashing through puddles, when I saw him.

Caleb.

He was sitting on the curb, his face turned up to the sky, letting the rain wash over him like it was trying to cleanse something he couldn’t reach.

For a second, I just stood there, watching him.

Then—before I could stop myself—I walked over.

He didn’t look at me.

Didn’t move.

I swallowed hard. “Caleb.”

His eyes flicked toward me, but only for a second. Then he went back to staring at the sky.

“You’re gonna get sick,” I said.

A hollow laugh. “Maybe.”

The sound of it made something twist inside me.

I hesitated, then sat down next to him. The cold water soaked through my jeans, but I didn’t care.

We sat in silence, the rain falling between us.

I should’ve said something. Anything.

But what was there to say?

I wanted to ask if he was okay, but I already knew the answer.

I wanted to tell him I missed him, but he already knew that too.

So instead, I just sat there, letting the rain drown out everything we couldn’t say.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I thought I could forget,” he said. “But I can’t.”

I turned to him, my throat tight.

“Neither can I.”

His hands curled into fists.

“I hate this, Derek.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“I hate you.”

The words should’ve hurt.

But they didn’t.

Because I knew what he really meant.

I hate what you make me feel.

I hate that I can’t run from this.

I hate that part of me doesn’t want to.

I looked at him, his face shadowed by the storm, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name.

“Then hate me,” I whispered. “If that’s what you need.”

His breath hitched.

And then, before I could stop him—before he could stop himself—he reached for me.

His fingers curled around the back of my neck, his grip tight, almost desperate.

I froze.

The air between us was thick, charged with something electric, something dangerous.

His breath was warm against my lips, his fingers trembling against my skin.

And then—

He let go.

He pulled back so fast it felt like a slap.

Like he was trying to rip himself away before it was too late.

His eyes were wild, his chest rising and falling too fast.

“This is wrong,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t—”

He stood up, stepping away like I was something toxic.

“Caleb—”

“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting. “This thing—whatever it is—I can’t do it, Derek.”

I swallowed hard. “Then tell me you don’t feel it.”

He clenched his jaw.

Silence.

That was all the answer I needed.

I stood up slowly, the rain dripping from my hair.

“You’re scared.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Of course, I’m scared.”

“Why?”

His hands curled into fists again.

“Because I don’t know who I am when I’m with you.”

The words slammed into me like a punch to the chest.

I took a shaky breath. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

He stared at me, something breaking behind his eyes.

Then—he turned around and walked away.

And I didn’t stop him.

Not this time.

That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

I couldn’t get his words out of my head.

"I don’t know who I am when I’m with you."

I turned onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut.

I knew what he meant.

Because I didn’t know who I was anymore either.

I used to think I had control.

But maybe control was just an illusion.

Maybe the dark part of me—the part I had tried so hard to bury—wasn’t something I could escape.

Maybe it was something I had to face.

The next day, I wrote him a note.

I didn’t text him. Didn’t call.

Just wrote four words on a piece of paper.

"Meet me after school."

Then I slipped it into his locker and walked away.

I didn’t know if he’d come.

I didn’t know if I even deserved it.

But I had to try.

The sun was setting when I saw him.

He was leaning against the brick wall behind the gym, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

I swallowed hard and walked toward him.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then—

“I thought about not coming,” he admitted.

“I thought about not asking.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

I smirked. “I know.”

His lips twitched—almost like he wanted to smile.

Almost.

I hesitated, then took a step closer.

“I don’t want to run from this,” I said. “And I don’t want you to either.”

He tensed. “Derek—”

“Just listen.” I took a deep breath. “I know you’re scared. So am I. But ignoring this isn’t making it go away.”

His jaw clenched.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered. “If we do this—if we are this—what happens when it goes wrong? What happens when you change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

He stared at me, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to find a lie.

But there wasn’t one.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath.

“I hate you,” he whispered.

I smiled faintly. “No, you don’t.”

He sighed. “I know.”

And then—slowly, cautiously—he reached for my hand.

Our fingers brushed.

And this time—he didn’t pull away.

Poem: The Dark Between Us

There is a shadow in me,

one I don’t recognize.

It whispers your name,

breathes your touch,

drowns in the ghost of what we almost were.

You tell me this is wrong,

but then why do you stay?

Why do our hands find each other in the dark,

even when we’re too afraid to hold on?

I have spent years burying myself,

only to find you digging me up.

And maybe that’s the scariest part—

that no matter how much I run,

I will always end up here.

With you.

Riddle

I am not the night, but I live within it.

I am not the fire, but I burn just the same.

You fear me.

You crave me.

You run from me, yet you chase me.

What am I?

(The answer: Desire.)