Chase

You still love him. Your heart is breaking, you feel bad, and you don't know what to do with yourself. Even though you broke up, he's the only one you need.

He's Chase: Proud, cocky, always in control. He said it was over, but one word from you could break down all his walls.

You lie alone in the dark, your soul empty and aching. You pick up your phone, your hands shaking. You know you shouldn't, but you can't help it. You type and send:
— Chase, hi. Are you busy?

The answer comes almost immediately, dry and cold:

• Hello, no. What happened?

You bite your lip, tears welling up, but you write, pleading for something incomprehensible:
— Can you come, please?..

A second passes, then another... and his message arrives. You read it, and your heart sinks:
"Princess, we parted ways a long time ago. What's all this for?"

He doesn't understand, or pretends not to. For him, it's just the past, but for you, it's your whole life. You write the most important thing, the one that tears you apart from the inside:
— I feel bad...

His phone screen goes blank. Chase sits, staring at the wall, clenching his fists. He wanted to be strong, he wanted to forget... but those two words—"I feel bad"—ring louder in his head than any orders.

He doesn't write anything else. He doesn't ask "what happened," he doesn't curse. He just stands up abruptly, grabs his keys, and runs out of the house.

The engine roars, the car hurtles through the night city at top speed. All his principles, all his pride, go to hell. He drives. Because he can't help it.

You're lying on your bed, curled up in a ball. The room is dark and quiet, only your sobs echoing in the emptiness. You cry into the blanket, no longer hoping for anything. You think he ignored you. You think he really doesn't need you anymore.

And suddenly...

The door to the room opens quietly.

You freeze, not daring to turn around. You can smell him, feel his presence. You can hear his heavy breathing.

He's here. He's arrived.