Betty’s POV
Brent’s words stayed with me long after he left, echoing in my mind as I packed up my things and headed to the studio. You don’t have to do this alone.
He was right. I knew he was right. I’d been pulling away, but not because I didn’t care about him. If anything, it was because I cared too much. The pressure to succeed, to prove myself—it was relentless, a constant drumbeat in my head that drowned out everything else. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to silence it.
There was no off switch for the drive that had gotten me this far. It whispered constantly: Work harder. Be better. Don’t fail. Brent didn’t understand that part of me—not fully, at least. He wanted to help, but how could I explain to him that sometimes the weight wasn’t something you shared? Sometimes it was just yours to carry.
By the time I finished at the studio, the campus was deserted, the crisp night air biting at my skin as I stepped outside. I zipped up my jacket, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and relief. Brent’s voice still lingered in my mind, steady and reassuring, a reminder of the steadiness he brought to my chaos.
But it wasn’t just Brent’s words that stayed with me now. Something else was creeping in, a nagging thought I didn’t want to acknowledge.
As I walked toward my dorm, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, the glow of the screen cutting through the darkness. My heart tightened as I read the notification.
It wasn’t Brent.
It was Marcus.
Still look like hell? Coffee tomorrow?
I stared at the message, my chest tightening in a way I didn’t want to examine. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even an invitation, not really. But there was something in his words, casual as they seemed, that carried weight. Something dangerous and unspoken.
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen as my mind raced. What was I doing? Why was I even considering this? Brent had just poured his heart out to me, reminded me that I didn’t have to face the world alone. And yet, here I was, debating whether to say yes to Marcus.
But it wasn’t about Marcus, not really. It was about the part of me that wasn’t ready to face the pressure, the expectations, the choices I’d made. Brent’s love was steady, constant, but Marcus… Marcus was complicated. Messy. He represented all the things I couldn’t quite figure out about myself.
Finally, I typed back: Fine. One coffee.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, shoving the phone back into my pocket as if that could erase the knot tightening in my stomach.
As I walked toward my dorm, the air around me felt heavier. It wasn’t just the message that felt dangerous—it was the part of me that wanted to say yes. The part that craved something undefined, something I didn’t fully understand.
And as I climbed the steps to my building, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was heading toward clarity—or just further into the mess.