Oliver walked out of the restroom, his mind in a haze, his thoughts clouded with disbelief. This isn't normal, he kept muttering to himself, trying to ground himself in the familiar discomfort of the party.
But it didn't help. Nothing made sense anymore.
The guests were still laughing, talking, completely unaware of the storm that had just passed through the restroom. Lorette's friends were buzzing about, asking where Liam had gone, why he wasn't with them. But Lorette's eyes, those cold, spiteful eyes, were fixed on Oliver. There was something sharp in her gaze, a mix of anger and confusion, and for a moment, Oliver felt as if she could see through him.
He couldn't stay. Not here. Not in this suffocating space where everything felt wrong, where the walls seemed to close in tighter with every breath.
Without another word, Oliver shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring the hushed whispers and sidelong glances. He didn't care. All he wanted was to get out of this house—away from Lorette, away from the suffocating thoughts of Liam.
His hand was already on the door when he froze.
Something stopped him. A presence.
Liam.
Liam was standing by the hallway entrance, his eyes locked on Oliver's from across the room. The space between them seemed to stretch for miles. Liam didn't blink, didn't even move. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze… his gaze was so intense it felt like a weight pushing against Oliver's chest.
Oliver's heart pounded harder, faster, and he could feel something shift in the pit of his stomach. It was like the room around them had gone still, like time itself had paused for just that one moment. Liam's lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to speak, to say something that could change everything.
But Oliver couldn't stand there any longer. He couldn't listen to him, couldn't look at him anymore.
Without thinking, without looking back, he threw open the door and ran.
His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he fled the house, his breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. He didn't know why, but everything Liam had done to him—the kiss, the pressure, the confession—kept replaying in his mind, over and over again.
Why did it hurt so much? Why was it so confusing?
But he couldn't stay. He couldn't face Liam, not now.
Liam stood frozen by the hallway entrance, his gaze fixed on the door where Oliver had just disappeared. He didn't know what he had expected—some kind of reaction, a chance to explain.
But Oliver had run.
And with him, it felt like everything had shattered.
This is it. The thought hit Liam with the force of a freight train. It's over.
He should have known better. He shouldn't have let it get this far, shouldn't have let himself fall into this mess. But it was too late now. Oliver was gone.
And he had no idea how to fix it.
Liam's hand clenched into a fist at his side, and his chest tightened. He stood there for a long time, trying to hold himself together, but the truth settled in like a weight he couldn't escape.
It was over.
Mrs. Montero stepped out of the doctor's office, her shoulders slumped with fatigue. The hallway seemed to stretch on endlessly in front of her, each step heavy with the weight of the paper in her hand.
The prescription in her hand felt like a cold, harsh reminder of her reality, the words on the paper more like an accusation than a remedy. She knew this would happen, but she was not ready to accept it.
She walked slowly, not bothering to glance at the faces around her. She didn't have the energy to care. The cool air of the pharmacy hit her as she pushed open the door, and she stepped inside, her eyes scanning the shelves without truly seeing them. The soft beep of the register, the rustling of papers—everything felt distant.
The pharmacist, an older woman with sharp eyes, glanced at Mrs. Montero when she walked up to the counter.
"Ah Mrs Montero, long time no see"
Mrs Montero smiled politely, despite her inner turmoil.
The pharmacist's eyes quickly fell to the prescription, and she paused for a long moment, her fingers curling around the paper with a slight tremor.
Mrs. Montero's face was unreadable, but there was a quiet exhaustion in her posture—something beyond the weariness of a long day, something deeper. She didn't need to say a word for the pharmacist to understand.
The woman looked up, her gaze softening. She reached out and gently squeezed Mrs. Montero's hand, her grip warm but firm.
"Do not think too much," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. " Okay?."
The words were simple, but they felt heavy with unspoken understanding. She moved quickly, preparing the medication, her hands efficient yet gentle. The moment stretched in silence, with only the soft clink of bottles and the rustling of bags filling the air.
Once the medication was ready, the pharmacist placed the bag on the counter. Mrs. Montero took it without a word, nodding silently. She gave the woman a faint smile, the kind of smile that tried to hide the storm brewing beneath the surface.
But she didn't go to Mrs. Gracie's house, as she normally would. Instead, she turned and left the pharmacy, her steps slow, her heart heavy.
She walked to the bus stop, her gaze distant, lost in thought. The bus ride was quiet, almost soothing. She didn't have to speak to anyone, didn't have to explain why her smile seemed so forced. She could lose herself in the hum of the engine, in the quiet between the passing streets.
By the time she reached her stop, she was almost too tired to feel anything anymore. She walked the short distance to her apartment, her movements automatic, each step one closer to the silence waiting inside.
She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.