Tanz arrived the next morning, but the routine of cleaning and cooking didn't feel like enough anymore. The silence of the apartment was starting to feel like a threat.
He stood outside her bedroom door, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn't want to be a shitty boyfriend who ignored her boundaries, but he couldn't watch her fade away through a piece of wood.
He took a deep breath, turned the handle, and pushed the door open.
The room was dark, smelling of stale air and heavy grief. Spinelia was a small, motionless lump under the blankets. As the light from the hallway hit her, she didn't look up; she just curled tighter, pulling the duvet over her head as if trying to disappear into the mattress.
Tanz didn't stay by the door. He kicked off his shoes and hopped onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
He didn't care if she was mad or if he was suffocating her—he just knew she was cold. He reached out and pulled her into a firm, desperate hug, wrapping himself around the mound of blankets.
"Lia... please," he whispered into the fabric, his voice thick with the days of overthinking he'd done.
"I'm so sorry. For the argument, for the onion, for not hearing the phone... for everything."
He squeezed her, his turquoise eyes stinging in the dark.
"Talk to me, babe. Please. What's wrong? What's going on in your head? I can't fix it if you won't let me in."
Inside her cocoon, Spinelia remained stiff. She felt the warmth of his body, the exact opposite of the cold she had been choosing.
Her paranoia screamed that he was only doing this because he was tired of her drama, while her heart felt the steady, honest beat of his chest. She was trapped between the comfort of his arms and the comfort of the cliff she had been standing on.
The silence in the room stretched so thin Tanz felt like he might snap. He kept his arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on the crown of her head, waiting for any sign that she was still there. Finally, the blankets shifted.
Her voice didn't sound like Spinelia. It was hollow, paper-thin, and trembling.
"I'm confused," she whispered.
The words were so small Tanz had to hold his breath to hear them.
"I don't know what's real anymore, Tanz. I don't know if you're here because you love me or because you're scared I'll die. I don't know if I'm sick... or if I'm just a bad person."
Tanz felt a pang of pure agony. He realized that while he had been overthinking who to pity, Spinelia had been losing her grip on her own existence. To her, every kindness felt like a lie, and every tragedy felt like a punishment
.
"It's real, Lia," he urged, squeezing her tighter, trying to ground her with his own weight. "
The soup is real. This bed is real. My heart beating against your back... that's real. Forget the others. Just listen to me."
But as he spoke, he saw her eyes—they were glazed over, staring at a corner of the dark room he couldn't see. She wasn't just grieving; she was drifting into the endless puddle where the truth and the lies looked exactly the same.
"I don't want to lose you.." Tanz murmur as fear washed over his whole body.