Breaking Point

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TW: This chapter contains mentions of self-harm and eating disorders. Read it at your own risk.

A whole Sunday spent in bed.

When Millie thought about the aftermath of her date with Finn, she imagined something close to excitement, heart palpitations, optimism and good vibes.

Instead, all that she got was a day secluded in her bedroom, apathetically doing nothing if not watching a movie after another on the TV in front of her bed, feeling so energy-deprived that her legs couldn't make it down the mattress if not for going to the kitchen and filling her stomach with water and some food.

Sadie and Caleb did ask about the date (they are such gossip machines) but she dismissed with some vague words that could deviate the conversation. She was good at lying or pretending everything was okay when it clearly wasn't.

But the worst thing is that she was lying to Finn about being okay, too.

He texted her all day, making sure to cheer her up, sending her silly selfies to make her laugh, and showing her that he was there for her. Normally, Millie would be glad for it—yet, the only thing she wants right now is to stay alone and take distance from him.

She stares at the television, eyes getting numb. How do you call that emotion in which you are so sad you can't even cry? Resignation? Hopelessness?

Because this is exactly what she feels. It's been part of her for a while by now and she can't fight it back. She can't stop thinking about how her life is a loop of misery and, no matter how she tries to react back, things never went the way she wished for.

Was it even worth trying and living like this?

Among all of these questions, the late night, the coziness of her bed, Millie falls asleep, finding the answers in her dreams.

Or nightmares.

Millie is lying next to Finn, the grass tickling her bare feet.

The sun is hot, glazing, pouring its rays on their skin. Not a spot of white cloud is in the sky, and all they are staring at is the infinite blue that paints the background of their lives.

It's indefinite where they are, or what they're doing. The words they are sharing seem to not have any sense either, but one thing is sure: Millie is happy and so is Finn. He is on his side, losing himself in the sight of her, his finger drawing and sculpting her cheek like a piece of art.

And she adores everything about him, too. In this moment, she is bewitched by his candid skin, his white linen t-shirt matching the whiteness of his pants. His eyes are two hot coals of black she could fall in. He looks like an angel, and he is all hers.

"I love you." She murmurs. It's so natural telling him this, as if it was a scheme pattern meant to happen in the circle of life.

She breathes. She eats. She sleeps. And among all of these things, Millie loves Finn. It's a law of the universe, something collectively accepted, that cannot go beyond human comprehension.

Until he replies, and the magic shatters like the frailest glass.

"I don't think I love you." Finn utters, his smile vanishing.


"I will never love you." He pushes further, eyes getting dangerously dark.

Millie doesn't understand. Those words are the same she used, and it's like living the past, just in his shoes.

So she stands up, and he immediately does the same. Face to face, she feels her throat being strangled by two imaginary hands. It hurts. She can't breathe.

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