Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 21

-----James' POV-----

The fan hummed above me like a chant. The kind of low, steady sound that makes you feel like the world is spinning too slowly, or maybe I’m just too fast for it. I lay there on my bed, one hand behind my head, the other resting across my chest like I was trying to hold something in place. Like if I stayed still enough, my heart wouldn’t fall apart.

I stared at the ceiling like it was a church altar. The paint was cracked, stained in places with old water damage, but tonight it felt holy. Like if I stared long enough, it would open. Like if I said nothing long enough, I’d finally hear something.

“God,” I whispered, barely audible to my own ears. “How do You help the broken without trying to fix them? How did You heal the wounded without making them feel small?”

There was no answer. Just the ceiling fan and the occasional bark of a dog outside. But maybe that was the answer. Silence.

Because that’s what Betty needed now, wasn’t it?

She didn’t need saving.

She needed someone who wouldn’t look away.

---

She wasn’t fine. I knew that.

The way she smiled too brightly, talked too fast, laughed in places where no joke landed. The way she latched onto Inez like she was learning how to be someone from watching someone else. Betty used to be the kind of girl who lit a room without trying. Now she was trying too hard. The brightness was a little too sharp like stage lights blinding instead of warm.

I noticed how she didn’t do her hair anymore. Betty used to tie it in this careful ponytail, or curl it just slightly, or braid it when she was tired. It always said something. Now it just… fell. Like she didn’t care how it framed her face.

And her outfit tonight. That gray blouse, denim pants. Loose. Wasn’t her.

She used to wear colors, sunshine yellow, faded blue, floral skirts, anything with softness to it. Now it was like she didn’t want to be seen, or worse, didn’t know who she was dressing for.

And I still held her hand. Tighter than usual. Not because I was scared she'd fall, but because I was scared she already had. And I was holding on to the version of her that wasn’t coming back. The one who still laughed with her whole face. The one who didn’t flinch when someone asked if she was okay.

---

I kept thinking about dinner. The way she smiled, joked, teased me like old times. The way we walked in the park, and she spoke about streetlights and flowers like they were the most important things in the world. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

Like watching someone play pretend at life.

And maybe it’s wrong, but I let her.

I let her hold the illusion in her hands because I didn’t want to shatter it. Because sometimes the act of pretending is the only thing keeping a person from falling apart.

So instead of asking, I played the music.

Slipped my earbud into her ear like it was a secret. We sat under the acacia tree, and Line Without a Hook played softly between us. She hummed a little. I held her hand. Didn’t say much. Just sat with her inside the lie she was building, because maybe---just maybe---it was safer than the truth.

And when the cotton candy man called her my girlfriend, we laughed. Because we weren’t. Not officially. But maybe I loved her more than someone who was.

Maybe I loved her in a way that didn’t need claiming.

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I don’t know how to help her.
I don’t know how to reach someone who’s slipping and smiling at the same time.
But I want to be the hand she finds if she ever reaches out.