Playing for keeps

Chapter 3

                         Y/n's POV:
I didn't even remember how I got there, only that my feet eventually dragged me to the park. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed on your chest. I sat down on a cold bench beneath the dim glow of a streetlight, my elbows on my knees, staring at the ground like it might have answers I couldn't find anywhere else.

The longer I sat, the heavier it got. My chest, my thoughts, the weight of every mistake. I kept replaying it all her face when she ended the live, the sound of her voice when she said I didn't deserve her.

For once, I didn't fight it. I just let it sit on me.

I didn't notice her at first. Not until the shuffle of footsteps broke my silence.

My head snapped up, and there she was. Demitra. Hoodie pulled over her head, her curls messy like she left in a hurry.

For a second, neither of us spoke. Her eyes met mine, and even in the low light, I could see the hurt still there. The hurt I'd put there.

"Dem..." My voice cracked. I hated the way it sounded weak, desperate. "What are you doing here?"

She crossed her arms, but I saw the way her shoulders shook slightly. "I could ask you the same thing," she said quietly.

I looked at my hands, chewing the inside of my cheek. "Guess I'm just good at getting lost."

Silence stretched between us, heavy and sharp. And then, softer almost breaking—

"You can't keep doing this to me, Y/n."

For a long moment, Demitra just stood there, her arms crossed right like she was holding herself together. Then, with a sigh, she lowers herself onto the bench beside me. Not close but just enough that I could feel space between us like a wall.

I wanted to reach for her. God, I wanted to. But my hands stayed clenched in my lap.

"I know I messed up," I said finally, the words scraping out of me. "I know I keep messing up. And I don't even know why. Every time I tell myself I'll do better, I'll treat you right, I'll stop screwing it up, and then I don't. I ruin it again."

Her head turned slightly, but she didn't speak.

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "Maybe it's because of trauma, maybe it's just who I am. I don't even know anymore. But you... "my throat tightened. "You deserve better than me. Someone who doesn't make you cry, someone who doesn't make you feel like you're not enough. Because you are. You always were."

The silence stretched, heavier than before.

I forced myself to keep going, even though every word felt like it was tearing me open. "So I'll leave you alone. I won't drag you through this anymore. Go find someone who can actually give you what you deserve, Dem. Because no matter how much I want to be that person..." my voice cracked. "... I don't think I can."

My chest burned, like the words themselves had carved out everything inside me. I stared down at my hands, waiting for anger, for relief, for her to walk away and let me disappear like I swore I would.

Demitra's POV:
For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the empty swings across the park. Her words bout through me, sharp and broken, but what cut worse was that she meant them. She was really ready to walk away.

I turned my head, watching her stare at the ground like she couldn't bear to meet my eyes. And for all the anger I carried, for all the hurt, I couldn't shake the truth clawing at my chest.

"I don't want someone else," I said finally, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Her head shot up, eyes wide and wet.