Gorgeous

Chapter 1

"I don't want this anymore, River... I don't love you."

His world collapsed in an instant.

River dropped to his knees, the words echoing in his head as if they refused to settle into reality.

"That's not possible, Zandra..." His voice came out barely above a whisper—fragile, pleading. His hands trembled as he stared at the woman in front of him.

Zandra shook her head, her gaze cold and distant. "I'm done. I feel suffocated... You're too possessive. And when you're angry..." she hesitated, then finished quietly, "you scare me."

Each word tightened around his chest like a vice.

River sank to the ground, numb. He didn't understand why it always ended like this. Every woman he had ever loved—gone. And always for the same reason.

The moment they saw his anger... they left.

And him? He was always the one left behind. Again and again.

—

A week passed in a blur of alcohol.

Every night, he drank—like it was the only way to silence the weight in his chest, even if just for a few hours.

Until one night, someone sat beside him. Without asking, she took the bottle from his hand.

He turned, ready to protest—but stopped when their eyes met. She was beautiful.

"Stop drinking," she said simply.

Before he could respond, she slipped something into his hand—a calling card.

Psychiatrist. He frowned. "What?"

She only tapped his arm, as if trying to tell him something he couldn't quite grasp.

"What the hell..." he muttered.

When he looked up, she was already walking away.

He stood immediately and followed her out to the parking lot.

"Hey!" he called, half-annoyed, half-confused.

She stopped and turned to him. Her eyes flicked briefly to the card in his hand, then she smiled—soft, knowing.

"I'm Ericka, by the way."

He didn't respond right away.

"You needed that," she added, like she was certain.

And before he could ask anything else, she turned and left.

River stood there, staring at the card, his thoughts even more tangled than before.

He let out a long breath.

He didn't know whether to be irritated... or to believe her.

The Next Day.. He didn't know what came over him, but he called the number on the card.

Maybe he was just tired... Tired of himself.

—

A month later. A month of sessions. Questions. Silence. Answers he didn't always want to face.

Now, sitting in the hospital garden after another session, something felt different.

He wasn't okay. But he wasn't the same either.

"I see you're here." He turned—and there she was... The woman who took his drink. The one who gave him the card.

She smiled. "I'm Ericka, by the way."