I tried to cut Joss out of my life.

But I couldn't.

⸻

The next morning, I woke up in his apartment.
The pillow still smelled like my hair.
The blanket was tangled around my waist.
His coat rested neatly at the edge of the bed.

Joss was still asleep.
One arm draped lightly over my stomach —
as if he were afraid to wake me.

I turned my head and looked at him for a few seconds.
It was the first time I'd woken up without feeling that hollow space in my chest.

Not because I felt happy.
Just... because I didn't feel the urge to run.

I got up, walked to the kitchen.
Turned on the coffee machine.

I knew what he liked.
Knew the ratio of milk.
No sugar.

When it was done, I placed the cup on the small table beside the bed.
No note.
No words.

I just wanted him to know —
this morning, I thought about him.
Even just a little.

⸻

I didn't cover the mark on my shoulder.
Didn't hide my neck.
Didn't wear a high collar.

I left it there.
Not because I liked it.
Just because... I didn't feel the need to hide it today.

⸻

A week later, Joss started avoiding me.

He stopped texting first.
Stopped showing up at the café I always went to.
Didn't reply as quickly when I messaged.

I knew why.

I ran into someone from before.

At a party — by chance.
He smiled. I smiled back.

That was all.
No sex.
No holding hands.
But Joss saw the photo.

I didn't deny it.
Didn't explain.

I was never good at keeping people.
Even worse at convincing them I was worth keeping.

⸻

I thought he would ask.

He didn't.

I thought he would get angry.

He didn't.

He just... disappeared from every space I could see him in.
Like a shadow quietly stepping out of the light.

And that was when the emptiness returned.

⸻

I was used to being loved.
Used to people waiting, calling, touching me.

But I had never been used to someone letting me go —
and me wanting them to stay.

⸻

One rainy afternoon, I stood outside his door.

No warning.
No text.

I rang the bell three times.
No one answered.

I stood there.
Wet.
Hair was sticking to my face.
Hands cold.

When the door finally opened, Joss didn't look surprised.

He just stared at me.
His eyes were a little red.
Tie undone.
Shirt half-unbuttoned.

I didn't wait for him to ask.

I stepped in.
Closed the door.
And pulled him toward me.

⸻

I didn't say sorry.
Didn't need to.

I hated apologies —
they always sounded like pity.

Instead, I tugged on his tie,
pressed my lips to his,
and kissed him deeply.

⸻

We didn't rush.
Didn't speak.

Just undressed, piece by piece.

I let him touch me like always —
but this time,
I touched him back.

I took the lead.
Not to control.
But because I wanted to be forgiven.

I didn't know if he had.
But he didn't push me away.

And that was enough.

⸻

I kissed his collarbone.
Took his nipple into my mouth.
Ran my fingers down his spine.

He shivered slightly, but said nothing.

My hand slipped to his waist, pulling him closer.
I looked into his eyes —
as if even if I wasn't loved,
I could at least look at him one more time.

⸻

When Joss laid me down,
he didn't unbutton me quickly.
Didn't touch me the way he usually did.

He just looked.

Long.
Like he was waiting for a signal — or for me to say no.

I didn't say anything.
Just pulled him toward me.

And that was all the permission he needed.

⸻

He kissed me slowly.
No rush in his tongue.
His lips were warm,
his unshaven chin grazing my skin like proof he was real.

I arched slightly as his fingers slid under my shirt —
each knuckle tracing across my chest like he was memorizing a poem by touch.

He didn't take my shirt off right away.
Just lifted the hem.
Kissed my stomach.

Each kiss was like a punctuation mark on something I never had the words for.

⸻

I felt his breath heating against my skin,
his chest pressing between my thighs.
The sound of my zipper.
His fingers moving between my legs —
not rough,
not hesitant,
not asking.

"Look at me," Joss whispered.

I opened my eyes.
Didn't resist.

He adjusted me gently, turned me slightly to my side.
My leg wrapped around his waist.
His hand took mine.

And then he entered me.

⸻

Slow.
Deep.
Not abrupt.

Like if he pushed too hard — I might break.
Or he might.

I gripped his hand tighter.
My back arched.
A soft moan escaped my lips, unfiltered.

Sometimes it hurt.
Sometimes it felt hollow.

But this time...
I didn't want to run from it.

⸻

He found a steady rhythm —
each thrust like a silent apology he didn't know how to say.

Every movement touched some part of me
I hadn't known was missing.

Joss leaned down.
His forehead met mine.

His eyes stayed open, fixed on mine.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

I didn't answer.
Just turned my head and kissed his cheek —
a clumsy kiss, not sweet,
but the first time I'd ever tried to make him stay.

We moved like we were both trying to outlast another storm —
the one still raging quietly inside us.

No one asked why.
No one explained.

We just...
stayed.

⸻

I wrapped my legs tighter around him,
lifted my hips to meet him.

He gasped —
and pushed in deeper.

This time, I moaned.
Clearly.
No pretending.
No pulling away.

I felt him.
Really felt him.

⸻

"I'm here," Joss said.

I nodded.
My forehead pressed to his throat.

"Don't stop."

"I won't."

"Not tonight."

"Not any night."

⸻

We came almost together.
I clung to him,
my body still trembling from the aftershocks.
My thighs shook.
My heart thudded off-beat.

Joss didn't pull out right away.
He stayed on top of me,
breathing slow.
His hand in my hair.
A kiss to my temple.

No words after.
None needed.

⸻

When he finally pulled out,
I felt empty.
But not cold.

I turned to my side —
not out of anger.
Just... shyness.

He pulled the blanket over me,
then lay behind me,
his arm wrapping gently around my waist.

I stayed still.
Didn't pull away.
Didn't hold him back, either.

⸻

Later,
I laid my head on his chest.
His arm circled around me.

Not tight.
Not loose.
Just enough to remind me
I hadn't been left behind.

I closed my eyes.

For the first time,
I fell asleep in his arms
without being afraid of who I'd be replaced by in the morning.

⸻

I still didn't love Joss.
I didn't know if I could ever love anyone, truly.

All I knew was —
of everyone who had left,
he was the only one
who never made me fight to keep him.

And because of that...

I started to fear
that if he ever did leave,
I wouldn't know how to survive
without someone who stayed
without being asked.

⸻

But tonight,
I let him inside —
both literally, and something more.

And I didn't regret it.

⸻