(Ethan's POV)
The fragile peace of the dance shattered, replaced by a raw, undeniable tension. Her hesitation, her unspoken doubts, it fueled a desperate need to explain, to defend, to prove myself.
"What do you want from me, Claire?" I asked, my voice tight, my eyes filled with a raw frustration. "I've changed. I've faced my demons. I'm not the same man I was."
"Then prove it, Ethan," she countered, her voice sharp, her eyes filled with a raw, honest anger. "Prove that you're not going to run away again. Prove that you're not going to choose your fears over me."
"I'm not," I said, my voice urgent, my hand reaching for hers. "I won't. I promise."
"Promises mean nothing," she said, her voice laced with a bitter edge, her eyes filled with a raw hurt. "You promised me before. And you broke that promise."
"That was then," I said, my voice pleading, my desperation growing. "This is now. I'm different."
"Different how?" she asked, her voice sharp, her eyes filled with a raw skepticism. "Because you say so? Because you've had a few months to 'find yourself'?"
"Because I've faced the truth," I said, my voice rough, my anger simmering beneath the surface. "Because I've realized what I lost. Because I know I can't live without you."
"And what about Isabella?" she asked, her voice barely audible, her eyes filled with a raw, undeniable pain. "What about the woman you ran to when you couldn't face me?"
The name was like a slap in the face, a raw, painful reminder of my cowardice.
"That was a mistake," I confessed, my voice barely audible, my vulnerability laid bare. "A desperate attempt to...fix things. To protect you."
"Protect me?" she scoffed, her voice laced with a bitter amusement. "By running away? By choosing her over me?"
"I didn't choose her," I said, my voice pleading, my desperation growing. "I chose...fear. But I was wrong. I was so wrong."
"And how do I know you won't be wrong again?" she asked, her voice trembling, her eyes filled with a raw, honest doubt. "How do I know you won't run away the next time things get hard?"
The question hung in the air, a raw, painful challenge. I hesitated, my gaze shifting away, my silence a confession.
"I don't know," I confessed, my voice barely audible, my vulnerability laid bare. "But I'm willing to try. I'm willing to fight for you. I'm willing to risk everything."
(Claire's POV)
His touch, the warmth of his hand in mine, it was a jolt back into a world I'd tried to leave behind. But the lingering hurt, the raw, undeniable doubt, it held me back.
"What do you want from me, Claire?" he asked, his voice tight, his eyes filled with a raw frustration. "I've changed. I've faced my demons. I'm not the same man I was."
"Then prove it, Ethan," I countered, my voice sharp, my eyes filled with a raw, honest anger. "Prove that you're not going to run away again. Prove that you're not going to choose your fears over me."
The anger, the hurt, the raw, undeniable pain—it was all bubbling to the surface, a tempest I couldn't contain.
"Promises mean nothing," I said, my voice laced with a bitter edge, my eyes filled with a raw hurt. "You promised me before. And you broke that promise."
"That was then," he said, his voice pleading, his desperation growing. "This is now. I'm different."
"Different how?" I asked, my voice sharp, my eyes filled with a raw skepticism. "Because you say so? Because you've had a few months to 'find yourself'?"
The words were harsh, cruel even, but they were born of pain, of a raw, honest fear of being hurt again.
"And what about Isabella?" I asked, my voice barely audible, my eyes filled with a raw, undeniable pain. "What about the woman you ran to when you couldn't face me?"
The name was a raw, open wound, a reminder of the betrayal, the abandonment.
"That was a mistake," he confessed, his voice barely audible, his vulnerability laid bare. "A desperate attempt to...fix things. To protect you."
"Protect me?" I scoffed, my voice laced with a bitter amusement. "By running away? By choosing her over me?"
"I didn't choose her," he said, his voice pleading, his desperation growing. "I chose...fear. But I was wrong. I was so wrong."
"And how do I know you won't be wrong again?" I asked, my voice trembling, my eyes filled with a raw, honest doubt. "How do I know you won't run away the next time things get hard?"
The question hung in the air, a raw, painful challenge. I needed to know, to hear the truth, to see if he was truly changed.
"I don't know," he confessed, his voice barely audible, his vulnerability laid bare. "But I'm willing to try. I'm willing to fight for you. I'm willing to risk everything."
His vulnerability, his honesty, it tugged at my heart, a fragile hope blooming in the midst of the anger and pain. But the doubt, the lingering hurt, it still held me back. I needed more than words. I needed proof. And I needed time.