Ria
I shouldn't have come.
But, of course, I did. I always did, didn't I? I thought I could handle it—thought I could walk in, check on him, and then leave. But it never worked that way. And I should've known better. Lachlan was never just a simple check-in. He was a wrecking ball that tore through everything around him, and I was always caught in the aftermath.
I stood at the entrance of the gym, watching him, my heart skipping a beat at the sight. His form was relentless. Each punch he threw into the bag was like a strike against the world, like he was trying to hit something—anything—that would stop the mess inside his head. His knuckles were white as he slammed into the bag again, sweat dripping down his face in rivulets. He was lost in it, in the violence of it. I couldn't help but stare, hypnotized by the power in his movements. It was the only time he seemed like he was truly alive.
But there was something else in the air too, something darker. He wasn't just training. He wasn't just trying to burn off something. He was trying to outrun something. Something big. And I couldn't shake the feeling that I was standing here, watching him fall apart while he tried so damn hard to hold it together.
And then, like clockwork, he turned.
The moment our eyes locked, I could feel it in my bones—the coldness, the distance, the anger. And I knew immediately. It wasn't going to be easy. I should've walked away. I should've just left before he saw me. But I didn't. I couldn't.
"What do you want?" he spat at me, his voice sharp like broken glass.
The question hit me harder than I expected. My stomach churned, but I wasn't going to back down. Not this time.
I took a step forward, trying to keep my composure. But deep down, I could feel the fury rising inside me. I wasn't a damn charity case, I wasn't just some girl who wanted to fix him. But fuck, sometimes he made me feel like I was, like I was nothing more than a pathetic little fixer-upper in his broken world.
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could get a word out, his voice cut through, cruel and dismissive.
"No," he growled. "You don't get it. I'm not your damn charity case, okay? I don't need your pity or your 'words of wisdom.' Just—just stay out of it."
That was it. I could feel the words burning in my throat, every ounce of my control slipping away.
I took another step forward, my teeth gritted. "What the hell is your problem, Lachlan?" I demanded, my voice coming out more biting than I intended. "You think I'm here because I feel sorry for you? Because I think you need 'saving' or some shit like that? News flash: I don't need to 'fix' you. You're not some project I'm working on. I'm here because I care. But you—you won't let me get close. You won't let anyone get close. What the hell do you want from people, huh? Because I'm done pretending that I'm okay with you pushing everyone who gives a damn away."
He didn't flinch. He didn't even seem to care. Instead, he just stared at me, his face frozen, closed off, like I was some annoyance he couldn't quite shake. It was maddening. The look in his eyes was hard to read, but I could see the bitterness there, the sharp edge of whatever was eating him up inside.
"You don't get it," he muttered, voice thick with something darker. "You don't know what it's like... to always be the fucking screw-up. To always be the one who never gets it right. To always hear that you're never going to be enough. So just stop. Stop pretending like you understand. You don't."
I felt the air in my chest tighten, the frustration in his words smothering me. He didn't get it. He didn't get that I did understand. That I'd been through my own share of hell. That I, too, had people who loved to tear me down, to make me feel like nothing. So yeah, I got it. More than he would ever know.
I wasn't the type to show weakness, but right then, I could feel it creeping up on me—the familiar burn behind my eyes. No. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to let him see me like this. Not like this.
"No," I bit back, my voice low but sharp. "You don't get it. You don't get that I'm trying. I'm trying to be here for you. I'm not here to fix you, I'm here to show you that you don't have to do this shit alone." My hands were trembling, but I didn't let it stop me. "But you push everyone away. And for what? Because you think you're too much? Or because you don't think you're enough? Well, news flash, you are enough. But you won't let anyone in. And I can't keep doing this, Lachlan. I can't keep fighting to get through to someone who refuses to even try."
He didn't respond, his jaw tight, eyes hard and unblinking. But I could see the way his body stiffened, the way he pulled into himself even more. And that—that was it.
I had had enough.
"Fuck it," I muttered under my breath, my throat tight with a mixture of anger and hurt. "I'm done. You're on your own, then."
But even as I said it, something inside me twisted painfully. I could feel the pull of him, the sick, desperate need to stay close. Even after everything, I still wanted to be there. Still wanted to make him see that he wasn't alone.
But he didn't care. He didn't care about me.
And that was what killed me most of all.
I turned, my heart pounding in my chest, and walked toward the door. I could hear the sound of his breathing behind me, the thud of his fists on the bag again, but it felt distant. The gym felt too small, too suffocating.
I wasn't going to look back.
But that didn't stop the burning ache in my chest, the sick realization that no matter how much I tried to fight it, no matter how much he pushed me away, I would always come back to him. Because I was addicted to him. To the chaos, to the darkness, to everything about him that made me want to hold him together even when he refused to let me.
I hated that I still cared.
But that didn't change the fact that I did.
The days that followed were filled with an unsettling kind of silence. The kind that drips into your bones, slow and cold, until it feels like you're drowning in it. I couldn't stop thinking about that damn gym, that moment, the way he pushed me away like I was just another face to forget. But I couldn't forget him. I couldn't stop thinking about him—about the way his anger seemed to consume him, about the look in his eyes when he snapped at me. Was that all I was to him?
I tried to go back to my usual routine, to pretend like everything was fine, but nothing felt right. Everywhere I went, I kept finding myself retracing that conversation, rehashing it over and over, trying to figure out where it went wrong.
I shouldn't have let him get to me.
But I had.
And I hated myself for it.
It wasn't just the way he treated me—it was the fact that I cared. Every part of me wanted to run away, to walk away from this self-inflicted mess. But the other part, the part that didn't listen to reason, wanted to go back. I wanted to show him that I wasn't some fragile little girl who couldn't handle his bullshit.
I was pissed off. So pissed off. I hated how he could snap at me like that and make me feel like I wasn't even worth the time. But still, something kept me tethered to him. And I didn't know if it was because I still thought I could make a difference in his life or because I was too goddamn obsessed with trying to figure out the puzzle that was him.
I spent the next few days pushing away the urge to text him, to reach out. I needed space too. But the anger, the hurt—it simmered beneath the surface, always there, gnawing at me.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, I found myself standing outside the gym.
I didn't plan it. Not really. But there I was, staring at the door like it was my only way out of the madness in my head. I was mad—at him, at myself, at everything—but I couldn't just leave it hanging. I couldn't let that be the last memory of me he had.
I knocked. Twice.
I felt ridiculous the moment my knuckles hit the door, but my feet didn't move.
Seconds ticked by in slow motion. And then, finally, the door creaked open.
And there he was.
Lachlan.
He looked tired—more than usual, like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were heavy, his jaw clenched in that way that told me he was already bracing for something. I wasn't sure if it was anger or frustration or just exhaustion from everything weighing him down. But whatever it was, it didn't stop him from giving me a long, irritated look.
"What do you want?" His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it. I could tell he was already regretting seeing me, but I couldn't just walk away. Not yet. Not like this.
I wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily.
"I'm not here for some damn apology," I said, my words a little sharper than I intended. "I just came to make sure you're not going to destroy yourself."
He gave a short, bitter laugh, but it was hollow. "You really think I'm gonna listen to you? You think I care what you think about what I do?"
That old familiar anger crept up my spine. My teeth ground together. "You don't care, huh? Is that it? Because that's sure what it feels like."
I stepped forward, not letting the space between us grow any more. "You act like everything's fine. Like you don't give a shit about anyone, but I know better, Lachlan. You can't keep pretending you don't need anyone. And yeah, I get it, you're scared. But pushing people away like this isn't helping. You think you're protecting yourself, but all you're doing is hurting the people who give a damn about you."
I wasn't sure where my words were coming from, but it felt like they had been building up for days. Like everything I had been holding back finally had to come out, or it was going to eat me alive.
Lachlan was quiet for a moment, and the silence stretched between us. His eyes flickered with something—maybe regret, maybe something deeper, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for me to just walk away and pretend that what we had didn't matter.
"I don't want your pity," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I'm fine. I've always been fine. Don't come here and act like you can fix me."
I shook my head, irritated beyond belief. "You really think you can do this all by yourself? You think pushing people away is going to help? You think I'm just here to fix you? You think I want to fix you? No. I just… I just want you to realize you're not alone in this. And I'm not going anywhere, whether you like it or not."
Lachlan's gaze snapped back up, his eyes dark with something I couldn't place. "You should go. You're better off without me."
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, that's what you keep telling me, but I'm still here." I stepped closer, close enough now that I could feel the heat of his body, the tension in the air between us. "And I'm not going anywhere. I'm not some game to you, Lachlan. I'm not some distraction you can just get rid of when it gets too hard."
For a second, I saw something in his eyes—something that wasn't anger, something that wasn't deflection. It was almost like he was looking at me for the first time in a while. Really looking. But before either of us could say anything else, his expression hardened again, and the distance between us seemed to grow, invisible but just as real.
"I don't need this right now," he muttered, stepping back from the door, breaking the brief connection.
I stood there, my breath heavy in my chest. This was all wrong. I wasn't supposed to feel like this. I wasn't supposed to care so damn much.
But it was too late for that.
"I'm not leaving," I said, my voice a little quieter now, but firm. "I'll wait."
Lachlan stared at me for a moment, his eyes wild, like he wanted to say something else, but couldn't quite bring himself to. Then, with a deep breath, he stepped back inside and slammed the door shut in my face.
I stood there for a few moments, staring at the closed door, the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
But I wasn't going anywhere. Not yet.
I stood there for a while, the sharp slam of the door echoing in my chest like a death sentence. But I didn't move. I couldn't. Not when every part of me wanted to force my way back inside, to demand that he talk to me, that he listen.
But I knew better than to just barge in again. That would only push him further away. And damn it, I wasn't going to let him win. I wasn't going to let this stupid game of his become the final word between us.
So I waited.
I don't know how long I stood there. The minutes blurred into each other, the weight of the night hanging heavy in the air. But eventually, I could hear something from the other side of the door. Footsteps. Faint but deliberate. Like he was pacing, restless, but unwilling to open it.
The silence stretched between us again. I could feel it, thick and suffocating.
And then, almost as if he couldn't take it anymore, the door creaked open. Not enough to fully open it, just enough for a sliver of him to peek out.
"I didn't tell you to wait," Lachlan muttered, his voice rough, eyes dark with the same cold detachment he wore so often these days.
I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms in front of me, standing my ground. "No. You didn't. But here I am anyway."
His gaze flickered with something I couldn't place—annoyance, guilt, maybe even something else—but it was gone too quickly for me to figure it out.
"You're stubborn, you know that?" His words were sharp, but they were quieter now, softer than before. And that? That was new.
"Yeah, I get that a lot." I didn't back down. "But I'm not going anywhere, Lachlan. I'm not walking away. Not this time."
He looked at me for a long moment, and I could feel the tension between us building, a crackling force of something that neither of us knew how to deal with.
"I don't need your pity," he repeated, his voice lower now, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than me. "I'm fine on my own. Always have been."
"Fine?" I scoffed. "You're not fine, Lachlan. You're not fine, and pretending like you are won't change anything. You've got this whole 'I don't need anyone' act down, but you're lying. And everyone around you can see it."
I paused, my breath catching in my chest as I took in his features—tight, guarded, the walls so high I almost couldn't see past them. "I can't be the only one who sees that, right?"
He didn't respond right away, just stood there, staring at me. But I could see it in his eyes—the conflict, the deep, gnawing frustration. He was torn. I could feel it, like we were both on the edge of something. And I knew, in some way, that he knew too.
The silence was suffocating, and for a moment, I thought he might just shut the door in my face again. But then, he spoke, his words coming out rougher than I'd ever heard them.
"I don't know how to let anyone in, Ria. I never have."
I wasn't sure what I expected him to say, but it sure as hell wasn't that. I blinked at him, the weight of his confession hitting me harder than I anticipated.
"Why?" I asked softly. "Why do you push everyone away? What's so bad about letting someone care?"
Lachlan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he just looked down at the floor, like he was wrestling with something deep inside himself. It was a look I hadn't seen from him before—the raw, unfiltered vulnerability that he hid so well behind his walls. It didn't last long, but it was enough for me to see the cracks.
"I don't deserve it," he muttered, almost too quietly for me to hear.
I felt something sharp tug at my chest, a pang of empathy cutting through my frustration. I hated hearing him say that. Hated that he thought so little of himself. It wasn't true.
"No," I said firmly, stepping closer to him. "You do deserve it. You deserve more than this." I nodded toward the dark space behind him, the emptiness I could almost feel radiating out of the room. "You don't have to keep fighting this on your own."
Lachlan shook his head, eyes closing as if trying to shut out my words, but I could see the strain in his expression. "I don't know how to stop, Ria. I don't know how to let anyone in. Every time I do, they end up leaving. Or they hurt me."
I felt my throat tighten, but I kept my voice steady. "You're not alone in this. You don't have to be alone."
There was a long pause. And then, finally, Lachlan opened the door just enough for me to step inside. Not wide, but wide enough to invite me in without speaking the words.
I hesitated for only a moment, but I knew if I didn't take that step, I'd lose him for good. So I walked in.
It was dark inside, shadows clinging to the corners of the room like they belonged there. The familiar gym that I knew was gone. The space felt empty, but I wasn't about to let it stay that way.
Lachlan didn't move, just watched me from his spot by the door. His expression was a mask, but I could see the cracks—see the way his hands shook ever so slightly at his sides.
"I don't know what you want from me," he muttered, voice rough.
"I don't want anything from you," I said, my tone a little softer now. "I just want you to stop pushing everyone away. To stop pretending that you're fine when you're not."
He didn't say anything. Just stood there, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched. The tension between us was almost unbearable, but I wasn't going to back down. Not now. Not after everything.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, my heart hammering in my chest.
Lachlan didn't move, but for the first time, I didn't feel like I was talking to a wall. There was something there now, something shifting in the air between us.
And then, with barely a moment's warning, he finally spoke again, his voice cracking just a little.
"I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can trust anyone."
The vulnerability in his voice hit me like a freight train. And just like that, it all clicked. Everything he'd been running from, everything he was trying to protect himself from.
"You don't have to trust me right now," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "But you don't have to do this alone. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you push me away."
Lachlan finally met my eyes, and for the first time, I saw something flicker behind them. Hope?
I wasn't sure. But it was something.
And that something? It was enough to keep me here. To keep pushing, even if it meant getting hurt along the way. Because deep down, I knew he wasn't as lost as he thought he was.
And I wasn't giving up on him.