"I’ve already explained everything to you. I didn’t know you were hurt. Lucia was terrified that night—I couldn’t leave her! And now, you’re sulking again. You’re not a pup anymore, Isla. Why do you always get so jealous?" His words hit me like a slap, though I wasn’t sure why they still had the power to sting. I wasn’t angry. I was just done caring.
Sure, before, every time he went somewhere with his buddies, I couldn't relax. It was because his friends loved to play around. Back then, I was always worried, frequently calling to check on him. But all I got was Bryce's disgust. He would always say, “What is it again, Isla? Can't you stop being so clingy?” If not that, it was, “Isla, do you enjoy following people around like a lost pup?”
Back then, I was too afraid of losing him the reason I acted like that. But what I would never forget was when he told me, “It's so hard to be with you, Isla!”
Brushing off my thoughts, I sighed heavily and calmly replied, “I’m not jealous."
A sigh echoed through the phone, as if he was trying to control his temper. "I’ve drunk too much tonight. Sorry," he mumbled, softer now.
Having nothing to say, I didn't reply.
After a long silence, Bryce repeated, “I've drunk too much.”
Hearing no response from me, Bryce finally hung up the phone. He had drunk too much, and did he expect me, with my injured leg, to go pick him up? He had friends to take care of him tonight. He didn’t need me.
Isla's POV
The day I was discharged, Bryce arrived earlier than expected. It made sense—he was a healer after all—but something felt different. His presence was almost... attentive. He insisted on helping me, taking my things, and offering to drive me home, as though he suddenly remembered how to care.
As we walked through the hallways, his colleagues passed us with curious glances, probably thinking something was happening between us. In the past, this might have moved me to tears. Now, I felt nothing. The love I once had for him had faded, replaced by a hollow emptiness. He was still as handsome as ever, but it no longer mattered.
As we reached the car, I opened the door to slide into the passenger seat—only to see Lucia already sitting there, carefree as ever, licking an ice cream cone.
My hand froze on the handle.
“Just sit in the back, it’s the same,” Bryce said casually, opening the door for me as if this was how it always had been.