Bab 56: Chapter 12: Part 1 – Verification Requested
I held Sarah until her sobs faded into soft, hiccuping breaths and, eventually, the low, familiar purring sound she made when she drifted off to sleep.
Carefully, I shifted her weight and scooped her up into my arms, cradling her like a bride. She didn't stir.
As I carried her to her room, I couldn't stop the thoughts circling in my head. I needed to rethink everything—how I handled her, how I saw her, and what exactly I was doing to her.
But first, I needed to give her something I'd been quietly taking away.
Her space.
After laying her down and tucking the floral-laced comforter snugly around her, I lingered.
Sarah looked so peaceful like this—soft, vulnerable, and heartbreakingly beautiful. An angel. My angel.
And yet… I was angry.
Not at her. Never at her.
I was angry at myself. At how easily I'd let myself believe the surface of things without looking deeper. At how little I had questioned what Sarah might have been hiding.
Because now—now that her words were echoing in my mind, now that I was staring down at her peaceful sleeping form—I couldn't ignore the ache growing in my chest.
I needed to know.
I needed to double-check every one of her claims because the thought of her carrying these feelings—this loneliness, this frantic need to be loved—our entire relationship was twisting me up inside.
It made me question everything I thought I knew.
It made me question us.
And worst of all, it made me question myself.
I locked my bedroom door and turned off my phone's notifications. I didn't want any interruptions—not for what I was about to do.
Four hours and twelve phone calls later, I lay sprawled on my bed, shell-shocked.
I had called every single one of my exes. Even Jenny.
And every single one of them confirmed the same thing—at some point, Sarah had asked them about me. About us.
Sarah hadn't been lying.
The final call lingered in my mind. Megan had given me Liam's number after some coaxing and a promise that I'd put the call on speaker to prove I wasn't trying to rekindle anything. Liam, half-asleep and irritated, admitted without hesitation—and without remorse—that he'd dumped Sarah because she was, in his words, "shit in bed."
Then he'd told his girlfriend to hang up, which she promptly did. Conversation over.
But the damage was already done.
I threw an arm over my eyes and let out a shaky breath.
Anger.
Not at Sarah—but at myself.
How could I have called myself her best friend and not seen it? How could I have spent years pining for her, holding onto this unrequited love, and completely missed the fact that Sarah had been alone—frantically searching for someone, anyone, to make her feel wanted?
How could I not have noticed the way she'd been tossed aside, pushed around, and humiliated by the people she trusted?
Or worse… maybe I had noticed.
Maybe I'd seen it all and done nothing. Because deep down, I was too ashamed to face what I really wanted.
I wanted her.
I wanted to hold her. Touch her. Keep her close—so close that it scared me. I was terrified that if I let myself want her openly, I'd cross lines I couldn't uncross.
But in the end, I'd crossed them anyway. The first chance I got.
That made me no better than her exes. Maybe even worse.
Because at least they had asked her out first.
And me? I'd been stringing her along, letting her play this ridiculous game of tasks and rewards, pretending to be patient while secretly waiting for my turn—waiting for a taste of the ecstasy I imagined she could give me.
And when it looked like the reward wasn't enough?
I'd pulled away.
No wonder the last few months felt like spiralling out of control.
And to think—I'd actually entertained the thought of taking things all the way tonight.
I sat up abruptly, the thought making my skin crawl.
I crossed the room and unlocked my bedroom door, letting it swing open.
I didn't know where this left us—what direction this relationship could or should take now that I understood just how broken we both were.
But I knew one thing.
No more secrets.
If Sarah needed me, she needed to know she could come to me from the start.
And I needed to show her that I wasn't some perfect, untouchable figure. Maybe I had been so aloof that she'd felt she had to hide her flaws, to keep up appearances, afraid I'd see her cracks and walk away.
Maybe what she needed wasn't someone to fix her.
Maybe she just needed someone just as flawed—someone who wouldn't run.
And maybe I wanted to be that person for her.
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Author's Note:
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